#i am unfortunately in the camp of people who dies a little more every time gmm make their actors sing

[khaotunq]

wait, did you see fk in Italy??

Alas, I did not! I was around 250km too south for that, visiting a friend and being stuffed full of sfogliatelle.

Honestly, fan meetings really aren't my speed or I'd have tried harder to go, but there's a bit too much singing and screaming for my tastes. It looks like the boys had fun, though!

[screechthemighty]

Me @ me: maybe these chapters would go a lot faster if you didn't take every chance you had to write plot-irrelevant witty banter between these idiots Also me @ me: but. the sillies. Anyway, sorry this took so long, in my defense it is a very lengthy chapter and a lot happens. Also, sorry to the one person who voted in my poll, but you were not correct about the Thing That Does Not Occur. The thing you voted on may or may not happen later, though. Anyways!

the unknowable tomorrow: a tristamp fanfic part fifteen: meryl and wolfwood

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cws: pandemic, religious/cult trauma and religious cults, grief, brief mention of strangulation

.

The first thing he noticed was the smell of gunsmoke, and the second was a town surrounded by a very robust barricade. None of the situations Vash had found himself in so far had been great, but something told Wolfwood that this one was going to take the cake.

“Do you hear that?” Meryl said.

Wolfwood listened carefully. The crunch of footsteps and the sound of someone talking to themselves was familiar. “There’s our man,” he said. “Stay close.”

Meryl nodded. She had one hand on her Derringer already. Smart girl.

They moved carefully towards the sound of Vash’s voice. “…and listen, I know we started off on the wrong foot, but I really feel like we can work this out. I…” His voice cracked, and a manic giggle slipped out of him. “Oh, this was a bad idea, bad stupid idea, Vash…”

“Psst!” Wolfwood hissed before leaning around a piece of ancient debris. “Vash!”

Vash spun around. He wasn’t hurt, but the dark circles under his eyes said he hadn’t slept in a week. Even the way his face lit up when he saw them couldn’t hide how exhausted he looked. “Oh, I am so…wait, have you two had dustlung before?”

Ah, crap. “Yep. I’m immune,” Wolfwood said.

“I am, too,” Meryl said. “Has there been an outbreak?”

Vash nodded and pointed towards the barricade. Wolfwood noticed that he had two bandannas tied to his upper arm, one black, one blue. “They’re still in the middle of one. They’ve got it under control, but that’s not the issue.”

“The fatal lung rot isn’t the issue?” Wolfwood repeated flatly.

“Nope!” Another manic giggle escaped Vash as he gestured for them to come closer. “They are. Kind of.”

Wolfwood and Meryl joined Vash. There was a group camped out in front of the barricaded town. It looked like they were setting up for an attack or a siege. “The settlement was built over a wormfall,” Vash explained, “so they’re set for treatment. But these guys came from a town with another outbreak…”

“And the wormfall guys don’t want to share?” Wolfwood finished.

“More like they can’t. They’ve been picking away at the worm for a while now. Whatever’s left can get their people through a full treatment course, but…”

Meryl raised her hand. “Refresh my memory, here,” she said. “The best treatment for dustlung involves a fungus mostly found in great worm corpses, right?” Vash nodded. “If it’s just a fungus and they have access to the corpse, can’t they cultivate more?”

“They’ve tried, but it’s finicky,” Vash said. “Even Ship Three has trouble, and they’ve been researching it for years. And it grows too slowly to be help in an emergency.” Vash started pacing again. “The new group came for help, but the settlement still has a lot of sick people. They can’t spare much. I was going to see if they’d accept enough for an incomplete treatment course, but that still leaves them at risk.”

Wolfwood grimaced. He remembered when it had gone around the orphanage. They’d all gotten partial treatment, and he’d been one of only three not to have long-term problems. One had died later from a different infection his body was too weak to fight off. “So, it’s a standoff,” he said.

“Unfortunately. They already tried negotiating once and it didn’t go well. The new guys think the townspeople are lying about how much is left, and the town council didn’t want to give them even a little at first. They could change their minds at any time…” Vash sighed. “And I don’t even know if the new group will talk to me. They could try to invade and take it all.”

A no-win scenario. Wolfwood thought back to their conversation a few jumps ago, and how much it sucked being right. “Okay,” Meryl said thoughtfully. “Here, let’s figure this out.” She pulled out her notebook. “Do you have figures on how much of the fungus is left?”

“Not concrete ones. They wouldn’t give me that. But I can guess.” Vash crouched next to Meryl as they started talking math. Wolfwood kept one eye on the new guys as they did. The other group was staying put for now, but all the signs were there: they could, and probably would, invade if they wanted to. He found himself scanning the town and wondering how long its defenses would hold.

He wasn’t sure it would be very long. And depending on how much of the town was sick…

Wolfwood was starting to wish he had a vial or ten. And a bigger gun. And backup that wasn’t so softhearted. Though I reckon we won’t have to kill anyone, just hold them off until them getting the medicine is a moot point…not that I think Vash has it in him to do that, either…

“Okay, I think that’s everything,” Meryl said. “Except…how are you going to explain where we came from?”

“We’re near a pretty well-travelled route. I can always say I saw you passing by.” Vash stood back up. “I don’t know how dangerous this is going to be…”

Meryl started marching towards the camp. “I’m not worried about it,” she called over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Vash glanced Wolfwood’s way. Wolfwood responded with a shrug. “Hey, I’m not going to talk her out of it,” he said. “You saw how she clobbered me last time.”

Vash laughed weakly and started after Meryl. “Yeah, good point.”

Wolfwood took up the rear, rifle ready, even though he desperately hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.

.

She’d been outwardly confident for Vash’s sake, but Meryl’s nerves were in high gear as they approached. These people clearly meant business: they were all armed to the teeth, some in makeshift body armor, and had desperate looks in their eyes.

Desperation could be even more dangerous than outright malice. She knew that now.

“Hi!” Vash called to some of them as he jogged to catch up to her. “I, uh, don’t know if you remember, but we tried to talk…”

Several guns were leveled at them immediately. Wolfwood went to raise his own rifle, but Vash stopped him. “…and I want to try again,” Vash finished, his tone still hyper-cheerful. “There’s no need for all of this.”

“Have they decided to stop bullshitting us?” asked one person, a darker-skinned man who looked just as exhausted as Vash. There was a slight rasp to his voice that said he was getting over a dustlung infection himself. Meryl was honestly surprised he wasn’t bedridden; her case had been comparatively mild, and she’d been out long enough that a few people thought she’d switched schools. “Because we’re not playing around anymore.”

“I didn’t think you were. We’re not playing around, either. We have numbers we can show you.” He gestured towards Meryl. “Lots of math.”

Meryl nodded. They were lucky; Vash knew the history of the place and they’d been able to extrapolate from there how much of the fungus would be left if they’d followed standard harvesting and cultivation procedures. None of the numbers were official, but hopefully it would be enough to convince the group that they weren’t being shortchanged. “We won’t take up too much of your time,” Meryl added.

The group looked skeptical of her and Wolfwood (especially Wolfwood), but Meryl noticed they seemed a bit more accepting of Vash. Granted, they still had a gun trained on him, but it was only one gun, and the guy holding it didn’t look too ready to pull the trigger. “…fine,” said the sick man, “but only because you’ve been straight with us so far.”

The man, whom Vash addressed as James, gathered up the rest of the group to hear what they had to say. Meryl stuck close to Vash and hoped it didn’t turn into a repeat of the oil fires. Vash laid out the math they’d worked out, showing them Meryl’s notebook as he did. Only two people actually double-checked their math; those two whispered between each other as Vash finished up his pitch. “…so they’re really not lying,” he said. “What they offered is all they can spare. It was a big ask to convince them to spare that much. They risk running out themselves if more people get sick and their cultivation program is already stretched thin. They have to think about the future, too.”

He sounded convincing to Meryl, but she wasn’t so sure the others bought it. “You said that these numbers are just your projections,” James said. “You’re sure there’s nothing that might’ve given them more to work with? Extra cultivation you don’t know about or anything?”

“I…well, no,” Vash admitted. “They didn’t let me check out the wormfall personally. I don’t think they’d have any reason to keep that from me, though.”

“You’re an outsider. That’s plenty of reason far as I’m concerned.”

Damn it, that was a good point. “I can try to get access to the wormfall and see,” Vash said, “but I can’t think of anything they’d do to make their cultivation more efficient. All the equipment and techniques I know about – “

“You know about. But you don’t know everything, right?”

“I know a lot more than you’d think.”

“At your age?”

Vash laughed nervously. “Uh…how old do you think I am?”

Wolfwood sighed. “Look, you can grasp at straws and fairy tales all you want, but this is your most likely reality,” he interjected bluntly. He faced the two people who’d double-checked their work. “Am I wrong?”

“Er…no, the math checks out,” one of them admitted. “If it were us, I’d be nervous about outside distribution, too.”

No one liked that answer, but they mostly expressed that through irate glances at the town. Meryl was still bracing herself to have to jump to Vash’s defense, but so far, they didn’t seem to want to shoot the messenger. Good. That’s good. Maybe they’ll still be willing to listen…

“If that’s the case, you should probably go,” James said finally. “We’ve got some things to consider.”

“Right, yeah, of course. Talk it out. We can…” Vash flinched when James suddenly started stepping towards him. “…uh, I mean…”

“Can I have a word?”

Meryl straightened up, and saw Wolfwood do the same. “Anything you want to say to him, you can say to us,” Wolfwood said sternly.

James’s face hardened. Vash was quick to intervene: “It’s okay. They’re actually friends of mine from out of town. I ran into them on the way and they volunteered to help, too. They’re good people.”

James examined them both. “When I say you should go,” he said finally, “I mean you should get out of town. For your own good.”

…oh.

Vash took a deep breath. “What are you planning?” he said quietly.

“Nothing a guy like you wants to be involved in.” James patted Vash on the shoulder. “Listen, you seem like a good guy. I get that you want to help. But I’m not gonna ask you to pick a side one way or another. This isn’t your fight. Look after yourself first.”

He was giving that advice to the wrong person. Meryl knew that Vash was incapable of looking after himself first—even the times he ran away from a fight were to prevent others from being hurt, not so much to save himself. James didn’t realize that, though; he was too busy walking back to his group to notice the horrified look on Vash’s face.

Wolfwood noticed, though, and responded to it with a heavy sigh. “Come on,” he said quietly.

“We…we have to talk them out of it…”

“Look at their faces. They’ve been thinking about this for a long time.” Meryl could see it, too. Their faces had looks of grim inevitability. Vash’s words had only served to make them sure of their decision. “Nothing you can do about it. Come on.”

Vash stared at the group for another moment before following. There was a distant look in his eyes, though it wasn’t just one of dread. He was thinking hard. She could see his eyes darting back and forth as they walked back to the road, as if he were trying to select from different options.

It didn’t seem like any of them were good.

“If we warn the town,” he said quietly, “then they might want to strike first. Then more people will get hurt. But if we don’t say anything…”

“People are gonna get hurt regardless,” Wolfwood said. It seemed that he had been doing some thinking of his own from how steady and certain his words were. “Did you leave anything important back there?”

“What?”

“Can you get it without tipping anyone off?”

Vash’s face finally looked horrified. “You want to just leave?”

“What else are we supposed to do? If you don’t want to pick a side, the only reason you’d stay is to get yourself hurt and then self-flagellate about all the people you watched die.”

“Wolfwood!” Meryl gasped.

“What? Am I wrong?”

“You’re being an ass,” Meryl snapped before turning her attention back to Vash. “Do you think if the town council knew there was a real threat, they’d be willing to negotiate more? Or are you sure they’d strike first?”

“They’ve already started figuring out rationing for a siege. Most of them would take an attack as an excuse to withdraw support entirely,” Vash said. He started pacing again, his hands clenched into fists. “Damn it.”

Damn it, indeed.

Wolfwood watched Vash with a tense jaw and an exasperated expression. “Look, I will drag you out of here if that’s what it takes.”

Vash whipped around to glare at him. “Don’t you dare touch me,” he said. Wolfwood’s eyebrows shot up. “Nico, I mean it.”

“Okay, okay. Vash are you…?”

The sound of a truck horn made all three of them jump. They’d been so busy talking that they’d missed an approaching convoy. They got out of the way. Meryl noticed how Vash kept his distance from both of them.

That had been a strong reaction to what was probably a hyperbolic threat. He’d flinched earlier when James had tried to touch him, now that she thought about it. “Are you okay?” Meryl asked as the trucks drove by.

Vash hesitated before deflating. “No,” he admitted. “I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep and I’ve been helping around the hospital. I think it brought back bad memories…feel like my skin’s going to crawl off if anyone gets too close. Not your fault.” He glanced Wolfwood’s way. “Nico, I’m sorry.”

The tension in Wolfwood’s face melted away. “You don’t have to apologize for that,” he said. “No dragging. Promise. But I stand by the rest of…”

“Bastards!” They all jumped again at the furious scream. “Sons of bitches…!’

A few members of James’ group were screaming after the trucks. “Were they from town?” Meryl asked.

Vash shook his head. “It’s probably a supply convoy going to July City,” he explained. “I get why they’re so angry. July is right next door and they haven’t done anything.”

Meryl suppressed a shudder at the detail. “No help at all?”

“Nothing. They stopped returning alert calls and threatened to shoot any refugees from infected towns.” Vash looked visibly disgusted. “I’d understand if they wanted to protect their own citizens, but they took it too far, threatening to shoot.”

Meryl hummed in agreement. When she glanced Wolfwood’s way, he was still staring after the truck. He had his sunglasses back on, so she couldn’t see his eyes, but the tightness of his jaw made her nervous. “How far away is July?” Wolfwood asked.

“A couple of hours on foot, less on wheels or a thomas. And I haven’t felt Nai in the area, anyway. I’m okay here.”

Wolfwood kept staring after the truck. He started rubbing his heel against his bruised shin, as if it itched him. Meryl reached for his arm; he started at the near-touch, and didn’t relax much when he registered it was her. “I don’t think okay is the right word,” he said. “Look, you want me to try taking a stab at those guys alone? Metaphorical stab. Might be able to get them to see reason.”

Vash raised an eyebrow. “They’re pretty closed off…”

“And I’m an asshole who gets where they’re coming from. Give me five minutes. You watch town and make sure they don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be right back.”

Vash still looked nervous, but he nodded. “Okay.”

Wolfwood held out a hand when he saw Meryl step towards him. “Stay here. Keep him out of trouble.”

Vash frowned. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Clearly you do, otherwise we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“I…” Vash thought about it, then sighed dramatically. “I guess.”

Meryl saw Wolfwood’s point, too, but she couldn’t help feeling suspicious. Something about this didn’t sit right with her, but she couldn’t articulate the feeling enough to protest. “Yell if you need help,” she said.

“Trust me, you’ll know if I do.” Wolfwood slung his rifle back over his shoulder. “Can I have my lighter?” Vash pulled it out and tossed it to him; Wolfwood caught it easily. “Thanks.” He lit a cigarette as he started walking back towards the group. “Be back in a minute.”

Meryl waited until Wolfwood was a good distance away before turning to Vash. “How good is your hearing?” she asked.

“I…” Vash’s cheeks flushed pink. “He knows what he’s doing, right?”

“Didn’t he punch Brad?”

“I…yeah…” Vash started after Wolfwood, his teeth worrying away at his lower lip. “Yeah, he did.”

Wolfwood had reached James by that point and started chatting with him with his back to them. Not knowing what he was saying drove Meryl crazy, but the guilty look on Vash’s face made her dial it back. “We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable,” she amended. “He’s just…not really the negotiating type, so I was curious.”

“I understand what you mean, but…honestly, I’m sick of negotiators.” Vash huffed bitterly. “They probably are, too.”

That was fair, she supposed. That didn’t stop Meryl from watching Wolfwood more carefully than she watched Vash. His body language hadn’t changed: still his usual slouch, hands in his pockets, deceptively casual. James was a bit harder to read. It looked like he was listening, and he didn’t seem hostile. He wasn’t any more tense than he was before. So, the conversation was going well, but…

Wolfwood suddenly turned around and waved to them. Vash took off like a shot, Meryl close behind. “You trust me, right?” Wolfwood said as Vash got closer.

“I…” Vash tilted his head. “Yeah, of course I do.”

“So you can vouch that I’m not just some bullshit artist, right?”

Vash nodded and turned to James. “I do vouch for him. Really.”

That seemed a bit overgenerous to Meryl, but she tried to keep that feeling to herself. It seemed like Wolfwood might have been making some progress, and she didn’t want her complicated feelings about him to ruin that. James looked at Vash, then examined Wolfwood’s face carefully. Whatever he saw there, it made him turn back to Vash. “Do you think,” he said carefully, “you can still get us the amount we discussed previously?”

Vash’s face lit up. “Yes! Yes, I definitely can. I’ll go right now.”

“We’re not going anywhere until we get it. But…we’ll take it.”

“Okay! Okay. I’m sorry, I know it’s not much, but…”

“Vash.” Wolfwood waved a hand in front of his face. “Burning daylight, here.”

“Right! Right, of course, sorry…” Vash started for the road, so fast he almost tripped. “We’ll be right back!”

Meryl started after him, but slowed down when she realized James had pulled Wolfwood back to mutter something in his ear. Whatever it was, Wolfwood only rolled his eyes in response. “Yeah, yeah, tough guy. Give it a rest.” He shrugged the hand off his shoulder and started walking. “What’s this planet coming to? Shit…”

Meryl glanced warily at James as she and Wolfwood walked away. “What did you say to them?” she asked.

“We had a friendly discussion about the risks of starting a fight when you can barely stand,” Wolfwood said calmly. “They’re desperate, not stupid. They just needed a firmer hand to remind them what’s at stake.”

All of that sounded plausible, but Meryl still wasn’t sure she bought it. Maybe it was her still-lingering mistrust of him after July, but something about this situation felt off. “That’s all?”

“Yes, Miss Nosypants, that’s all.”

“Miss…? Wow. Real mature.” Wolfwood grinned at her. “I don’t know how you’ve convinced anyone of anything. Ever.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Wolfwood snatched her hat off her head and jogged forward to plop it onto Vash’s. “Stay focused, Stryfe. We’re not out of the wastes yet.”

If Vash hadn’t been there, slowing down to give Meryl her hat back with a cheerful smile, she would’ve kicked Wolfwood again. Instead, Meryl nursed her disbelief and kept as close an eye on Wolfwood as she could.

They had to stay outside the town gates while Vash went back inside for the fungus. The townsfolk watching from the tops of the barricades all looked pretty distrustful; Meryl tried look casual and unthreatening, but it was hard with so many eyes on her. Wolfwood remained calm and quiet throughout the wait. The only sign that anything might be wrong was that he started chain smoking, only stopping when Vash emerged with a box in his hands. Then again, Wolfwood chain-smoked at the slightest inconvenience, so that didn’t mean too much.

They passed off the fungus to James. His group packed up and left without a shot fired or another exchange with Wolfwood. Vash waited until they were specks on the horizon before he flopped to the ground, a relieved laugh escaping his lips. “That,” he said, “was scary.”

Wolfwood grunted in agreement and lay down in the dirt next to him. “I’m just glad they saw reason.”

“Yeah.” Vash rolled over so his face was pressed into Wolfwood’s shoulder, muffling his next words. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Wolfwood wrapped an arm around Vash and raised an eyebrow at Meryl. See? the look seemed to say. Vash trusts me. Vash doesn’t think I lied.

That was big talk coming from someone who thought Vash was too trusting, but Meryl kept that to herself. Instead, she scanned their surroundings. “Well, I don’t see a portal,” she said as she sat down next to Vash. “Do you need more help in town?”

“Probably. If you’re comfortable. Most people are starting to improve, but there’s still more sick than healthy in town, so…” Vash rolled back over so he could look at Meryl while still staying nestled at Wolfwood’s side. “Every little bit helps and all.”

Meryl smiled and held out her hand. He took it carefully with his prosthetic. She was surprised how cool his fingers still were, even after so much time outside. “It sure does.”

Vash started to sit up, but Wolfwood tugged him back down. “Five minutes,” he said. “You need floor time.”

“Isn’t that something babies do?”

“That’s tummy time. Not the same thing. Everyone needs to lie on the floor sometimes. It’s good for you.” Wolfwood lifted his head enough to look at Meryl. “You, too.”

Meryl rolled her eyes, but lay down next to Vash. The sand was tightly compacted from James’s group camping out there. Vash kept holding her hand as he hummed contently.

She hadn’t expected lying in the dirt to feel so peaceful, but it was.

It was longer than five minutes before they got up, but Vash did seem a lot calmer. They dusted themselves off before heading back into town. “So, uh, what fake names are you using?” Vash asked as they got closer. “Are you using fake names?”

Good question. Meryl decided that other people knowing who she was probably wouldn’t be safe, especially when it felt like they were getting closer to her actual birthday. (She tried not to think about that too hard.) “I can be Claudia again for now,” Meryl said.

“Brad,” Wolfwood said with a deadpan expression.

“Wh-“ Vash laughed. “You can’t be Brad!”

“Why not? He’s not here, and it’s better than when you named your bird after him.”

Vash kept giggling. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The process of getting them inside wiped the smile off of Vash’s face. He had to spend a worrying amount of time insisting they were friends of his, here to help, promise, before all three of them were let in and allowed to register. Once they put their names down—Claudia Smith for her, Brad Thomas for Wolfwood because he was an asshole who thought he was funny—they were given black and blue bandannas and told, very sternly, to wear them at all times while in town. “What for?” Wolfwood asked skeptically.

“They’re tracking exposure,” Vash said. “You’ve been around me, so technically you’ve been exposed…” He tapped the black one, then the blue one. “…and you were immune before the outbreak. Just keep a safe distance from anyone in white or red. They’re at higher exposure risk. The quarantine zone is that way, but that’s only for the people who are actively sick.”

“You’ll make sure they follow all the quarantine rules, right?” interjected the guard sternly.

“Absolutely. No problem at all.” Vash was all smiles until they were a safe distance away. “Sorry about that. They’re nervous about outsiders after…” He gestured at the wall behind them. “Anyway, eastern side of town is where they’re keeping everyone who’s been exposed, but not sick. That’s where I’m staying. It’s not too far.”

Meryl scanned their surroundings as they walked through town. It was as miserable as you’d expect from an ongoing pandemic. The streets were largely abandoned, and a lot of the shops were closed. They walked past a section that was entirely closed off, with large signs posted nearby. Her eyes scanned them quickly, taking in as many details as she could. Visiting hours, special permits needed for the non-immune to enter. That must have been the quarantine zone. An aura of sadness hung over it, worse even than the streets outside.

At least we were able to prevent a shootout. Or at least, Wolfwood says we did. Meryl wasn’t sure how much of a fight this town would’ve been able to put up.

Eventually, they reached one of the few open businesses, an inn with an attached general store. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get separate rooms, but I can probably find us some cots or something,” Vash said apologetically. “And food. I’ll find more food for you guys. Do you need anything else?”

“Does this place have running water?” Wolfwood asked. “Because as long as there’s running water and the windows don’t leak sand, I’m good.”

“Same here,” Meryl said. “You should really focus on resting…”

Vash shook his head. “Too wired. If I don’t have something to do, I’m going to start doing pushups again.”

“In that case, food sounds great.” Maybe if they could get him to sit down for a meal, he’d unwind enough to sleep. “Thanks, Vash.”

As Vash had expected, he was only able to get them spare cots. He and Wolfwood started setting those up while Meryl rinsed off in the shower. She was hesitant to take her eyes off Wolfwood, but Vash would be with him. She trusted Vash a lot more than she trusted Wolfwood.

It was nice to get some alone time to think. Meryl mulled over what they had seen so far and what Vash might need help with. It was possible that he might need some personal defending, like he had at the oil fires, or he might just need them to help take some burdens off his plate. It was obvious he was worn out from working so hard. A few extra hands couldn’t hurt.

Or maybe Wolfwood was wrong and those guys will be back. What do we do then? Try to help, or focus on getting Vash out? It was a tough decision. As much as Meryl hated to admit it, Wolfwood was right. Vash wouldn’t be able to choose sides here, even when one was clearly an aggressor. And honestly, Meryl couldn’t blame him. They were aggressive out of desperation, not malice or greed. That made things a lot more complicated

Meryl caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was a little surprised how tired the face looking back at her was. Then again, she’d been through a lot in the past few months—more than she’d ever expected to go through when she’d left with Roberto. Even more than what was usual for the cruelties of No Man’s Land.

She picked a bit of loose dried skin off her forehead and tried to smile. It didn’t really help, so she let it drop. “You need food,” she told herself sternly. She’d think better on a full stomach.

As Meryl opened the bathroom door, something hit the ground dangerously close to her foot. It was her notebook. It must have been propped against the bathroom door. She hadn’t put it there, and neither of the boys were in the room.

Weird…

Meryl hesitantly picked up the notebook and flipped to the first empty pages. Wolfwood’s handwriting—a messier variation of it—marked one page.

Have to do something. Be back by sun up. Do NOT let Vash follow. -NDW

…oh, no.

Of course, that was when the door re-opened. Vash stepped in with a large paper bag in his arms. “Oh, good, you’re out!” Vash said cheerfully. “I grabbed something for you to change into since you’ve been…” He trailed off when he noticed the bathroom door was wide open, showing no sign of Wolfwood. “Where’s Nico?”

“He’s not with you?”

“No.”

Panic set in. Meryl reread the note, indecision gripping her body. Wolfwood had expressly asked her not to let him follow, but if Wolfwood was going where Meryl thought he was, he might get in trouble on his own.

Correction. He would definitely get in trouble.

“Meryl?” Vash said hesitantly.

She couldn’t keep the truth from him. He was going to look for Wolfwood no matter what; at least this way he’d know what the stakes were. Meryl held out the notebook. “He was gone when I got out,” Meryl admitted, “but he left this by the door.”

Vash put the bags down and read the note, probably multiple times from the way his eyes moved across the page. Eventually, his eyes met Meryl’s. “Do you think he went to July?” he asked. “He seemed weird when he saw the convoy go by, and if he doesn’t want me to follow…”

Meryl nodded. “That’s what I was thinking, too. Do you think July would have more of the fungus?”

“If anyone would, it’s them. But he’d have to steal it. We can’t let him do that alone.” Vash passed Meryl back the notebook and started digging through the bags he’d brought up. “I know he said not to let me follow him, but I can’t let him get hurt. I’m going.”

Meryl wanted to argue with him, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop him. He was Vash the Stampede; when he put his mind to it, nothing would stop him. But she couldn’t let him run into danger alone, either.

“You’re sure your brother isn’t there?” Meryl said.

“I’m positive.” Vash sat down and started loading his pistol. Meryl wanted to ask why he’d gone to a confrontation earlier with an unloaded gun, but decided to focus on the crisis at hand. “I swear, I’d be able to tell.”

“Okay. I have conditions, though. I’m going with you, and we can’t be too obvious. Do you have anything you can wear as a disguise?”

“Funny you should ask…” Vash pulled something out of the bag and tossed it to her: a pair of sensible linen pants and a light gray poncho-style coat with a high enough collar and big enough hood to obscure her face. “I figured you’d be sick of wearing the same clothes for a few decades and I had some extra money, so…”

Meryl smiled. “Thank you, Vash. This is perfect. What about you?”

“I’ll wear Nico’s. We’re about the same size, I think.” He pulled something else out of a bag—some ammo and a holster—and held it out to her. “It’s not much, but hopefully you won’t need it.”

Meryl swallowed nervously. “Hopefully,” she agreed.

They were headed into July City, though. Meryl was prepared for anything to happen there.

.

Wolfwood may have asked Meryl to make sure Vash didn’t follow, but he also knew the chances those pleas would fall on deaf ears. That awareness sped him up as he moved through town and to the wall. There were guards along the makeshift barrier, but they were mostly armed civilians who, judging from the wheezy coughs, were just barely over their own infections. Getting past them and through a gap in the barrier was a lot easier than he’d braced himself for.

One obstacle down.

From there, he made his way to the road and started in the direction of July. He kept his rifle drawn and kept scanning his surroundings. He wasn’t just watching for military police, raiders, anyone else who might start trouble. His temporary partners were somewhere along this stretch of road.

Unless they’d backed out. James didn’t have any reason to believe him. Hell, for all Wolfwood knew, he was walking right into a trap. Alone.

But he’d seen something in the man’s eyes, a spark jumping from Wolfwood’s dangerous words and blossoming into a more dangerous hope.

There’s more of the fungus in July. I’ve seen it. I can get it for you.

It was the truth. Wolfwood had seen it, and he could get to it, in theory. Doing so would save a lot of lives, and spit in the Eye of Michael while he was at it. But he was still kicking himself for saying it with every step he took towards July.

It was a horrible plan. Absolutely fucked. There were a thousand things that could go wrong along the way, wrong in a very lethal way, and this whole mess was none of his damn business. If it had just been him, he would’ve left by now.

But it wasn’t just him. It was Vash, and Vash’s stupid words that Wolfwood had stupidly promised to think about, and it was the fact that a third option—the mystical winning option that Vash so desperately believed in—had practically been shoved into his face. Wolfwood wasn’t sure how much he believed in divine providence, but that truck might as well have been a glowing neon sign that said, Here you go, idiot.

Another voice had echoed in his head then, too: I’ll save both the town and the ship. There is a way.

And Vash had.

And he’d try again, if he knew the truth. But that would mean running into the lion’s den. Even if Vash wasn’t lying to Wolfwood about Knives not being there, taking him to find the fungus would mean questions. Peeling back layers that might expose the ugliest parts of what Wolfwood was. Wolfwood wasn’t ready for that. So, this was his compromise. He’d go. He’d do what Vash would do, and take the risks Vash would take.

He hated it, and he wasn’t even in July yet.

I hope you appreciate this, jackass.

The sound of movement off to his right made Wolfwood stop and raise his weapon. James stepped out from cover with his own weapon drawn. “Wasn’t sure you’d show up,” he said.

Wolfwood shrugged. “Yeah, well, I had a shadow I needed to dodge.”

“Right. And what kind of trouble is Vash in with July, again?”

That had been Wolfwood’s excuse for why Vash couldn’t be there. It wasn’t a lie, just…hard to explain. See, his homicidal maniac of a brother is secretly in charge of the city and wants to use him to murder humanity wasn’t an explanation most people would buy. Fortunately, there was another way Wolfwood could phrase this that wasn’t a total lie.

“Exactly the kind of thing that’s gotten him in this mess,” Wolfwood said. “You keep trying to solve everyone’s problems and you make as many enemies as you do friends. Especially in a place like that.”

James thought about it, huffed quietly, and lowered his gun. “Yeah, sounds right. How is he not dead yet?”

“Beats the hell out of me,” Wolfwood replied as he lowered his own weapon. “Did you bring the bike?”

“Yep. I’m driving, though. You navigate.”

It was fair enough, and the bike did at least have a sidecar. That didn’t stop Wolfwood from feeling twitchy the whole damn drive. Their destination didn’t help. There were a lot of stretches of empty nothingness around July, but the one to the north of the city was special. It didn’t just hold the solar panels that supplied supplementary power to the city. Underneath it was one of the Eye’s training compounds, and one of the places where they kept their backup uniforms. Grabbing two of those was their first step.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” James said skeptically.

“I know the routine.” Wolfwood unscrewed one last bolt and flipped open the ventilation shaft’s cover. “I used to come in and out this way all the time. They didn’t exactly have a backdoor for a smoke break.”

James still looked skeptical, and Wolfwood couldn’t blame him. He’d flashed his lighter with the Eye’s symbol, said that he’d quit, but he wasn’t sure how plausible that sounded to an outsider. “Is there some kind of machinery under there?” James asked. “I keep thinking I hear humming.”

“They’ve got noise makers on the surface. Keeps prying eyes away. You get used to it.” He set the rifle aside. “You promise you’re not going to shoot me?”

“Only if you try something.”

“Fair enough.” Wolfwood lowered himself down carefully. James followed; his pistol was still stowed, so Wolfwood decided to go out on a limb and start crawling. We’re both putting a lot of trust in each other, here, he reminded himself. Mutually assured destruction.

Not exactly the best way to make friends, but hopefully it would be enough to get them through this.

Wolfwood had hoped he’d never have to sneak back through these vents again, but here he was. At least if everything went according to plan, he wouldn’t be there long. And assuming the layout of the place was still the same…

Don’t be stupid. It probably took them ages to build this place. They won’t be shuffling rooms around much. Keep your head on and keep crawling.

Eventually, the metal beneath him was broken up by grates, each one looking down into a storage room. Food. Weapons. Ammo. He was tempted to grab some ammo while he was there, but forced himself to keep moving. The ammo would definitely be watched and counted carefully. The uniforms, not so much.

He remembered where to stop clearly, and fortunately, the setup was still the same. Boxes of freshly-made or mended uniforms were all lined up on shelves. No sign of the tailor or anyone else. And when Wolfwood experimentally pulled on the grate, it popped up easily.

Guess people really have been sneaking out this way for a while.

Wolfwood slipped off his shoes before lowering himself carefully into the room. He landed without a sound. James followed after a delay, having done the same trick. He landed a bit more heavily, but not enough to attract attention.

So far, so good.

It was easy enough to find something in his size; he had to hold up a few shirts before James indicated that one would fit him. “Haven’t you been sick?” Wolfwood said skeptically as he picked a corresponding jacket. “Thought you’d have less meat on your bones.”

“We’re doing fine with food. It’s the medicine that’s screwing us.”

“Lucky you – “

Wolfwood froze.

“What is it?” said James.

Get out, whispered a tiny, panicked voice deep in his brain. Get out now.

Wolfwood didn’t know what had triggered the thought. He couldn’t hear anything and nothing looked off. But that was a whisper born from years of learning how to spot even the smallest sign of danger, and in a place like this, he wasn’t going to question it. “Back up,” Wolfwood hissed. “Back, go.”

James made a dash for the vent. Wolfwood grabbed the last thing he needed, made sure everything was in place, tossed the bundle of clothes into the vent—

Footsteps. That was footsteps.

--climbed up after it—

Don’t panic, you’ll make more noise if you panic and then you’ll get caught.

--pulled the grate closed and got out of sight just as the voices reached the door—

Don’t move. Stay still. Stay quiet.

--and thank God he did, because Wolfwood knew that voice.

“…will have to discuss the latest candidates with Father William. His selection process has been lacking of late.”

In a strange way, the terror that gripped him was worse than what he’d felt when he’d seen Millions Knives. Knives was terrifying, sure, but even after July he was terrifying in theory. Chapel, though?

Chapel was personal.

“I don’t think he’ll be happy to hear that,” said a second voice, one Wolfwood didn’t recognize. All of Chapel’s ass-kissing underlings started to blend together after a while. It may not have been anyone Wolfwood knew at all. “You know he has Lord Knives’ ear. If he wanted to…”

“Lord Knives values results.” Wolfwood could hear things being moved around, the rustling of fabric as clothes were changed. He thought he caught a whiff of blood. Someone must have really pissed him off. “If Father William is not producing adequate results, I’m sure nothing he says about me will matter.” He paused. “I will see if I can oversee the next pilgrimage myself. Perhaps there are more suitable candidates that he overlooked…”

Pilgrimage.

Wolfwood didn’t realize how tightly his hands had gripped into fists until they started trembling. A pilgrimage meant blood draws and endless questions and little faces watching as one of their own was taken away. Would they be honest, or did they have older kids who told them to lie while they answered truthfully and bore the brunt of the scrutiny? Wolfwood had lied his ass off for years, until suddenly he was one of the oldest, until he’d met Livio and found himself with someone he’d pay any price to protect…

The door closed. Silence filled the room.

Wolfwood stayed still. At first it was to be sure that no one was coming back. It took James poking his shoulder to make him realize that he was frozen in sheer fear and dread and…frustration, that he’d been up here the entire time and hadn’t been able to do anything. At the thought that Chapel was going to hurt more people, and that just like with Knives, he’d been too chickenshit to stop it.

“We good?” James whispered.

No, whispered the animal fear in his mind. He tried to override it. No one saw you. You’re safe.

He gets his. You know that.

It doesn’t matter. Chapel might think he’s tough shit, but there’s a lot of people who’d be willing to take his place. Killing him now won’t change anything.

And then, loudest and most urgent: You’ve got two people who need you right now, and they’ll do something stupid really fast if you don’t get moving right now.

That was the thought that made him nod and tilt his chin back up the tunnel. They started crawling. Wolfwood didn’t remember most of it. Just dark, dark, dark, then the light of the moons overhead. James was up first, and held out a hand for Wolfwood to follow. The cold night air felt like daggers in Wolfwood’s lungs, but it was better than the air of that place.

“Are you okay?” James asked.

He sounded genuinely concerned. Probably worried that the whole operation was going to fall apart because of Wolfwood. “Sorry,” Wolfwood said. “Claustrophobic.” Not a lie. Not the truth. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

James didn’t ask any more questions. He just helped Wolfwood to his feet and started back for the bike.

That was one difference between his memories of this place and the present, Wolfwood reminded himself. He could leave any time he wanted to.

Even if leaving meant jumping feet-first into some other bullshit, it was better than what he was leaving behind.

.

There was no sign of Wolfwood on the road to July. Fortunately, Vash had a few ideas of where he might be.

“If he’s not going in the front door, there are a few other ways to get in,” Vash said as he surveyed the city with his binoculars. “Some need equipment he doesn’t have, so that narrows it down.”

“Should I be worried that you know multiple ways to get into July?” Meryl asked.

“More like I’ve thought about how I’d get out if I had to…” Vash winced. “That’s worse, huh?”

“A little bit.”

“Nai hasn’t reached out to me since…did Nico tell you about the town with the aquifer?” Meryl nodded. “That’s the last time I heard from him, honest. It’s just…I don’t know. That whole incident made me rethink some things.” Vash sighed quietly. “I’d say I’m probably being paranoid, but I think I need to stop acting like he’s not capable of hurting me.”

That was a step in the right direction, but Vash sounded so sad that Meryl couldn’t feel good about it. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Is what it is.” Vash straightened up suddenly. “I see him.”

“Really?”

Vash passed her the binoculars. “Coming in from the solar farm. There.”

Her view through the binoculars was tinted green, but she could still make out Wolfwood’s features. He was in the sidecar of a motorcycle being driven by someone who could have been James. “Well,” she said, “that was easy.”

“I think I know where they’re going, too.” Vash took the binoculars back from her and re-mounted his thomas. “I vote we just follow for now. Only jump in if he needs help. If he knows I’m here, he’ll waste time trying to make me leave.” He held out a hand to her. “Sound good to you?”

Meryl took his hand. “Works for me.”

He pulled her up into the saddle, and they were off.

Wolfwood and James had parked their bike exactly where Vash thought they would, near some kind of waste runoff from the city’s sewer system. She and Vash left the thomas a safe distance away before creeping up to eavesdrop. “…and let me do the talking,” Wolfwood was saying. “Even if you didn’t still sound sick, they’d clock you the second you opened your mouth.”

“We have some Plant worshippers in our town,” James said. He was changing into a different outfit, one that looked a lot like what the white-haired assassin had been wearing. “I know how they talk.”

“Not these guys. Trust me.” Wolfwood adjusted the buttons on a nearly identical outfit. It was closer fitting than his usual suit jacket, to the point of looking restrictive. It made him look smaller, thinner, like a lanky teenager stuffed into a formal suit they couldn’t afford to replace yet. He tossed James a gas mask. “You’ll want to get this on now. It smells as bad as it looks in there.”

Meryl felt a chill run down her spine as both men put on the masks. She’d seen people dressed like that when Conrad had been leading her and Roberto around. They’d been creepy then, and seeing Wolfwood forcing himself into the mold of one was…

You already know he works for them. What makes this different?

She didn’t know. She just knew it felt wrong.

Wolfwood and James climbed up a nearby ladder. Vash waited until they were in the pipes above before darting out from cover. He went for Wolfwood’s clothes first, snatching up his sunglasses and pocketing them. “Extra disguise,” he whispered. “Stay close.”

He didn’t have to tell Meryl twice. The coat he was wearing was dark grey, and he was swallowed up by the shadows of the tunnels almost instantly. She probably would have lost him if she hadn’t held onto his sleeve so tightly.

The tunnels (which did, in fact, smell awful) gave way to some much smaller but at least less smelly maintenance corridors. Vash kept them back so far that Wolfwood was often out of sight, but never seemed to lose him entirely. His hearing must have been better than Meryl’s, or else this was one of his potential escape routes and he was trusting that Wolfwood would follow the same path. The further they went, the louder the noises of the city above became, until they opened a door leading into an alleyway. Meryl could see bright lights at the other end, crowds of people enjoying what night time entertainment there was, and the sight of Wolfwood and James walking down the street. “I’ve never tailed anyone before,” Meryl admitted.

“Just follow what I do and you’ll be fine.” Vash slipped on Wolfwood’s sunglasses before offering Meryl his. “Don’t worry. We’ve got this.”

Meryl couldn’t help feeling some doubt, because right now they looked like two people wearing sunglasses at night while skulking around a city with their faces obscured. But she put the glasses on anyway and followed him into the crowds. Despite her concerns, no one seemed to give them a second glance.

She hoped Wolfwood and James didn’t notice them, either.

.

“Quit gawking.”

“I’m not – “

“You are. Side by side, remember?” Wolfwood slowed down enough to match James’ pace. Much as he wanted to get this over with, he couldn’t start dragging the guy. “I know, it’s shiny and all…”

“It’s disgusting.” The condemnation came in a harsh whisper, one Wolfwood could barely hear over the mask. “We’re out there dying while everyone in here lives like…this.”

Wolfwood knew what he meant. July was a city of immense wealth, a place where people by and large lived comfortably, even extravagantly. The fact that it was a slap in the face to people from the outside was just the surface layer of rot.

He’d always hated coming back here. He hated it even more now, crammed as he was in a deacon’s uniform and about to wander into a new lion’s den. But he shoved that all down and kept walking. “Just don’t pick any fights, all right? We’re gonna get your piece of the pie soon.”

People gave them a wide berth as they moved through the nightlife crowds, even the MPs. It made making their way towards the center of the city easier. They wouldn’t be heading for the tower, thank God. Instead, they walked towards a much smaller building near it. It had the same boxy structure a lot of the buildings did, but with red-tinted windows and a stream of men and women in the Eye’s uniforms entering. “Remember, it’s not gonna be pretty in there,” Wolfwood whispered. “Stay cool. Follow my head.”

James nodded.

A feeling of eyes on him suddenly weighed down Wolfwood, hard enough that he did a quick scan of the area. No sign of red or white jackets, but for a second, he noticed someone at an outdoor noodle place turn around, as if he had been staring. Broad shoulders. Sensible jacket. Didn’t look like much, but…

Do I know him?

No time to worry about that. He couldn’t slow down. Stay focused. Get what you came for.

If that guy was trouble, they’d handle it later.

.

“Should we follow him in?” Vash whispered.

“I don’t think so,” Meryl replied. “Everyone’s in those weird uniforms. We’d just stand out.”

Vash didn’t look thrilled, but he nodded. “So, we just…watch the building, if there’s gunshots or something we…” He stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose. “…we go in then.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’ve had a headache ever since we set foot in here. Nothing Nai-related, just…” He shuddered. “This place feels miserable.”

The dying Plants in the tower probably had something to do with that. Meryl felt horrible not telling him the truth, but it was better if he didn’t know. There was nothing he could do about it, anyway. “We never did have dinner,” Meryl pointed out. “Do you want noodles? Maybe that will help.”

“Sure. It’s worth a shot.”

The good news was, there were a few people at the noodle place in much more obnoxious outfits; as long as they sat near the night crowd, they blended in a bit. There was also someone in a waiter’s uniform for a different place, a few MP officers, and…

Meryl felt her heart stop beating.

Someone set a bowl of noodles in front of her. The night party group kept chatting and laughing. Vash started eating. All of that turned into a background drone. Everything, even Vash, even her worries about Wolfwood, suddenly didn’t matter.

She knew that man. He may have been younger, with shorter hair and a more well-kept beard, but she’d spent too long on the road with Roberto de Niro not to recognize him.

.

He’d warned James that the décor would be ugly, but there wasn’t any way to drive home how ugly. You had to see it to really understand.

All the lighting and windows were red, making it look like they’d been swallowed by something or forcibly submerged in a tank with a dying Plant. The central altar didn’t help. It was made of a a shattered Plant bulb suspended over a low table, with speakers arranged inside so the upcoming sermon would sound like it was coming from within. There were no chairs, no other furniture, no other décor except the pillars forming a circle around the edge of the room. Wolfwood thought he remembered them being painted some awful, clashing mix of colors that had looked even uglier in the red light, but he had only been in there a few times. Maybe he was misremembering, or maybe that hadn’t been added yet.

Doesn’t matter. Focus.

He led James to a wall near the only other door in the place and knelt down. James knelt next to him, imitating his posture almost perfectly. Just stay kneeling and look contrite. Pretend you’re contemplating the horrors of humanity. We’ll move once everyone else is invested in the sermon. Which meant having to hear Conrad’s voice, but Wolfwood was pretty good at blocking him out by now.

He'd forgotten how loud the speakers were, though.

“They called our kind the Sinners, for we had tried to yield a power that was not ours to yield.”

Yeah, Wolfwood remembered this one. The whole history lesson on how mankind had messed around with science and made the modern Plant, exploited them, blah blah blah, something something, bringing down the judgment of the angel. A lot of the Eye’s teachings were almost funny after all the time Wolfwood had spent with Vash. The little punk barely remembers to feed himself and has the self-preservation of a drugged thomas, and you wanna tell me he’s one of the angels who will bring us paradise?

It stopped being funny pretty fast, though.

He wouldn’t want this. Not that Millions Knives had ever cared about what Vash wanted.

James nudged Wolfwood. Poor guy was probably itching to get out of there. Wolfwood gave a quick scan of the room, making sure everyone was fixed on the altar, before scooting closer to the door and reaching for the keypad. 2107, assuming the code wasn’t different in the past…

Click.

…and it wasn’t. The door slid open, whisper-silent. Wolfwood let James slip in first before following. There was an elevator on the other side; Wolfwood tapped the button for the lowest floor and tried very hard not to look at the security camera in the corner.

“We’re not going to have a problem, right?” James asked carefully.

Wolfwoodshook his head. “Nah, Father William makes last-minute deliveries all the time. As long as we don’t disturb services on the way out, we’ll be fine.”

All true, all the basis of this stupid plan. Being chosen as an errand boy to get more of the stuff for Conrad’s experiments was the whole reason Wolfwood knew it was down there and how to get it. Never thought that would ever come in handy again. Another stupid sign from God that this would work out, if he wanted to be sullen about it.

The elevator stopped. They walked down a short hallway, following the sound of the same lecture being played above. The hallway opened up into a room full of worm corpses suspended in various growing frames, all covered in fuzzy, white-pink stuff that made him nauseous to look at. One scientist looked up from the radio. “Everything all right, deacon?” he asked.

“Just needed some extra supply for Father William,” Wolfwood said. He was glad the mask hid his face so well; he could focus on controlling his tone without worrying about how his face looked. “A few units should do it.”

The scientist made a soft ah noise and walked to one of the growth frames. “Good timing. We had started assembling tomorrow’s harvest. You can take what we have along with the extra.”

“He’ll be grateful for that.” Well, someone would be. Wolfwood glanced at James to make sure he was keeping it together. He was quiet, stoic, still aside from one hand clenching into a fist. Could’ve been nerves. Could’ve been elation. Wolfwood had promised a limited supply, but what the scientist started loading enough was definitely enough to treat the town.

Okay, God, I get it, this was a good idea, Vash was right, just please get me out of here without things going wrong…

“Here you are.” The caretaker passed a carrier bag to Wolfwood. “Be sure to give Father Williams our best wishes.”

Wolfwood let himself remember the sight of Conrad’s brains splattered on the tank glass, just for a second. “Will do,” he said with a genuine smile.

They walked back to the elevator without being stopped. Wolfwood passed the bag to James once they were inside. “Just don’t open it. Humidity control and all. Father William handles that.”

“Got it.” James’s voice was steady, but his hand shook slightly as he took the bag. Out of excitement that it was working or fear that something could go wrong any second, Wolfwood wasn’t sure. Could be either one.

If anything was going to go wrong, it would happen soon. They still had to get out of the city, after all. That was a long enough walk for something to blow up on them,

The lecture was just wrapping up as they exited the elevator, allowing them to merge into a departing crowd. No one gave them a second glance.

Wolfwood started praying it would stay that way.

.

Meryl tried to keep her eyes on her meal, but her gaze kept darting back to Roberto.

He didn’t look much older than her. He was wearing a dark jacket, regular shirt, nothing to indicate what his current job might be. Was he a reporter even now? He hadn’t talked much about his past—and she hadn’t asked much, she realized with a burst of shame. Prying into Roberto’s past hadn’t seemed important when they were chasing down Vash the Stampede.

She wished she’d asked more. She wished she could even begin to guess what he was doing here. He’d never mentioned living in July. Did he live here? If he did, why had he left for November?

Vash touched her arm. “Are you going to finish that?” he asked.

Meryl looked down at her bowl. She’d been eating on autopilot, mostly going for the solid parts of the noodle soup. and had resorted to stirring around the broth and smaller bits. It wasn’t her favorite part; she’d normally drink it anyway, but she wasn’t hungry at all. “You go ahead,” she said, pushing the bowl to him.

Vash didn’t need to be told twice. At least he still had his appetite. He was in the process of eagerly slurping down what was left when people started leaving the strange building. So many of them were in the same outfit that Meryl was worried they’d miss Wolfwood. She shouldn’t have been; two figures broke off from the main group pretty quickly and headed back in the direction they’d come from. Before Vash even had time to lower his bowl, though, Roberto got up and started walking after Wolfwood and James.

The hell…?

It could have been her imagination, a coincidence. But Meryl still grabbed Vash’s arm as they got up. “Keep an eye on that man there,” she whispered.

“Trouble?” Vash whispered back.

“I…don’t know. Could be nothing, but…”

Vash nodded. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Wolfwood took a more circuitous route back, using more alleys and side streets. The new route did confirm that Roberto was following him. The few times he seemed to vanish, he’d re-appear later out of a random side street and resume the chase. It became hard to tell if they were following Wolfwood or Roberto. “Do you know him?” Vash asked at one point.

He is my boss. Was my boss. Will be my boss. Meryl felt sick. I don’t know what to do.

Wolfwood and James made a sudden turn. Roberto followed. Meryl saw him reach for his gun as he went. From the sound of Vash’s sharp inhale, so did he.

Oh. Oh, this is bad.

.

At first, he took the long way out as a precaution. It didn’t take him long to realize how smart a call that was.

“Still there?” he asked James.

“Think so.” There were at least three that they’d noticed: a guy who kept pinging Wolfwood as familiar despite never getting a clear look at him, and two others who he’d also only caught glimpses of, but one too many glimpses for it to be coincidence. He had no idea what was going on, but he wasn’t interested in finding out.

Can I get out of this without killing someone? Vash doesn’t need to know if I do, right? Son of a bitch should be grateful I’m here at all…

“What do we do?” James continued nervously.

Screw it. Least I can do is figure out if this guy is with the Eye or what. Wolfwood steered James into a side street. “I’ll deal with it,” he said. “Be ready to run if it gets bad…”

“Hey!” called a voice behind them. “You gentlemen have a – “

The voice, one that immediately struck Wolfwood as familiar, was cut off with a solid omph and the sound of bodies colliding. Wolfwood turned around, tense and ready to start swinging, but instead…

Oh, fuck me.

He may have been dressed in a long black coat and wearing Wolfwood’s glasses, but even with all that and a hood up, there was no mistaking Vash. Meryl stood at the alley’s entrance, wearing a hooded poncho that went a long way in obscuring her features when combined with Vash’s sunglasses. Those glasses didn’t hide the stricken look in her eyes.

A look not directed at Wolfwood.

He looked at the person Vash had pinned, and realized he did know him.

“Military police!” growled Roberto de Niro. “I’m military police!”

Hell. That was him all right. His voice may have been unmarred by drinking and his face was less lined, but it was definitely Roberto.

He was a cop?! July City MP?! This was a lot. No wonder Meryl looked like that.

“What does military police want with us?” Wolfwood asked. He was immediately glad for the gas mask and how it obscured his voice. He didn’t want to think about the ramifications of Roberto recognizing him in the future.

“I had some questions…” Roberto tried to look up at Vash, but the kid had him pinned down pretty good. “…but I’m starting to think you’re not really with those guys.”

Hell. Those sharp bursts of perceptiveness had always been around, it seemed. Vash glanced up at Wolfwood, eyes somehow still just visible behind Wolfwood’s glasses. What do we do? that look asked. Wolfwood was sure the no killing bit was implied, but Vash didn’t need to worry about that this time. The only person from their future Wolfwood was gonna kill in the past was Knives. Maybe Chapel if he got a clear shot, but definitely not Roberto.

New problem. Wolfwood didn’t know what to do.

“And if we’re not? What’s military police going to do about that?” Wolfwood tried.

“Depends on what’s in that bag.”

“Life saving medical treatment that your people don’t feel like sharing,” James snapped. Wolfwood would’ve told him to shut up, but the guy had a point, and he was curious to see how Roberto would react. “We only took what we needed. Is that going to be a problem, or do you really want to stop us from helping little kids?”

Roberto grimaced immediately. His expression was guilty, just for a second, before he went back to being all business. “Is this about the dustlung outbreaks I’ve been hearing about? What’re the Plant worshippers doing with the treatment?”

“We didn’t stick around to ask,” Wolfwood said. “You’re telling me you’re nosing around the Eye of Michael?”

“Why? You know something about them?”

Wolfwood knew plenty, enough to know that whatever Roberto was up to, it was going to put a target on his head. Obviously, it wouldn’t be enough to kill him, but they could find plenty of ways to ruin his life before the end.

“…you guys keep moving, okay?” Wolfwood said. “I’ll catch up.”

“Are you sure?” James asked.

“I’ve got this. Don’t worry about it.”

Vash kept his mouth shut, but he also grabbed Roberto’s pistol, unloaded it, and tossed it in Wolfwood’s direction before letting Roberto up. It was the same Derringer Meryl had on her person somewhere, just newer. Absolutely unreal. “No need for that,” Roberto said irately.

“Would you let me up with a weapon?” Wolfwood pointed out. Roberto grunted in annoyance, but couldn’t argue the point.

Wolfwood waited until the others had left—James was the only one to go without giving Wolfwood a second look—before speaking again: “What’s the endgame here?”

“How much do you know about the Eye of Michael?”

“Enough to tell you this is not a path you want to go down.”

“Are you a member?”

“I was.” Still am. Will be one day. He banished the thought to avoid the headache that would come with it. “I’m just here for the fungus. I don’t make a habit of poking around them anymore and neither should you.”

“There’s lives on the line. Look…” Roberto reached for his pocket, moving slowly when he saw Wolfwood tense. All he pulled out was a piece of paper. “Did you see this kid when you were in there?”

He was holding a photo. Wolfwood glanced at it long enough to catch a few details—light hair, dark eyes, gap in the teeth—before forcing his gaze away. “No,” he said.

Roberto kept pushing: “They help bring families into the city, call it charity work, but sometimes they take the kids. His mother reached out to me…”

“Stop.”

“…said they won’t tell her what happened to her son, won’t let her talk to him…”

“I mean it, stop.”

“He’s only twelve. His name is – “

“I don’t care what his name is, and if you’re smart, you’ll forget you ever heard it,” Wolfwood snapped.

Roberto froze. The look on his face wasn’t judgmental; instead, his eyes were full of dread, as if Wolfwood had confirmed something he’d suspected all along. “Do your bosses know you’re doing this?” Wolfwood asked. “Or did they try to stop you from looking? You ever stop to ask yourself why?”

“…the thought’s come up,” Roberto admitted. His jaw was tight; the dread in his eyes was giving way to frustrated fury. “Just answer me this…what are the chances he’s still alive?”

He was asking the wrong question. It would’ve been better to ask what the chances were the kid was still human.

“If he’s lucky, he’s long dead,” Wolfwood said quietly. “Best if you and his mom act like he is. Trust me.”

Roberto stared down at the picture. His hand started to shake. More and more he looked like a man at the end of his rope. Maybe Wolfwood had been there for his final straw, or had put it there himself. He wasn’t sure. Least he could do while he was here was try and keep things from continuing.

“Stop looking,” Wolfwood repeated. He leaned over, picked up the Derringer, and stepped closer to hold it out to Roberto. “You won’t find any justice in this place.”

Roberto took the pistol with his free hand. “…I don’t care what you took,” he said finally. His voice was dark, furious in a way Wolfwood didn’t know the old man was capable of. “Just…get away from the city before someone else notices.”

He didn’t have to tell Wolfwood twice. He slipped past Roberto and out into the streets. Roberto stayed in place, still staring down at the photo.

He’d be seeing that face in his nightmares for a long time. Wolfwood knew from experience.

.

“We should get out of here.” James hadn’t stopped pacing since they left the sewers. “If the military police are involved…”

“You can go if you want. I’m not leaving without Nico.” Vash kept both eyes fixed on the tunnel exit. His hand hovered near his pistol, as if he were waiting for trouble. The intensity in his eyes was almost unsettling. Not unsettling enough to keep Meryl out of her head, though.

Roberto had been military police once. He’d used the same Derringer back then that he’d given to her (would give to her one day) on the elevator. He had a whole life he’d never told her about. Here and now, he was alive.

But one day he’d be dead, and she’d be partly to blame for it.

The sound of a pistol being drawn finally got her attention. A figure emerged from the sewers, climbed down the ladder to the desert floor, and pulled off a mask to reveal Wolfwood. He took a few deep breaths of the night air, seemingly not caring about the residual sewer smell. “It’s sorted,” he said as he approached. “And no, I didn’t shoot him, before you ask – “

Wolfwood was cut off by Vash hugging him tightly. Wolfwood froze in place, eyes wide, expression almost totally unguarded. He looked just as ready to fall apart as Meryl felt.

Which of his own demons had he faced back there?

“…we’ve, uhm…” Wolfwood carefully pushed Vash away from him. His face was back to neutral by the time Vash could see it. “We’ve got to get moving before anyone else notices us.”

“Agreed.” James jumped on the bike and started up the motor impatiently. “My group didn’t go far. I can drop you off on the road and keep going.” As Wolfwood tossed his things into the sidecar, James added, with genuine earnestness, “Thank you.”

Wolfwood didn’t reply.

Meryl and Vash rode behind them on the thomas. For a while, the only sounds were the bike engine and the thomas’s footsteps. Vash the silence first: “He’s probably mad at me, isn’t he?”

“Uh…oh, no, I don’t think…” Meryl struggled to think of something reassuring to say, but her mind was still trapped in memories of the elevator. “If he’s angry at anyone, it’s probably me. I was supposed to stop you.”

Vash hummed, a sound Meryl felt more than heard as she clung to him. “Did you know that man?” Vash asked suddenly.

Meryl was extremely glad Vash couldn’t see her face just then. “I…” How do I even begin to explain this? “It’s…complicated.”

“Because of the portals?”

“Yeah. Because of that.”

Vash hummed again. Fortunately, he didn’t ask any more questions, but Meryl could tell they were coming. Just not now.

She’d have to think of an explanation. Maybe she’d have a chance to run something past Wolfwood before Vash brought it up again. He was more detached from the situation; maybe he could be objective about it.

Catching a glimpse of the blank look on his face made her reconsider that.

James, as promised, stopped to drop Wolfwood off on the road with the town in sight before thanking them again and driving off. Wolfwood stared after him. He was still in the uniform; it looked even more uncomfortable up close. “Take it you missed the part of the note where you two weren’t supposed to follow me,” Wolfwood said finally.

“No, I read it,” Vash said. “I just figured if it were me, you’d follow.”

“Yeah, because you’re an idiot who’d probably get himself shot.”

“That guy literally had a gun pointed at you.”

“Fuck off. I had that.” Wolfwood suddenly started stripping the gloves off. “Why the hell do they dress like this, shit…”

He was definitely agitated. Vash noticed it, too, which was probably why he kept his mouth shut as Wolfwood yanked off the gloves, the suit jacket, the shirt underneath. He was thinner than Meryl had expected—still muscular, he’d have to be from carrying that weapon around, but in a trimmed-down way that men who did hard labor without enough food were. No wonder he ate like he was starving. Was it the chemicals that did that? “You owe me,” Wolfwood said as he grabbed his own shirt and threw it back on. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” Vash said quietly. “I got you more clothes. This is…” He shrugged the black jacket off and held it out. In contrast to Wolfwood, he was much more muscular than you’d expect once he took off the bulky layers. Broad shoulders, well-fed, healthy. It was easy to tell, even with a turtleneck covering most of his body. “…this is for you, actually.”

Wolfwood stared at the jacket, then at Vash, eyes completely baffled without the sunglasses to mask them. “…fucking hell, make me feel like an asshole, why don’t you?” he said incredulously.

Vash started laughing. It had the same air of frantic relief to it as it had before. This time, Wolfwood was the one to step forward and hug him. “I didn’t mean it, Vash, I’m just…”

“But you did do it for me,” Vash said, his voice muffled against Wolfwood’s shoulder.

“I…” Wolfwood met Meryl’s eyes, just for a second, before looking away. “…promised I’d think about what you said…guess I thought about it.”

He didn’t look happy about it. If Meryl had to guess, he’d been clawing and biting and kicking against his better judgment the whole walk to July. But he’d done it anyway. Because he knew it’s what Vash would want.

Wolfwood had still betrayed them, and was still a complete enigma to Meryl in a lot of ways. But looking at him there, knowing that he’d put himself in danger to help Vash in a way…

He looked different than the man she’d hit with the trailer.

“He got me new clothes too, if it makes you feel better,” Meryl said. “You’re not that special.”

Wolfwood snorted. “That does help, actually.” He pulled away from the embrace and snatched his sunglasses off of Vash’s face. “We gonna get back into town before they notice we’re gone?”

“Shoot, yeah, we probably should…” Vash grabbed the thomas’s reins. “C’mon. This way.”

They kept moving as if nothing had happened. That didn’t stop the moment from sticking in Meryl’s mind.

At least it was a more pleasant memory than the one she’d been trapped in.

.

He waited until the others had gone to sleep before trying the clothes on.

It shouldn’t have been nerve-wracking. It was just sturdy work pants, a shirt, the jacket, nothing fancy, all secondhand if the lingering smell of cologne was anything to go by. But it was what Vash thought he would like, what Vash thought he’d actually wear. It was an outfit that Vash thought Nico would wear.

Wolfwood didn’t know what to expect from that.

Everything fit, more or less. The work pants had been black once but had faded into a dark gray. The shirt—long-sleeved, no collar, one of those shirts with only three buttons down the front—was a lighter color, closer-fitting than his usual button-up but still loose enough to be comfortable. Vash had included socks, which almost felt like a passive-aggressive judgment on his usual outfit, but ones Wolfwood planned to wear anyway just to keep his ankle wound clean. He unbuttoned the top button on the shirt before turning to look at his reflection in the bathroom’s full-length mirror.

He wasn’t sure who he was seeing at first. He looked…normal. Like he could be any guy who’d wandered into Hopeland looking for work. He could’ve sworn he looked older, too, though he wasn’t sure how that was possible. Wolfwood tried putting the coat on—long, black, collared—but it didn’t do much to make him look more threatening. The person in the mirror didn’t have blood on his hands or a thousand wounds that should’ve left scars. He was just…

Just…

“Damn it, Vash,” Wolfwood breathed.

He got out of the outfit as quickly as possible, but folded it up slowly and carefully. He crawled back into his cot afterwards, though he knew he wasn’t going to get much sleep. Not with his thoughts rattling around his skull like loose pebbles. If he wasn’t thinking about the Eye or Roberto or how Meryl was holding up after seeing her boss again, he was thinking about the weight of Vash’s embrace, the way his voice shook when he talked.

But you did do it for me.

It felt like a weird thing to say, like there was more to his reaction than the fact that James’ people would get the help they needed. He just couldn’t figure out what.

I mean, I know I said he’d better be grateful for this, but…

The sound of someone moving in the room made him shut his eyes, his body relaxing instinctively into fake sleep. From the lightness of the footsteps, he guessed it was Meryl who slipped out of bed and into the bathroom. Whatever she was up to in there was none of his business, but he found himself keeping an ear out anyway. He could only imagine what kind of shock to the system seeing Roberto again must’ve been for her.

He regretted the move almost instantly, because overhearing the first muffled sob made him feel like absolute shit.

Wolfwood thought about getting up and knocking, but what could he possibly say to her? He’d taken cigarettes off the man’s corpse. Nothing he could say about that mess would comfort her.

But leaving her to cry alone in a hotel bathroom didn’t feel right, either.

As Wolfwood lay there in the dark, frozen with indecision, Meryl made the call for him. He heard the door slip open, the sound of her footsteps, the creaking of the cot as she went back to bed. He didn’t know if she actually slept.

He sure didn’t, though.

.

A new portal didn’t appear for several days

Meryl understood why. Even now that the crisis of fungus distribution was resolved, Vash had a lot on his plate helping out. Bare minimum, he needed someone to tell him when to take a break—or, as Wolfwood’s strategy was on the first day, to wave a sandwich around in front of Vash but refuse to give it to him until he walked away from work to actually eat in peace. “I’ll force-feed you if I have to,” he threatened.

Vash hadn’t fought him. The excitement of the previous night had clearly wiped him out. He’d ended up falling asleep on the floor in their room at dinner, curled up right next to Meryl. “Too bad you don’t have your camera,” Wolfwood said as he moved Vash into his bed. “We could’ve used the photographic evidence next time he wants to complain about resting.”

Despite herself, Meryl smiled. She was worn out, too, though it was more from the still-lingering memories of the future than it was from the actual work. Keeping herself busy had kept a lot of those memories at bay, but she was worried they would hunt her down when she tried to sleep.

She didn’t fall asleep right away, but she wasn’t plagued by nightmares, so she took the win and went back to work.

Things were slightly less hectic the next day. Several people were discharged from treatment, which seemed to life Vash’s spirits. The town wasn’t out of the woods yet, but everyone seemed to think they were headed in a positive direction.

That was also the day Wolfwood taught several kids in the treatment ward what a chaser was by making them shot glassed of chopped up fruit cocktail to down after they took their medicine. Meryl wasn’t sure if that improved or worsened their opinion of him.

“They took their medicine, didn’t they?” Wolfwood pointed out over dinner. He had polished off his serving and was examining the stitches on his ankle wound. “It’s not like I was encouraging them to drink. Just showing them how to make something less gross.”

“A tactic originally invented for drinking,” Meryl retorted.

“Yeah, and cars can be used for transport and as a blunt force weapon. What’s your point?”

“You are never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope.” Wolfwood reached into his pockets and produced a pocket knife. “Listen, one of them has a bartender for a dad. He probably already knows how to make a mixed drink – “

Vash reached over and caught Wolfwood’s wrist. “Don’t just rip those out,” he said, worried.

“What do you think the knife is for?”

“I have scissors, let me…” Vash stood up to get his first aid kit. “You don’t want to get an infection.”

Wolfwood, just for a second, looked like he wanted to make a retort, but bit it back quickly. He did re-pocket the knife, though. “Do you want something for the pain?” Vash asked.

“It’s just stiches. Don’t waste painkillers on me.”

It was a shame Wolfwood had lost the last of his vials; the things may have made Meryl’s skin crawl, but she was sure taking one would be preferable to walking around on a damaged ankle. It didn’t look as bad as she’d expected it to, based off what Wolfwood had told her about it. Maybe he could heal on his own like the white-haired man, just slower.

I wonder if there’s a good way to ask Wolfwood about all of that. She knew a lot more about him now. It wasn’t like he could keep it all a secret forever…

“Are you guys from the future?” Vash asked suddenly.

Meryl froze. Her gaze met Wolfwood’s; he looked just as taken aback as Meryl did. “Uh…” He cleared his throat. “What makes you think that?”

“You knew that man back there, both of you. When I was a kid, Meryl said something about c-cents way before we had currency, and she knew my name. You talk about stuff that doesn’t seem possible from being on a SEEDS ship or being on Earth, and none of you seem really surprised by stuff going on…” He cut free another stitch before looking between the two of them. “So, did the portals bring you from the future?”

Again, Meryl looked to Wolfwood. He looked resigned more than anything. “Better guess than your angel theory,” he grumbled.

“Is that a yes?”

Screw it. He was going to find out the truth one way or another. “We are,” she sighed. Vash’s grin was so bright and triumphant that she couldn’t help smiling back. “What year is it?”

“PE 80.”

“My birthday is…” Meryl froze. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I’m going to be born next year.” Of course, she’d known there was a good chance the portals would bring her to her own lifetime, but now it felt real. “My mom might be pregnant right now.”

Wolfwood barked in laughter. “Hey, maybe we could try finding you next year. See what you looked like as a baby.”

“No. No, we’re not doing that. Ugh, it’s bad enough we…”

Again, Meryl froze, but this time it was from a sense of dread and shame. The mirth fell out of Wolfwood’s eyes as he realized what she was thinking of. Vash quickly caught onto the mood. “That man, was he…family?” he guessed.

Meryl shook her head. “He’s my boss. Will be my boss, in a couple decades. I’m not a police officer in the future, though. I’m a reporter. I don’t know what made him switch careers…he never talked about it.” She set her dinner aside and pulled her knees up to her chest. “I didn’t really know a lot about him, to be honest. He didn’t like talking about himself.”

Wolfwood’s teeth clicked as he flexed his jaw thoughtfully. “He was nosing around powerful people,” he said finally. “If I had to guess, either he got sick of being stonewalled and left, or he got forced out for causing problems. Explains why he didn’t have a high opinion of military police.”

That made sense. Maybe he became a reporter because he thought it would be a different way to get the truth…only to have that not work out for him, if the way he talked about his job was any indication. So many things about him made sense in light of Wolfwood’s theory.

Coward’s a word for the privileged. She understood what he meant now.

“That’s why you said you were with communications,” Vash said suddenly. “Because you’re a reporter. That’s really cool, actually.” He went back to removing Wolfwood’s stitches. “What’s it like in a few decades? Any different?”

“Honestly…not much. Not from what I’ve seen.”

“July’s a little more developed,” Wolfwood said, “but not much has changed since we got all the major towns built. Only so much you can innovate in a place like this, I reckon.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. It’s a miracle we all made it to stable. Expecting too much change in so short a time…” Vash laughed quietly. “It’s funny. Twenty-three seemed so old when I was a kid, but now…”

Meryl glared at him. “You’d better not start treating me like an underclassman or something,” she said.

“I won’t, I won’t, I promise. It’s just funny.” The last of Wolfwood’s stitches was carefully removed, and Vash started cleaning the injuries. “So, do we…know each other? You don’t have to give me any details, just…yes or no.”

Damn it. Meryl had a feeling he already knew the answer, especially when Wolfwood had told him the portals were Plant-related. It was just a matter of how many details he wanted…how many details were safe to give. “Yes,” she said carefully.

Vash nodded thoughtfully. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll act surprised in a few decades, I promise. Don’t want to ruin a good thing.” He looked between the two of them again and smiled. “Guess that explains why you keep finding me.”

“You’re taking this really well.”

“Like I said, a good thing. I mean, it is for me…” Vash stared morosely at Wolfwood’s ankle. “…I know, this is probably confusing for you. I’m sorry…”

“No, no, don’t be. It’s not your fault.” Which was arguably not true, but Meryl wasn’t going to hold what happened against Vash. She wasn’t even sure he’d known what he was doing. “I’m happy to help. You’re my friend.”

“And you’d probably be dead without us.” Wolfwood tousled Vash’s hair hard enough to make it stick up. “This isn’t even the worst thing to happen to me, so quit looking at me like you killed my dog.”

Vash’s smile came back as he smoothed down his hair. “I’d do the same for you guys, for whatever it’s worth,” he said. “Though you’re probably involved in less nonsense than I am.”

“I was. I don’t know about him,” Meryl said. The sudden, serious look on Wolfwood’s face made her uncomfortable. She pushed on: “I mean, unless you wanted to help me with my advanced classes.”

“I am known to read a math book for fun sometimes.” Wolfwood made a disbelieving noise. “What? Math can be fun. It’s like a puzzle.”

“I say again,” Wolfwood said, “I am the only normal person in this group.”

That was probably the least true thing he could’ve said, but Meryl decided to let him have this one.

.

Sad thing was, this wasn’t even the first time he’d dreamed about someone trying to kill him.

Suffocation was a new one, he’d give his brain that. But it wasn’t the hands around his throat that made him feel chilled and anxious when he woke up. It was the memory of what was suffocating him. Two sets of hands, one holding him down, one wrapped around his throat, feathers that glinted like steel, a pair of eyes that stared down bright and burning, like looking directly into the sun. He tried to grasp more details as he lay in bed, breathing slowly to calm himself, but those eyes drowned out everything else.

Is this about the fungus? he thought blearily. Because I don’t think I should be punished for that. It was stealing for a good cause, honest…

He rolled over in bed, and nearly jumped out of his skin. “Shit - !”

Vash yelped quietly and fell back onto his ass. Both of them froze immediately, staring at Meryl’s bed. She rolled over, mumbled something in her sleep, and stilled again. She wasn’t the deepest sleeper he’d ever met, but she must’ve learned to sleep through the odd noise while they were on the road.

Which was good, because Wolfwood had questions.

“Were you watching me sleep?!” Wolfwood hissed.

Vash’s mouth opened, then shut again as he looked away. Wolfwood could see how embarrassed he was. “…only for a few seconds,” he admitted.

“…is this…a recurring thing with you, or…?”

“I had a nightmare.”

So did I. And rolling over to see Vash’s eyes staring at him had been the shock of his life when those sunlight eyes were still so bright and searing in his mind. Vash’s weren’t so harsh, though; more like the glow of a full moon. Freaky as shit that they glowed at all, but Vash’s quiet tone of voice was more important in the moment. “I haven’t died on you,” Wolfwood grumbled, “if that’s what you’re worried about. C’mere.”

Vash got up carefully and sat down on the edge of the cot. Wolfwood pulled himself up into a seated position and wrapped a blanket around the both of them. Vash leaned against him immediately. He’d removed his prosthetic arm, which left him looking more vulnerable. Small. “Do you want to talk about it?” Wolfwood asked.

“Not really.” Vash’s eyes half-closed. He sounded tired, looked tired. “I was…thinking about my brother again. Guess it bled over.”

“Have you tried not doing that?”

“I can’t help it.” Vash glanced down at his intact hand. “Don’t know why I bother trying to understand him. He hasn’t exactly been reciprocating lately.”

The bitter tone in his voice brought a lot of mixed emotions. It was good he was seeing sense, but it obviously hurt him. “He hasn’t tried to talk to you again, has he?” Wolfwood asked.

“No, not since he killed all those people. Sometimes I think…I think I can feel him watching me when I’m helping a Plant. Or when I’m dreaming. But he hasn’t tried to talk to me. I wonder if…” Vash scoffed quietly. “…if that’s him trying to punish me. I’ll be pissed if it is, because…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Wolfwood could guess the ending: It’s working. He might not be able to comprehend how Vash could still love Knives after everything he’d done, but he could get how being frozen out of knowing what he was up to would feel. It’d be nice if they could somehow get someone else to put the guy under 24/7 surveillance. That way they’d know for sure if he was up to something or just playing the piano somewhere like a dramatic jackass.

“I almost wish he’d just hunt me down and get it over wi – “

Before Wolfwood could make a very valid protest, something flew across the room and hit Vash in the face. “Do not talk like that,” Meryl said.

Ah, shit. Guess she was awake enough to eavesdrop. Not that Wolfwood minded this time; she’d said everything he’d wanted to say, and with a hat to the face to cap it all off (pun intended). Vash frowned at it before putting it on. “This is my hat now, if you’re going to be like that,” he said.

“Don’t dodge my point,” Meryl grumbled. She crawled out of bed with her blanket wrapped around her and sat down next to Vash. Funny thing; her bedhead, barely open eyes, and blanket cloak making her look smaller did not make her look less fearsome. If anything, she looked cranky and uninhibited enough to bite, if she had to. “There’s got to be something you can think about that isn’t Nai. You can’t let him win by living rent-free up there.”

“She’s got a point,” Wolfwood said. “And not the sick people, either. You’re gonna drive yourself crazy if that’s all you can think about.”

Vash nodded. It was quiet for a moment, but then he straightened up. “Do you guys drink?” he asked.

“Yes,” Wolfwood said. “I have no idea where you’re going with this, but I’m in.”

Meryl sighed. “Honestly, I think we all deserve one at this point,” she said. “I’m in, too…” She yawned. “As long as it’s tomorrow.”

“Perfect,” Vash said, and his smile seemed genuine. “Tomorrow’s perfect.”

.

More people were getting better. Things were still going smoothly. It was enough to put Meryl in a good mood as they walked to the one open bar in town…until they actually stepped inside.

She’d expected the place to be either packed to the gills or abandoned. It was the latter, and she had a feeling the display board behind the bar had something to do with it. It seemed like the people in charge had decided to prevent drunken mishaps during a pandemic by putting multiple restrictions on alcohol consumption. Only healthy non-doctors could drink, and not enough to get anything worse than mildly buzzed. She didn’t disagree with the rules in theory, and she hadn’t intended to have too much herself, but the duo of police officers watching the room like overzealous hall monitors did put a damper on the atmosphere.

“Well, this is sad,” Wolfwood said flatly.

“They’re the only place in town that’s still selling alcohol,” Vash said apologetically. “They make their own whiskey, though. It’s pretty good.”

“I’ll try that, then. Meryl?”

 She shrugged. “The same.” It all tasted the same to her, really. Might as well just go along with popular consensus.

“I don’t know how the ice machine is doing, so it’ll have to be neat. You guys grab a table, I’ll be right back.” Vash jogged to the bar. The person behind the bar, who had so little to do he was reading a book, did seem to be welcoming, so that was a good sign. Meryl picked a table nearby, with Wolfwood following close behind her.

“I did my first interview with him in a bar,” she said quietly.

“No shit? How’d that go?”

“He told me that his evil twin who looks exactly like him was the one actually stealing Plants and that he was completely innocent…so you can imagine how I felt at the time.”

Wolfwood snorted as he sat down. “It does sound like bullshit until you’re actually living it.”

“That wasn’t even the wildest part. The entire town tried to take him in for the reward money before I could finish the interview, right after he’d saved them from the place being scatter-bombed. And the Nebraskas showed up in the middle of all that. Then E.G. the Mine, then Knives…then you three days later…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did you know him at all?”

Wolfwood tensed for a second before glancing Vash’s way. He was still at the bar, chatting with the bartender and looking more relaxed than she’d seen him all day. “Who, Hamilton? I heard other people bitching about him, but that’s it. I had shit going on, didn’t really pay much attention.” His eyes met hers, hard and defensive. “And don’t ask, because it’ll put me in a bad mood and I think Vash needs us normal right now.”

He was right about Vash, but it was still annoying. Meryl mentally filed that away for later and looked back Vash’s way.  He was walking back over with a tray holding three glasses of a light brown drink and a basket with some kind of fritters. “Here we are,” he said as he set down the tray and took the last chair. “Careful, those are hot. What are you guys talking about?”

“Dive bars we have known and loved,” Wolfwood said as he picked up one of the glasses. “Or ones that weren’t worth the trouble.”

“Because they were expensive or because you ended up getting shot at?”

“Mostly the second one.” Wolfwood distributed the rest of the glasses before holding his up. “Cheers.”

Vash lifted his with a smile. “To all of us being here, and to conflict resolution.”

“Here, here,” Meryl agreed as she lifted hers. The clink of their glasses tapping together still managed to sound cheerful, even with how empty the bar was. The first sip of the whiskey was about what she’d expected based off the sip she’d taken from Roberto’s flask: harsh, filling her mouth with a stinging sensation, but weirdly with a taste that reminded her of a wood campfire. Wolfwood looked taken aback. “Oh,” he said, “that’s not paint thinner. Damn.” He took another sip. “I get it now.”

Vash beamed as he took another sip. “I told you. What was the first drink you ever had? Mine was wine. Luida let me try a little when they managed to make some back home. I didn’t really get the appeal back then.”

“It was beer for me,” Meryl said. “Well…part of one. My dad let me try a glass halfway through high school. He said other kids my age were starting to drink, and that I should at least know what it tastes like and how it makes me feel while I was somewhere safe. I didn’t finish it…or go to any parties after that, but I appreciated the thought.”

Wolfwood shrugged. “Beer for me, too. Couple bottles I got at a general store. Tasted like piss, but it did the trick.” He took another sip. Meryl thought she saw his eyes go distant, just for a second, but he recovered before she could read into it too much. “Shame they’ll probably arrest me if I have more of this. Better than the beer.”

“Maybe I’ll buy a bottle when this blows over and hold onto it for next time. Give us something to look forward to.” Vash’s gaze slid across the room. “Something nice, you know?”

There was a piano in the corner. It looked like it hadn’t been played in a while. Meryl thought back to Vash playing on Ship Three, how happy it seemed to make him. She wondered when he’d played last. Wolfwood must have been wondering the same thing, because he leaned over and whispered, “You thinking about livening the place up?”

Vash hesitated. His fingers drummed against the side of the glass before he took another sip. “It’s been a while,” he admitted. “I might be out of practice.”

“You’re probably still better equipped to play than anyone else here.”

“Or on the whole planet,” Meryl added. About 130 years of even sporadic practice was probably more than most people got. “I’m sure no one will mind.”

Vash took another sip, one that went on until he’d basically drained the glass. “Okay,” he said as he stood. “But if I embarrass myself, I’m blaming you two.”

“That’s the spirit,” Wolfwood said with a grin. He lifted his glass in salute. “Go get ‘em.”

One of the police officers watched the exchange warily, then started giving Vash the stink eye as he sat down and started playing careful strings of notes. “Is he allowed to do that?” he asked.

“I didn’t see anything on the rule board,” Wolfwood shot back. “Or are you just the fun police?”

The bartender waved them off. “Eh, just let him. I don’t know how well that thing plays – “

The next notes to come flying out of Vash’s hands, so suddenly and with such enthusiasm, made everyone shut up immediately. It took Meryl a moment to recognize the tune, but she broke into a grin when she did. It was “Rhapsody in Blue”, though a different version of it than she remembered from before. It sounded more complicated than the one he’d played as a kid. Despite him saying that he was out of practice, he was good. He made fewer mistakes than she remembered, recovered well from the ones he did make, and played with more confidence the longer the song went on. His arm glinted in the light as he played, and Meryl saw a flash of teeth as he smiled.

It was so joyful. Even Wolfwood seemed to feel it; when Meryl glanced his way, he was watching Vash’s hands, looking transfixed by how fluidly they moved. Hands that could kill, Meryl thought, but chose not to. Hands that seemed so much happier and better suited to something like this.

Vash played the last notes of the song. They drifted through the air like a cool breeze on a hot day. Someone started applauding, then a lot of people joined in. Mery looked around the room. Occupancy had more than doubled. People passing by must have heard the music and stopped to listen. Vash looked startled, then bashful. “Uh…hi, everyone,” he said.

“Play another,” someone called. “Please?”

Murmurs of agreement swept over the room. Vash met Meryl and Wolfwood’s eyes. She nodded encouragingly while Wolfwood called, “You heard them! Another!”

Vash’s blush deepened, but he turned back to the keys. “Another one, then,” he said.

Except this time, he didn’t just play. After a brief stretch of notes, Vash started singing, too.

When are you gonna come down? When are you gonna land? I should have stayed on the farm, I should have listened to my old man…

Meryl didn’t know that one. She wondered if it was like Rhapsody in Blue, something so ancient that even its composer’s grandchildren were dead, but kept alive by others and brought into the stars. Vash definitely knew it well, singing each note without hesitation.

I’m not a present for your friends to open, this boy’s too young to be singing the blues…

Maybe this song had been sung the same way once, in a bar with a dusty old piano, as a small shelter against the storm outside. Humans couldn’t be that different than they once were, after all, and while Vash wasn’t actually human, this could be something universal. The real bridge between humans and Plants.

Who didn’t love music?

Oh, I’ve finally decided my future lies beyond the yellow brick road…

The people at the table next to theirs were smiling ear to ear. Wolfwood leaned over to her. “Reckon this is one of the only times people have been happy to have Vash the Stampede in their bar,” he whispered.

It was a good point—sad, yes, but true. Meryl wished more people knew about this Vash, and that money wasn’t such a heavy motivator to turn on him.

Before she could reply, Meryl noticed a change in the music. Instead of stopping, Vash flowed into a new song with ease.

Once there was a way to get back homeward…

Did she know this one? She felt like she did, but she couldn’t place where she’d heard it before. Meryl leaned over the table and listened closely.

Golden slumbers fill your eyes, smiles await you when you rise…

She’d definitely heard this one. Somewhere on the road, but not on the radio. And she didn’t think it was from Vash, either. That left Roberto and…

Wolfwood had a distant look in his eyes, but not a painful one. When Vash glanced over his shoulder and smiled at them, Wolfwood smiled back almost thankfully.

Wolfwood. She’d heard Wolfwood hum it before. What came next in the song confirmed it.

Boy, you’re gonna carry that weight, carry that weight a long time…

She’d definitely heard Wolfwood hum that. Her clearest memory of it was on the ship, after the sand steamer. Wolfwood had been leaning against the wall, his eyes closed, picking at his cuticles and humming to himself in almost the same self-soothing way Vash did.

Boy, you’re gonna carry that weight…

“Carry that weight a long time.”

Meryl’s eyes widened. He was singing along, but not in the off-key, noisy way she remembered from the future. His voice was a bit rough, sure, nothing like Vash’s crystal-clear and pitch perfect performance, but in a way the roughness covered for other flaws. There was something oddly comforting about it, even if it wasn’t traditionally “good.” She understood why Vash liked it.

Wolfwood met her eyes. For a second, she was worried he’d stop, but he just smiled a bit sheepishly and kept singing.

“You’re gonna carry that weight, carry that weight a long time…”

Meryl smiled back.

Just when she thought the song was about to wind down, Vash’s playing suddenly shifted, becoming more upbeat.

Oh yeah, all right, are you gonna be in my dreams tonight?

Wolfwood straightened up. “What?” Meryl asked.

It’s…I forgot how this part went. Been trying to remember for…” He shook his head. “Shit.”

I love you, love you, love you, love you…

It was another moment of raw openness from Wolfwood—one hand pressed over his mouth but unable to hide a smile, disbelief and happiness in his dark eyes. She didn’t know the details that would lead to him looking that way over a song, but…

Did it really matter?

No, Meryl decided as she had the last of her whiskey. No, she could let this one stay a mystery for now.

And in the end, the love you take, is equal to the love you make.

.

It was especially cold that night, but that didn’t stop Wolfwood from sitting on inn’s front porch.

He didn’t think about his parents all that often. His way of dealing, he guessed. They were dead and buried and he’d never gotten the chance to really know them. Tragic, but a lot of people could say the same. No sense in crying about it.

But hearing that part of the song had unearthed some vague half-memory buried by the sands of time and the heaps of bullshit he’d lived through with his uncle. It was grainy, faded like an old photograph, but…they’d danced to that song together, he was sure of it. Him held in Mom or Dad’s arms, one or both of them singing it aloud.

I love you.

He’d been held once. Loved once. Logically, he knew that, but the gap he felt between that ancient memory and himself felt as wide as the gap between his current self and the boy he’d been the day he was taken away. Maybe even wider. Someone like him—Nicholas the Punisher—couldn’t have ever been that innocent. He couldn’t have been…

The door creaked open behind him. “You could’ve at least brought your jacket if you’re going to brood,” Meryl said.

Wolfwood glanced over his shoulder. She and Vash were standing in the doorway. “Physical discomfort makes the whole thing broodier,” he responded. “Or something like that.”

“If I said that, you’d tell me I was being stupid,” Vash pointed out.

“Don’t use logic on me.” Whatever bite Wolfwood was able to put in those words wasn’t enough to scare the two of them off. Meryl draped Wolfwood’s coat over his shoulders; Vash supplemented it with a blanket over both their shoulders as he sat down next to him. “What, we all gonna freeze now?”

“No, silly. That’s what the blanket is for.” Vash grinned at him and held up the other side of the blanket to let Meryl in. “No more brooding. We’re stargazing now.”

Wolfwood didn’t bother protesting. There wasn’t going to be any talking Vash out of this and he knew it. He was a little surprised Meryl had gotten involved, but it may have just been to make Vash happy.

That or she had picked up on something at the bar and was hoping for answers. But if that was her end goal, she could keep dreaming. He wasn’t going to give up anything any time soon.

They huddled together under the stars, not saying anything, shielded from the cold by Vash’s blanket and shared body heat. Wolfwood tried not to relax too much, but the drowsiness of a long few days and the warmth started to get to him. He leaned against Vash and let his eyes drift half-shut.

It wasn’t enough to make him forget what he was—a monster who didn’t deserve this softness—but it was the closest to forgetting that he’d come in a long time.

.

The sound of someone knocking on the door dragged her out of sleep, but the quiet yelp and very loud sound of something hitting the floor was what really woke her.

Meryl sat up straight. Wolfwood was upright too, scrambling for his rifle. Vash was sprawled on the floor, shirtless and down an arm. Someone knocked again. “Mr. Vash, sir?” called a voice. “Are you up?”

“Is…that one of the nurses?” Meryl asked hesitantly. It sounded like one of them, but sleep was still clouding her mind. For all she knew, she was still dreaming.

“Yeah, that’s…Nico, put the gun down…that’s Sally.” Vash rolled onto his back and jumped to his feet. “Hold on!” He put a shirt on before opening the door and stepping outside. “What’s up?”

He shut the door as Sally replied, plunging the room back into silence and darkness. Wolfwood put his rifle back down with an irate grumble and pulled the blankets over his head. Meryl thought about laying down, too, but her curiosity won out over how tired she was. She carefully slipped out of bed and walked to the door. If she lay down with her ear near the gap, she could just hear the conversation on the other side.

“…should be able to supply enough for a round trip. I know it’s a bit out of the way, but it will get everything to us faster.”

“I can do it,” Vash replied. “I’ll check with the others, but they should be okay to help, too.”

“Thank you. I know it’s a lot to ask, but…”

“I said I wanted to help, right? If this helps, it’s not a lot at all.” Meryl could picture the look on Vash’s face: calm, gentle eyes, a small smile, the same look he’d worn in Jeneora Rock when he told the Nebraskas there was no reason not to help. “It can wait a bit longer, right? I don’t think I’ll be able to get Nico out of bed just yet.”

“That’s fine. We still have to finish gathering the supplies anyway/ Thank you, Vash.”

“You’re welcome.” The sound of footsteps was her clue to get out of the way of the door. Vash looked surprised to see her standing there, then sheepish. “Sorry…”

“It’s okay. What was that about? What did they need?”

“Another town has supplies they’re willing to share, but they can’t send them out right away. They wanted to know if the three of us would go get them instead. Is that okay?”

“I’m game.” Meryl yawned. “Especially if they’re letting me sleep a bit more.”

“Yeah, go back to sleep. I’ll let you know if they come back before you’re up.”

“Are you going to sleep?”

“I got enough last night, promise. I’m going to finish these exercises.” He smiled and shrugged. “I didn’t get so good at surviving without work.”

That made sense. He’d nurtured his physical strength and his aim the same way he’d nursed his piano playing: consistently over one hundred years. Maybe that was part of the reason he could do the things he did, if not the whole reason. Millions Knives had been able to do horrible things, hold his own in a fight against Vash, but he used his Plant powers—those awful knives of his a lot more—more than Vash did. If it came down to just strength…

Vash would win, Meryl decided as she crawled back into bed. She might not know for sure, and she was definitely biased, but she was pretty sure Vash would win.

Meryl dozed off another few hours. She woke up to the smell of sugar and the sound of Wolfwood’s whining. “Five more minutes.”

“You said that twenty minutes ago,” Vash replied.

“I’m being singled out. Go bully Meryl.”

“Meryl wakes up on her own.” Something thudded against the floor. “C’mon, I have doughnuts!”

Meryl finally opened her eyes at the mention of food. Vash was waving one of said doughnuts in front of the blanket lump where, presumably, Wolfwood’s head was. Whenever Wolfwood reached out to take it, Vash pulled it just out of reach. “No you don’t. You’ll get crumbs in the sheets.”

Wolfwood flipped him off. Meryl rolled her eyes. “I’ll take it,” she said as she got out of bed. She thought she heard Wolfwood mumble the words bullying me, but chose to ignore it. “Did you tell him?”

“If he’d stop being so lazy, I would.”

“Tell me about what?” Wolfwood’s face poked out from the blankets. “What’s happening now?”

“They want me to go pick up some supplies from another town. They’re going to provide enough supplies for the three of us if you guys want to go, too. You can stay and wait for me to come back, but  - “

“You think I’m letting you out of my sight? With your track record?” Wolfwood finally sat up. “Until we get another…” He glanced towards the door before he looked at Vash again and held out his hand. “…I’m gonna just assume there’s bullshit around every corner.”

Vash chuckled and passed Wolfwood a fresh doughnut. “I guess that’s fair.”

By the time she and Wolfwood had eaten breakfast and gotten properly dressed, Sally had come back with news that the supplies were ready and packed up in a thomas cart. Even with the weight of a few doughnuts and a pretty good cup of tea in her stomach, Meryl wasn’t sure she was ready for whatever the trip ahead would bring.

She didn’t have to worry about it for too long, though. They found a new portal not too long after clearing the town.

“So much for bullshit around every corner,” Vash said. He looked disappointed again, though a little less so than last time. “At least I’ll have plenty of time to think of an excuse for where you guys went.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own?” Meryl asked. She didn’t know what the long-term ramifications of delaying re-entry were, if any, but she didn’t like the idea of leaving Vash alone in the middle of an errand.

“I’ll be okay. I figure this means I need you more in the future.” He looked between them with a sad smile. “I’ll miss you both, though.”

“Sap,” Wolfwood muttered, though he reached over to tousle Vash’s hair as he said it.

They only took enough from their share of the supplies to top off what they already had, leaving the rest for Vash to take back to town. Hugs were given, and Wolfwood’s lighter changed hands again. “Don’t use us not being here as an excuse to be stupid,” Wolfwood said. “If I step outta that thing and it’s only a few days from now, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“I won’t, I promise.” Vash gave them both one last fond look. “I’ll see you later.”

How much later and in how much trouble was the question. Meryl hoped they were ready for whatever it was.

And, she thought as she stepped through, I hope I don’t have any ghosts follow me this time.

.

sources cited: songs quoted in this chapter are "goodbye yellow brick road" by elton john and "golden slumbers/carry that weight/the end" by the beatles. this post (and i feel like there was another one but i can't find it) was also influential on the chapter.

[dont-leafmealone]

Tysm for the tag @juniperhillpatient!

10 Characters 10 Fandoms (roughly) 10 Tags

Jet (Avatar: The Last Airbender) - y'all already knew he was gonna be on here, I am unable to resist the allure of a tragic anti-hero. He's a single mom. He's a war criminal. He's always chewing a stupid piece of wheat and Y'know what? He makes it work.

Lucy Gray Baird (The Hunger Games/Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes) - my bestie my girlie <3 I love a gal who's the main character in a murder ballad and knows it. Broke President Snow's heart. Fashion icon. The Appalachian rep we all deserve <3

Anathema Device (Good Omens) - I love witch characters and Anathema is possibly the coolest one. Environmentalist queen. Unfortunately tied to the most Boring dude in the history of literature and television but what are you gonna do. Wears wool dresses! Rides a bike! Is nice to kids!

James Norrington (Pirates of the Carribbean) - I was obsessed with this character for a while. I named a Minecraft villager after him. I cried when the Minecraft villager died. All things considered I like Will and Elizabeth slightly more but they're two people so James is the tiebreaker <3

Aunt Zelda Heap (Septimus Heap) - This is a lady who eats cabbage and nothing else. Who has a cat who is a duck (or vice versa). She wears a giant quilted dress and lives in a swamp and brews magical potions and I want her life so bad.

Max Mayfield (Stranger Things) - MAX! my sweetie pie max <3 I love her so much. She's such a brat, she reminds me a lot of my little sister who I don't always get along with but love a whole lot. She's very cool, first person to introduce El to the concept of autonomy which we love her for, AND she gets to date Lucas (who's really Goals as a partner, if I could I would count him here too).

Blue Sargent (The Raven Cycle) - I don't know how to articulate how I feel about Blue exactly, like. her whole backstory is amazing (being raised in a house full of lady psychics while NOT being psychic herself but having Other abilities) and then she just gets looped into the weirdest plot possible and just hangs with it like a pro. Lot of respect <3 also every outfit she wears in the books seems like exactly something I'd wear.

Percy Jackson (Percy Jackson and the Olympians) - God, I love this kid so much. The narration of those books is peak, Rick Riordan put so much PERSONALITY into Percy and he's just. Such a cute kid. He loves his mom and wants nothing more than for her to be safe. He's quippy and very funny and he knows it. He's genuinely scary at times. Amazing character.

Ravi Singh (A Good Girl's Guide To Murder) - honestly such a good sport, if some girl turned up at my door and started grilling me about the murders my brother supposedly committed I would NOT handle it that well. He's a sweet and caring guy, a good boyfriend, funny, and also helps solve murders. Very cool 👍

Grace Chasity (Starkid's Hatchetverse) - A literal bible-thumping puriteen in a way that's genuinely so funny. Manslaughter? A-ok. Dismembering a body? Sure. Terrorizing summer camp with an axe? Why not! Carrying someone's books before marriage? Showering naked?? Smoking weed??? You're literal satan! She's so funny and I would genuinely hate her irl but as a character she's amazing (and Angela Giarratana KILLS her performance it's amazing).

i tag: @prodogg @peony-pearl @futuristicrenaisancebeliever @feruchemical @clearancecreedwatersurvival @haboat @juhanis-litterbox @im-smart-i-swear @takingback-thepenguin

And anyone else who wants to participate! (And if I tagged you don't feel pressured I just tagged everyone I could remember -)

[061801]

joel dying has changed my life and so far it hasn’t been in good ways. It’s made me a little more gentle and has started to make me think twice about saying things like I hope someone dies because I see the impact it makes on friends and family and I wouldn’t wish that on anybody, not even my biggest enemy. As if everything didn’t already remind me of you, it sure does now. Everything. Literally everything. Don’t get me started on being in the east end. The amount of times we went downtown. Hell the dinner my boyfriend and I when to last night reminded me of you because we sat in the exact booth I sat with you at last. Every time I see a Cadillac, a song about drinking whiskey, certain rap songs that you showed me, even just the colour red will always make me think of you. The brand Tommy Hilfiger because at one point you literally refused to wear anything if it wasn’t Tommy. When I’m in the east end I see little Caesar’s where we started talking right next to our high school, the park where we would chill, the villages where your dad lives and where Michael lived and we would go hangout. We also walked your dog diamond together. We smoked a bucket with Lucas and Michael too right before your mom picked us up. A&W when your mom owned it and you got your first job. Whenever I was hungry we would go there and get food. Going down central road I remember you working at central stamping and my apartment was down the road so you were able to sleep in longer staying at my house. In the west end I think of being at your moms and you teaching me how to skateboard (I didn’t ever actually learn lol), we got ice cream at buskers, I had dinner at your moms house and we walked over to fireworks, kirils house, for some reason we hung out on the train tracks before I got to see my mom for the first time in 2 or 3 years and we smoked the absolute worst rolled joints ever lol.

I’m really sad you’re gone :( I’m really sad that we weren’t on good terms when you passed. Sometimes I think it may be for the best though because I could’ve been the one to find you like that, I could’ve been included, and if we were talking at the time and this happened I don’t think I would’ve been able to live with myself. So I am at least grateful there was a bit of a disconnect between us because the pain I feel already is unbearable. It’s also really hard sometimes because I’ll get bad dreams of us fighting, or unfortunately I’ll remember some things he’s done or said during fights and I feel really upset. I wish we had had a conversation after our last fight. Even though I’m totally in the right for how I felt that night.

The condition my mental health was in when you came into my life was destroyed and I feel like I loved you even more than a healthy person should because I was basically trying to replace my parents and siblings with you. I had nothing, and you and your mom showed me fun things like going out to your trailer which reminds me, leamington and camp grounds in general now remind me of you too because I have never went camping with anybody else. I’ve had a very black and white life with nothing much to it and him and his family gave me some of the first feelings of true happiness I’ve ever felt in my life. I’ve never been able to let go of it. So as toxic as it was to be with him, I get extremely defensive when people ask me why I care so much? It’s insulting. It feels like it at least. Normally I’m able to convince myself in a few months or even a year from now I’ll be out of this situation. But this I will simply never get over. We dated for like 8 months and i never got over it, that was 8 years ago. I’m willing to admit I have some mental issues so that plays into why I was so determined to try and make it work but towards the end I had disconnected from him the most I ever had before because I was just over putting in 1000% for someone who would just go betray me shortly after. To say I was over him tho? lol as if. A week or 2 prior there was a Joel on our reservations at work and I had to find out if it was you because I got nervous. It wasn’t and even tho I didn’t wanna see you on a date with someone else I did kind of want to look at you while you sat there. Point being as much of a roller coaster it was being with him, I could never get enough of it.

[miss-kittyy]

Rewriting Briarlight and Longtail’s Deaths

So I am disabled, like very disabled, I am %50 of the teenagers ever diagnosed with my special combination of pain disorders, and I also unfortunately hyper fixated on warrior cats, which is bad news for me because warrior cats is super ableist, and to add insult to injury, the fandom can also be pretty ableist.

My biggest problem with the majority of “anti-ableist” AUs is that they “fix” the ableism stemming from the narrative and able bodied characters by making the disabled character less disabled, this so bad for many reasons. I’ve talked more about in other posts. The justification that real life disabled cats are less doesn’t make it not ableist, since when was warrior cats meant to be realistic? If you’re making an au where the disabled cats function like actual disabled cats you also have to make all the cats genetically accurate, and retcon Lionblaze lifting a tree.

My problem with warrior cats is not that the disabled characters cannot become full conventional warriors, I’d like it if they got to choose what duties the perform instead of being crammed into the medicine den, but I don’t care about Cinderpelt not being able to complete a marathon. Most of the fandom seems to think the issue is that the disabled character are not useful enough, instead of the way that able bodied characters deny of them agency and make remarks like “you wouldn’t want to return to a life like her’s would you?”. Disabled people do not need to be “useful” to be worthy and empowering.

It’s very obvious that most of the fandom just wants the disabled cats to be more palatable to abled bodied people, so I’ve decided to make my own rewrite instead to hopefully make myself feel better. A lot of these things are inspired by my own experiences and not every disabled person is looking for the same things in representation, this is totally self indulgent.

The goal of this AU is to highlight the many unique and valuable aspects disability and how being disabled does not infringe upon anyone’s worth, ever.

- Longtail doesn’t die in the storm, Briarpaw is still injured, but he’s found besides her, trying his best to help her cling to life.

- after Briarpaw begins to recover he stands up to Millie and other cats insulting her quality of life, he says her journey will be hard, but it is one worth taking.

- She asks him why he’s an elder, and he decides to request to have his warrior ship restored as Briarpaw is dreading the life of an elder.

- On his first patrol the cats accompanying him insist on speaking to him in an incredibly infantilism tone, and whispering amongst themselves over what he can or can’t do, without consulting him,

- He initially gives up on patrolling after that insufferable experience.

- Briarlight begins to create marks and blobs on the wall of the medicine den using crushed up dead herbs she asks him to retrieve some berries for her, and he complies.

- Jayfeather shows him how he navigates the territory with the help of some of the sighted cats, and Mousefur is quick to volunteer as his guide. He finds her company surprisingly empowering. He realizes that it was not his blindness which was limiting his abilities, but the other cats attitudes.

- Mousefur and Longtail return with mouthful of berries and herbs, Briarlight describes to him what she’s drawing on the side of the den and he helps he mound the materials into paint.

- The cats begin to pop into the medicine den to see Briarlights painting and soon Jayfeather has to kick her out occasionally so they’d stop crowding him, she’s given the walls of camp to decorate instead.

- She begins to illustrate Longtails stories of the old territory and Bloodclan, and this new form of storytelling becomes a tradition amongst Thunderclan.

- because more young cats are aware of the clans history it becomes harder for the dark forest to recruit them, unfortunately, Blossomfall’s resentment towards her sister means she never cared to listen.

- Ivypool is still recruited and trained like in canon, given her relationship with the dark forest was much more emotionally charged and manipulative than just plain lies.

- at a gathering Longtail meets Grasspelt who inquires about Briarlight, Longtail is surprised about how little he knows as the she-cat had mentioned how well they got along as apprentices. Despite Millie nagging him not to tell him the truth about her daughter he does anyways, but puts much more emphasis on how well she’s doing than Millie expected. Grasspelt thinks this sounds really cool and decides that he is going to see her and her paintings, and that nobody can stop him. Longtail makes sure to put any opposing cat in their place, but Briarlight is a very respected Clanmate, so most warriors don’t say anything.

- Briarlight is nervous and doesn’t want to come out of the medicine den at first, but when Grassheart darts into the den holding berries and flowers for her to paint with she quickly warms up to her visitor.

- Grassheart is happy to tell Briarlight that he’s never been able to be a “functioning” warrior, and that he has always imagined that his spirit is shaped different, the medicine cat says his body is normal, but he’s never been able to keep focus in a fight or react as quickly as he should be able to while hunting. (He’s autistic because I say so)

- As dusk nears he’s visually hesitant to return to Riverclan and when Longtail inquires on why he says that he hasn’t felt so “here” for a long time. On the way back he wanders off and comes back with a chipmunk, when returning to Riverclan territory his father, Mintfur, is shocked to see his catch. After talking with his family a bit he realizes that it was the noise from the river that was making him so tense and dissociated, Brackenfur, who was escorting him, notices that he keeps rubbing himself on the ground and wincing.

- For the next couple moons Grasspelt returned to Thunderclan to bring Briarlight plants that only grow in Riverclan territory, he begins trying to fish from the quite lazy stream in their territory and soon both him and Briarlight have got it down.

- Longtail notices the sadness present whenever Grasspelt left and exclaims that it’s rather stupid that he’s living somewhere so unsuited for him just because of words long repeated.

- Grasspelt confesses that he feels the same, but knew he wasn’t supposed to say anything. Briarlight tells Longtail that her and the Riverclan warrior had been thinking of each other as mates for moons.

- Longtail accompanies Jayfeather to the next half moon meeting where he proposes his addition to the warrior code, “no cat should be confined to laws which harm them due to an inherent physical or spiritual difference.” (Cats don’t really know how brains work, so they see mental disabilities as a difference within a cats spirit)

- A moon later the leaders meet to discuss this proposition, it is accepted and Grasspelt makes the journey to Thunderclan for the final time.

- Grasspelt is renamed Grassspirit when becoming a Thunderclan warrior, unlike prior renaming of disabled cats this is a celebration.

- Grassspirit spends most of his time taking care of the elders and kits, he’s incredibly compassionate especially with kits and is able to solve many problems within the nursery.

- When twigkit and Violetkit arrive in Thunderclan Briarlight and Grassspirit help raise them, after Violetkit is taken Briarlight and Twigkit paint her on the side of Thunderclan camp.

- Briarlight still gets sick and her illness progresses without any treatment, Grassspirit notices her trying to hide it and when Longtail finds out he’s very upset. Jayfeather frantically treats her, expressing his frustration that she didn’t tell them sooner, the second Millie steps out she breaks down and explains that she just wanted to deal with it herself, and perhaps if she were successful Millie would finally treat her like an adult.

- Longtail gives Millie a stern talking to, he tells her that Briarlight is a warrior of Thunderclan and as her clanmate she should show her some respect.

- Millie is inherently very reactionary, as she had not realized the full extent of her suffocation, but eventually after a couple moons her and Briarlight begin to rekindle their relationship, like adults.

- Blossomfall sees how Brairlight wasn’t basking in their mother’s attention like she imagined, and feels the urge to seek out an actual sisterhood after ignoring Briarlight for moons and moons.

- Briarlight isn’t really mad at her sister, and understands why she felt the way she did. Jayfeather suggests that Blossomfall help Briarlight with her painting, Blossomfall seems put off with the suggestion of being her sister’s assistant.

- The interactions that follow are less than ideal, Blossomfall commends Briarlight’s able friends (Thornclaw, Poppyfrost, Alderheart, etc) for being so nice to her, as if that’s not what friends do. She seems very sad the entire time, sighing when her sister dragged her legs around with her mouth to sit more comfortably, even though she was completely fine. When watching her paint she comments that it’s good she has “something to keep her busy”, and finally she expresses her view, of Briarlight’s injury and her (Blossomfall’s) suffering being all worth it because of her talents, as if her life was not worth living to begin with.

- Briarlight tells her that if that’s truly what she wants she’s going to have to put more effort into understanding and respecting her way of life, and that she won’t apologize for their mother’s actions.

- When Blossomfall has her kits they take a liking to Auntie Briarlight, and Blossomfall seems to have reflected on their past interactions, trusting her sister to watch her kits. Briarlight teases a bit, a subtle way of telling her not to rush things, but they do begin to feel like something close to sisters.

- Right before Briarlight’s Nieces and Nephews are made warriors Longtail dies of Greencough. Throughout the entirety of his sickness he kept his sense of humour, his mean streak, and his immense love for what he had made of his clan.

- At his vigil Grassspirit began whaling like a bird in new-leaf, he insists that the vigil is too sad, and that Longtail wouldn’t want everyone moping around, for Starclan’s sake, his life was good. Standing amongst them, Longtail’s spirit can feel every cat in Thunderclan standing around him, singing the song of a life well lived.

[strangertheories]

Speaking as a queer diasporic Iranian woman I am disgusted by the way the fandom is projecting its issues on to anyone who merely explains Jason's pov. Again, read those first few words, I'm not a f*cking white supremacist or an evangelic conservative christian narccisist, I'm someone who is interested in narratives and characters and has taken the time to explain why Jason's behavior is unfortunately some of the more realistic parts of the season. Words have f*cking meanings.

Yeah people really don't get nuance. Plus white supremacy isn't something that should just be thrown around as some sort of gotcha because it's a really serious issue. This issue with complexity is on both sides. I've seen people saying that Jason did nothing wrong because his girlfriend died and he murdered him which is completely wrong. And then on the other side I've seen people like the ones you're talking about saying if you attempt to understand his actions, you're condoning them. People really see stuff in black and white, when in reality the character is meant to be more of a grey area.

Because yes, his girlfriend was brutally murdered and in his mind he wants justice. That's an interesting motivation. But it's also not a justification for his actions. He frames a bunch of innocent people, is incredibly violent and encourages his friends to be violent too. Even before Chrissy's death, he used the mass death of people in order to encourage people to cheer for his basketball game so he's clearly very manipulative and wants his way. But you're not erasing any of that by trying to understand the character and his motivations and his pov.

I think this moral purification in the fandom is kind of weird. Like every character is either this or that with no room for nuance. I got an ask saying that Eddie is a horrible person because he did bad things, but he's clearly way more complex than that. He's not perfect, but that was the whole point in his character arc and he was always a good person deep down. It's so weird to me how people are faster to blame him for dealing drugs than they are to blame Billy for being a racist piece of shit.

TW for abuse and racism at this point! Speaking of him, I've seen this a lot with Billy. Billy was a racist abusive piece of shit. His mind was warped as a child due to his desensitisation to violence and due to the cyclic nature of abuse, he became a bad person. But people think that a sad backstory is an excuse for his behaviour, when it's clearly not. Because people really struggle to understand that just because a character is complex it doesn't mean that they're good. Same thing goes for Brenner. Like wow he cares for his little lab rats that he manipulates and abuses, he's so great!

And just for the show in general. Does the show have problematic elements? Absolutely. It's treatment of queer characters and characters of colour as well as it's use of holocaust imagery and a fucking Nazi prison camp as a set (seriously fucked up) and queer baiting is disgusting. But I do not think that means the show is now entirely awful and if you watch it or enjoy it you are awful too. It is really important to critique media, but things aren't as simple as 'this is problematic and this isn't' because most shows probably have issues. As a fan, it's important to critically consume the show and to call it out and hold the creators accountable. We need to encourage the show runners to make a change and start trying to make good representation to make up for their prior mistakes if they even can be redeemed instead of just writing off the whole show.

Don't know if this is what you wanted, but thanks for the ask anyways (: hope you're doing well

[redrobin-detective]

The 101 Deaths of Danny Phantom

AO3 link

One of the first things people learned about dealing with ghosts, other than not to try and date them, is to never asks about their death or obsessions. That doesn’t mean the citizens of Amity Park aren’t curious though, especially about their resident ghostly hero and the confusing and concerning comments he sometimes makes.

“Are you okay?” Phantom asked Maisie as she shook and tried to hold back tears after that car had almost slammed into her. She sometimes joked about getting hit crossing the street of her college campus to pay her obnoxious loans but it was another thing entirely to almost experience it herself. Maisie was nearly twenty, she shouldn’t be comforted by someone younger than her little step sister but here she was, shaking like a lead and leaning into Phantom’s comforting, chilly touch. 

“Sorry,” she stuttered, “thank you, I’m sorry I’m just-”

“Hey, it’s okay to be upset that was very scary. The thought of dying is very scary.” Through her adrenaline and her tears, she took in the ghost’s unnatural glow, his faded, barely visible appearance and the fact that he was floating a foot off the ground. Maisie knows this ghost, this boy, knows more than she ever could about death. 

“And getting run over by a car sure is a bad way to go,” the ghost kid chuckled awkwardly, taking his cold hand off her shoulder to scratch at the back of his neck. “You should see how my dad drives or my mom or my sister if she’s running late enough,” Phantom paused in thought. “No one in my family should have a license now that I think about it. Anyway,” he dismissed with a wave. 

“My sister and I were getting ready to head out to school and my dad was backing out of driveway too fast and didn’t see us and uh, luckily I got my sister out of the way in time haha,” Phantom trailed off awkwardly. Was it because of the uncomfortable conversation or because he noticed her dawning horror.

Her best friend ran the community college’s Phan club so Maisie was a member by default. Phantom’s death was sometimes talked about late at night, everything from wrongful murder to a freak accident. She never in her worst nightmares imagined being him being runover in front of his own house by parental ignorance. It was so normal, a quick mistake and a life lost.

“Oh my god,” he said with an adorable little green blush. “Why am I babbling about that? You almost got hit by a car, I’m probably retraumatizing you or something. I should probably go get the jerk who almost hit you,” he said before disappearing into thin air. 

“Tia is not going to believe this,” she whispered to no one. All she knew is that for the rest of her damned life she was going to look both ways when crossing the street. She’d seen first hand what a single moment of reckless driving could cause.

XxX

Matthew, not Matt or Matty or Hughie, Matthew shivered from the cold. He was only in his boxers with little Pacman on them. It had been fine when he’d gone to bed considering it was mid-August but Phantom and this stupid flaming mecha ghost had tussled outside the summer camp he was working at. He could see some of the kids snickering at his state of undress though he was just extremely glad they were alive enough to disrespect him like this.

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” the ghost kid said with big, sad eyes that looked so human despite the fact that they were literally glowing. He looked around at all the snow and ice left over from his fight. “Jeez you guys must be freezing, I wish I could warm you all up but all I can do is make things colder.”

“S’okay,” Matthew said through his chattering teeth. “Teaching the kids how to start a fire was supposed to be next week but we can get a jump on it.” That got a smile out of the ghost and within a half hour, the other counselors were distributing blankets and hot beverages to the kids clustered around multiple fires. They didn’t seem particularly upset by the potentially fatal attack, Matthew will breakdown about that at a later time when he was alone. For now, he just smiled as the children chattered happily with the ghost while he cleaned up as much of the damage as possible.

“So you spend all day fighting ghosts?” Zoe asked with stars in her eyes.

“A lot of the nights too,” Phantom nodded, “I do other stuff but yeah it seems ghost fighting takes up most of my time.”

“Where’d you learn those cool powers?” Zuri asked, miming a punch.

“Comes with being a ghost,” Phantom shrugged, “my ice powers came in later though so I still struggle a bit with them but I’m getting better every day.”

“Why ice though?” Morris said with his cocked curiously to the side. “I see some ghosts use fire or shadows, why do you have ice?”

“Ah that’s a little personal,” Phantom chuckled but his posture was easy despite the invasive question. “Specialty powers like my ice require special circumstances and a certain uh connection to the ghost. Someone like me couldn’t use fire or electricity or plants, ice is in my soul, it’s who I am.”

Matthew paused in drinking his lukewarm coffee as a horrible thought came to mind. He’s been an outdoorsman all his life, practically from the time he could walk. He’d been a deep woods camping guide for a decade before switching to working at summer camps. But the years working in the relative comfort of a stable camp didn’t erase his knowledge of how unforgiving and deadly the woods in the winter could be. A grown man, much less a young teen, would freeze to death in 20 minutes if it was cold enough. 

It made sense for ghosts to develop powers related to their deaths. Had Phantom been one of the dozens of unfortunate kids he read about every year who ran away in the middle of winter only to found later as a frozen corpse. He eyed the boy’s snow white hair and frigid aura he exuded with mournful trepidation. God, what a horrible way to die. 

“I’d get chilly with ice powers,” Tabby said with a shudder, she held out her cup of cocoa. “You want some of my cocoa to warm you up?”

“No thanks,” Phantom said with a soft smile that was warm despite everything. “The cold hasn’t bothered me for a while.”

XxX

Ghost attacks may be the norm but, if there was one good thing that came out of whole mess it was the fact that violent human crimes went down drastically. So when the rare murder did happen, the shock and fear rippled through the whole town. 

Stanford Newton had only been sheriff of Amity Park for eight months after the last guy had gone gray overnight and moved to Florida the next day. It was a daunting position but one he bore proudly. This wouldn’t be his first murder investigation having initially cut his teeth as a beat cop in Chicago but it would be the first in Amity. And it certainly was the first in which the dead served in an active capacity.

“Amanda Chastain, 27. Officially she was a waitress down at Spengler’s Diner but she’s been picked up for prostitution twice in the last year,” Stan said calmly, ignoring the cold, angry presence over his shoulder. “History of polysubstance abuse as well, not that either of those things mean she deserved this.” Used, beaten to death and then dumped in the trash like yesterday’s paper. 

He wondered if she’d come back a ghost or if she’d finally get some peace this world hadn’t offered her. “We don’t have many leads right now, I’m afraid. Acting illegally as they are, there’s not a lot of resources these poor girls have to turn to.”

“I’ll find them,” The Phantom said with blazing conviction, his voice thick and sharp as ice. “I’ll find and bring them to justice and make sure no one else is hurt again.”

“I believe you,” Stan nodded, shutting his notebook as he finally turned to face the teenage superhero haunting his town. He can’t say he liked what he saw. The Phantom looked even less human than usual, his aura flaring and flickering like the foggy mist before a heavy snowstorm. His unnatural green eyes glowered, painting his too young face in a terrifying light. 

The kid looked furious, clearly taking this death to heart. He’d read the Fenton’s memos about obsessions and such but this seemed beyond that. “But don’t hurt anyone to do it, or yourself while you’re at it.”

“I won’t, I’ll make sure they’ll face human justice and don’t worry,” Phantom gave a snarling smile. “No mortal can hurt me, not like this,” he growled causing the hairs on Stan’s arms and neck to stand on end. He flew off after that, presumably to track down Amanda’s killer.

“Not like this,” Stan mumbled to him, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his brow where a cold sweat had broken out. “Jesus Christ that poor kid.” Stan had seen plenty of murdered and mutilated bodies in his lifetime, some of them even kids. He just never got to talk to them after they’d had their life forcibly snatched away. It would explain the ghost’s near fanatical determination to save others, why he took a stranger’s murder so personally. 

“I hope your own murderer is behind bars,” Stan said as he tucked his handkerchief back into his coat pocket. “Or even six feet under, for killing a good kid like you.” Stan made his way back to his squad car so he could head back to the station and move forward with the official investigation. But he’d eat his hat if there wasn’t a stammering lowlife there by tomorrow ready to turn themselves in.

 Maybe after all this was settled down, he’d delve into some of the cold cases stacked in the cellar. Maybe in there he’ll find a picture of a smiling, carefree teen who’d disappeared and returned with the power now to ensure no one else suffered as he had.

XxX

“Yes, I know about the Phantom,” Luis Oliveira will say to anyone who so much as brings up the ghost kid. Locals know better by now but the tourists eat it up every time. He twists his finely combed mustache and gestures to the floor where his audience is standing. “He died right there oh ten or eleven years ago.”

Luis has worked his way all across the the United States since he emigrated from Brazil in the 70s. He finally settled in Amity Park about twelve years ago. He’d never intended to stay in the small Midwest town but the fatal shooting of a young customer kept his little corner market open.

“He was a nice kid, always said hi to me and paid in exact change. Was big fan of the snacks I made, would stop by after school and take half my inventory. He had big brown eyes and a crooked nose,” Luis would smile at the memory before closing his eyes and frowning sadly. “One day, he came late. His teacher made him stay after to go over a failed test, I remember he complained. He was pulling out his money when robber burst in, demanding my money. I fumbled for the register key, dropped it. I bent down to grab it and I hear shots going off. Two over my head, another right into the boy’s throat.”

Luis will hear the sound of that sweet boy’s guttural choking sounds as he drowned in his own blood until the day he himself died. The robber left after the shot, Luis called the police and held the young man’s hand as he died. The would be thief were never found and Luis never did learn anything about the boy who’d died on his floor for getting hungry after school.

“As soon as I saw Phantom on the TV,” Luis would say, perking up after his moment of somber grief, “I knew it was that boy come back. Those kind eyes, I’d recognize them anywhere. He’s never come here but one day he will and I will be able to pass on my regret on not being able to save his life that day.”

XxX

“I think he killed himself,” Mikey whispered to Lester during lunch period, angling his voice low. “The jocks may love Phantom for his powers but I just know he was one of us, an unwanted nerd. I’ve seen him chatting up a ghost I’m pretty sure is Poindexter, Casper’s suicide kid. They’re probably bonding over their similar deaths and the circumstances that led to it.”

“That’s pretty dark,” Lester whispered back. “I also get unpopular vibes from him but I don’t think he’s the time do uh do that to himself; he’s too stubborn and protective. But I bet he was the victim of a prank gone wrong. Dash locked Fenton in the Janitor’s closet last Wednesday, he got out okay somehow but maybe something like that happened to Phantom. He always looks kind of annoyed at the A-listers, maybe they remind him of old bullies.”

“Nuh-uh,” Clara said, pushing up her glasses with her middle finger. “The ghost kid totally got electrocuted or something. He was fighting that weather ghost and he sent lightning bolts his way and Phantom flinched. He fought the Ghost King and yet a little electricity scares him? It might not’ve even been a lightning strike but something manmade like a machine backfiring or something.”

“Get real,” Mikey scoffed, sipping his milk with an eyeroll. “I’m sure we’d have heard about some poor kid getting zapped to death; this town isn’t that big.”

“We’d have heard about a suicide too,” Lester noted with a wry grin.

“Shut up Mr. I base my theories around Fenton who’s a known weirdo”.

XxX

“I’m telling you, the ghost kid died of some debilitating illness,” Abbie McMillian, retired school teacher and three year reigning champ at the Tristate area’s Daylily Competition. She sipped her tea and spoke with as much confidence as she had back in the day wrangling Amity’s impressionable youths. “The superhero thing is clear wish childhood fulfillment, a chance to live and be free like he never got to in life. You see how happy and carefree that young man looks while flying? Clearly he spent his formative years sick and weak.”

“No way,” Greta von Martin frowned as she aggressively stirred her own tea to show her displeasure. “I worked in a hospital for close to 30 years and I know what chronically sick kids look like and Phantom doesn’t fit the bill. I will agree he’s carefree when he’s not battling spooks but he acts like a stupid teen. I’m telling you, the boy got into his parent’s liquor cabinet or took a few too many of whatever pill was going around his school. Tragic but something that happens every day.”

“Greta, dearie,” Abbie said with a pinched frown. “We’ve been friends since grade school and I love you like a sister but you are wrong and until you admit it, I won’t share anymore of my recipes.”

“You’re just being stubborn because you can’t see what’s right in front of you even after working with kids half of your life, Abbie, love,” Greta sniffed. “And you can kiss my grandson’s help weeding you garden goodbye until you relent.”

XxX

Perhaps one of the most human traits is curiosity, especially about what comes after death. Now the good people of Amity Park know a great deal about the dead so the lives before is what attracts their attention and none so more than the ghost boy. Maybe it’s because he’s their hero or maybe it’s because he’s so young. Or perhaps it’s because Phantom is such a mess of contradictions that it’s very hard to guess how the unfortunate boy met his end. But everyone has their own theories, from the mundane to the fantastic, some with evidence backing them up and others pure poppycock. 

But for all their curiosity, as much as it burns them to know, they’ll never ask. They don’t want to risk the powerful ghost’s wrath but, moreover, it seemed in poor taste. The boy risked his afterlife to keep them safe, they couldn’t ask what traumatic and miserable circumstances had led to this point.

And besides, it was so much more fun to look up at ghostly figure as he sped through the skies and wonder.

[agendratum]

ok so

as usual after finishing an arc of mdzs my head is full, many thoughts. so let’s talk about the guanyin temple confrontation.

first thing that i kept paying attention to were actually the changes made in order to turn it into live-action. so in cql they had to make the gray-gray characters, the “there are no good or bad guys, just people and their circumstances” characters (unless you’re jgs, than yeah you’re a bad guy and everyone agrees on that actually) into slightly more black and white characters. by the end of cql we are lured into this fake sense of security, “haha, we know who the bad guy is!” (then a year passes and here you are, now a jgy apologist), by the end of mdzs, you just know that, well, decisions were made, unfortunate decisions, by many different people. 

cql had to make wwx into a bit nicer version of himself. the good protagonist couldn’t lose control and accidentally kill a bunch of people, and then kill another bunch of people fully willingly, cause his sister just died and that was the last connection he had to the idea that something still matters in this world. no, out protagonist should be... like a little bit nicer than that. so they lifted some of that responsibility for atrocities off him, but they couldn’t just evaporate it, could they? they had to put it somewhere. they put it on jgy. after all he’s the big bad in the end of the story, well, the only surviving person from all people that could be considered big bads, he’s the one that “did every terrible deed imaginable”. he could take that responsibility, they had to make his grayness into a slightly darker shade anyway.

i am actually kinda surprised by how different my reaction to jgy was in mdzs. obviously, there is a year difference between me watching cql and me reading this part of mdzs, and over that year i changed my opinion on jgy 5 thousand times and joined the camp “actually meng yao deserves all the best things in the world”, but anyway. when i was watching cql i was like, oh my god, can someone just kill him already, before he does something bad again, before more bullcrap comes out of his mouth, and also stop yelling at this kid about all the “valid” reasons to why you killed his dad. in mdzs my reaction to jgy’s confessions was like, “huh. he has a point”.

now don’t get me wrong there, some shitty things were done, but the thing is, the things he did really made sense from his point of view, from this position and life experience he really had no other way to go. i especially was convinced by his reasoning to why he couldn’t cancel his engagement with qin su. not only he would suffer from this story, because he already went through so much to make this marriage possible, but also qin su’s parents and herself would most likely suffer, their public image would be destroyed, only jgs wouldn’t lose anything. and you could feel the hatred and bitterness he felt towards his father talking about this, and everyone in the temple could agree with that, because he “just forgot he made another child”, he didn’t even notice.

another interesting detail for me was lxc saying, “it’s not that i didn’t know that you did some of these things, it’s that i thought you had a good reason for doing them”. so yeah, a reminder, lxc isn’t blind and he isn’t an idiot. he trusted a person he thought he knew better than anyone else, and he believed in this person. the problem, i think, is that “a good reason” is different for lxc and for jgy. lxc would understand a righteous reason, doing something for the greater good. working for wen ruohan? that was explainable. they all were fighting in a war, fighting for the better, brighter future, and meng yao’s contribution to that future was immeasurable. what if he killed some people there? he had a good reason in lxc’s eyes. but meng yao had other good reasons in his life, some of these reasons lxc never had to deal with in his life. survival, for example, is one of them. meng yao’s early years were very different from lxc’s. not to say that lxc’s life was easy, but it was never truly unstable. meng yao had to learn how to survive in a world where no one wanted him. he lived with one dream, promised to him by his mother, a future where he wouldn’t have to suffer anymore, where he wouldn’t have to smile at people he hated, please every one of their desires so they wouldn’t harm him. and then he entered this life promised to him and he still had to survive, but now in a luxurious man-eats-man world of lanling jin.

meng yao’s life really was this unstoppable ball of snow rolling down the mountain, and every decision he made just made the ball bigger and it would just roll faster. there is even a moment where jgy accuses lxc of being naive. lxc isn’t really naive, of course, it was said in the heat of the moment, but it is a fact that lxc was never kicked down a staircase, never had to crawl back up, and the thing is, at the bottom of the staircase, there are other good reasons to do things.

and in a way lxc understood that jgy in his position really didn’t have any other choices, he just couldn’t find peace in this mindset. he kept repeated through that part, “and yet, and yet, you shouldn’t have done that, you should have...” and he never said what exactly jgy should have done. because lxc doesn’t know. jgy doesn’t know. no one knows. what choices were better? how could he fix all that and still survive? in a way, lxc saying that reminded me of wangxian farewell in the burial mounds. when lwj asks, “you really indent to keep going like this?” and wwx, who wished, who longed for another solution, for some way out, asked him, “what else can i do? what method can i choose to resolve this, not use this technique and still protect people i want to protect?” and lwj didn’t have an answer. lxc didn’t have an answer either.

another amazing thing about guanyin temple confrontation, is that it’s very heavily wwx’s pov. most on the novel is his pov of course, but there were a loot of his thoughts in this arc. and he was rather understanding towards jgy. not in a way “i agree with every reasoning behind every decision you made” but in a way “i understand that you had your reasons, but all of them will become irrelevant really soon, they already are, because the crowd will only remember you as a son of a whore who did every terrible deed imaginable, and all the good deeds will be forgotten” 

now his thoughts on nhs, or who he suspected nhs to be, were way less nice. especially compared to live action, nhs didn’t make such an impression on me as he made through wwx’s thought process in the end of guanyin temple arc. of course, wwx is no sect leader yao, he is not the one to jump to conclusions, he just noticed that if you put some facts together, they actually start making a lot of sense, and formed a full picture. but he didn’t have any proof, so he kept it mostly to himself. yet he still thought for a moment about nhs as someone who didn’t care about collateral damage that much, who was ready to sacrifice lives of juniors, sect leaders, anyone, if it would add to jgy’s kill count and make his fall and destruction even more disastrous. not that those are not the things that happened in live action, but you know, when wwx put it all together like that in one paragraph, i really felt it. like, oof, dude it’s ROUGH. and not even jgy’s death was enough, as nhs basically admitted to stealing meng shi’s body and planning to repay jgy for what he did to nmj’s body. yikes

i mean i still support nhs in everything he does, but yikes

also side note, glad that the dead cats situation finally became clear for me. this whole year i was so confused about who left all these dead cats for juniors to find. i thought maybe xue yang did?? to lure wwx?? so apparently it was also nhs. good to know.

another detail, probably the last one my brain can generate for now, that pained me a great deal was my poor child jin ling. i already cried about some things related to him and this arc, but there was another little one in the very end here, after jgy died. jin ling realised, that there were now three people, wwx, wn and jgy, his little uncle, that were responsible for his parents’ death. people he had every right and reason to hate. all three of them. and yet he couldn’t hate any of them. he couldn’t avenge his parents, that died so long ago he couldn’t remember them, because all three people responsible for what happened, had something, some reasons, some circumstances, that made them really not the bad guys in jin ling’s life. and they all cared about him, protected him. how could he hate them? how could he not? and in this way this poor child repeats, unfortunately, his uncle’s curse. to have someone he wants to hate so much but just simply can’t. it warms my heart at least that jin ling has a much better support system than jc had when he had to live through that experience. so there is hope.

[heckyeahponyscans]

hi! i’m not very into MLP myself (i love the ponies/designs but haven’t been into it since i was a kid) but i love collection and toy based fandoms, especially older ones like MLP! i really enjoy reading your posts about being in the old web fandom and i was wondering if, besides finding old sites on the wayback machine, there are any “oral history” type write-ups on the history of the fandom? the fanlore page was only about friendship is magic and i am just itching to know more. thanks!!

Ahhh, the best repository of that was probably the old version of the MLP Trading Post, but unfortunately after they moved the old board eventually went under. (What happened was MLPTP.com + the board was run by a user named Jenn, but at some point she dropped out of communication. So the mods registered MLPTP.net, created a new board, and everything migrated over there.)

Probably the biggest early fandom event was the absolute chaos that followed the release of the G2 ponies in 1997.

Now keep in mind up to this point the G1 ponies were the only My Little Ponies to ever have existed. So when people heard MLP was coming back they assumed they would be in the same molds; what ELSE would a My Little Pony look like?

Well, the G2s looked radically different: smaller, skinnier, and with fox-like heads.

After the initial shock died down, MLP collectors split into two groups: people who liked the G2s and people who hated the G2s. (Full disclosure, I was 100% in the latter camp, I thought they were awful, lol. I do have a small collection of them now though.)

In theory liking or disliking a toy is unimportant, but in fandom EVERY little thing is important, so a pony civil war broke out. Groups were created to promote / protest "the new ponies", banners were displayed on websites, passionate arguments were made for either side, and flame wars broke out constantly.

Among the craziness I remember:

- someone saying not liking the new ponies "was a hate crime"

- HQT (High Queen Tiffany) starting a petition for Hasbro to bring back the old ponies and getting so much flak that she ended up taking down her whole site; this sent shockwaves through the community as she had the second- or third-largest MLP fan site at the time, including one of the most active message boards.

- and someone on the Pony People Mailing List saying people who didn't like the new ponies were Nazis, and getting lambasted for comparing genocide of real people to toys.

If you're thinking "Wow, that sounds dumb" . . . absolutely, lol!

But that's not to say the fandom wasn't any fun; there were also friendships formed, people chatting about who their favorite pony was, people trading ponies, the international ponies being discovered--it was a robust community, overall a blast, and the G2 civil wars were just a little sliver of all the activity.

Subsequent MLP generations, like G3, did not get a strong reaction because a) people had gotten used to the idea of different pony gens looking different and b) the community was no longer mainly hot-blooded teenagers eager for a fight. Now we were tired 20-somethings working retail jobs. (Also the G3s looked really close to G1s, soooo, yeah, pretty universally loved.)

I do think the Old Fandom instinct to go for the throat is much healthier than the brony "love and tolerance towards anyone who calls themself a brony" attitude; never assume someone is your friend just because of a shared hobby. Some fandom folk you meet will be nice, some will suck, that's just how it goes.

[sapphicbookclub]

Author Spotlight: Anna Pulley

Today’s spotlight shines on Anna Pulley, who just released her first book earlier this month!  That book, Love Where You Work: An Office Romance, is one of our latest book club reads. Why we (still) need hopeful queer stories

TW: internalized homophobia, murder, suicide

I first learned about gay people when I was three. The house my family rented had been previously occupied by two deeply closeted gay men in the military. One shot the other, and then shot himself. I never learned more about them than that.

A few year’s later, my best friend’s mom, who had been straight her entire life, discreetly moved in with a very butch woman named Paula. She insisted for two years that they were roommates, even after Paula became violent with her, and she had no one to turn to for support.

A few years after that, my own mother relayed her one encounter with ���lesbians”––a pair of bisexual girls who seduced her college boyfriend into a threesome, thus ending my mother’s relationship.

A few years after that, a friend pointed out to me the one gay bar in Tucson. I’d seen it many times, but didn’t know what it was. The bar was in a plain, brown square of a building with no sign and the street-facing windows were entirely covered in thick black paint. (They still are.)

The takeaway to my young queer self was obvious: Certain stories should not be told. Certain lives should be buried, or hidden away, out of view. Queerness is not only shameful and obscene, but could very well get you beat up or killed.

Books about queerness when I was growing up weren’t much better, and the unfortunate themes of women-loving-women narratives are marked by fear, secrecy, and violence. Look no further than the bastion of optimism that is The Well of Loneliness by Radclyffe Hall, “the most depressing lesbian novel ever written,” as one critic put it. Or Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinstein. Both protagonists suffer immense abuse, trauma, and violence due to their gender identity and sexuality. In Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flagg, implied lovers Ruth and Idgie sort of get to live happily for a little while, but first Idgie is tried for murder (Ruth’s abusive husband). Then Ruth gets lady-parts cancer (because of all the sinful scissoring?) and dies. In Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson, protagonist Jeanette is excommunicated from her God-fearing family and town, made homeless, and is forced to survive on her own. And it’s one of the more uplifting stories to come out of the ’80s!

What about movies? A quick tally: High Art (death; drug overdose), Foxfire (mistreatment, attempted rape, abuse), Lost and Delirious (suicide, return to straightness), Heavenly Creatures (murder, life imprisonment), and so on. Even But I’m a Cheerleader, the funny, crowd favorite of the ‘90s, revolves around a queer conversion camp, where literally every queer teen is rejected by their parents simply for being who they are.

Why am I telling you this?

Because words matter. Stories matter. Every tragic end to a queer person––in books, on TV, in films––drops a stone into a bucket of a young, impressionable heart, until one day they are so heavy that they can’t get up, and they don’t even know why.

Of course, a lot has changed in the last 20 years. And we’ve come a long, long way since my (admittedly not wildly progressive) Arizona upbringing. Many more hopeful and nuanced LGBTQ+ narratives are now available, well-received, and well-liked. But in spite of these immense strides, one of the biggest hurdles queer characters’ in media portrayals still face is that they can’t seem to stay alive. Killing off queer characters is so prevalent that it even has a dedicated, ever-expanding trope: Bury Your Gays.

This is why we need more hopeful gay stories. And this is why every story I’ve ever written, including my latest novel, Love Where You Work, has been a rebuttal to the bury your gays trope––and to the horrid messaging that tells queer people we’re expendable, depraved, broken, lesser-than, or confused heterosexuals on brief gay detours. (Another common queer lady narrative, aside from death, is a “return” to straightness.)

Love Where You Work tells an everyday lesbian love story, where the tragedies are limited to not enough alternative milks in the office fridge and a love interest who doesn’t know who Kristen Stewart is. This isn’t to say the characters don’t face hardships; they do. Because we all do. But the hardships aren’t limited to death or invisibility.

Not only do the queer characters NOT die, they learn to live with abundance, joy, and ordinary devotion.

Every day that queer people are alive and happy and resilient (even in fiction) is a rebuttal to those limiting, untrue narratives that many of us swallowed in our formative years because we never saw the joyous freedom that comes from living authentically, and didn’t know there was an alternative to fear, rejection, or shame.

Hopeful queer stories open doors for people who didn’t know such happiness was possible or that they could wish for it themselves. They show us what new worlds could look like, or old worlds made better, because they’re viewed with new eyes, new dreams, and new visions.

This isn’t to say that we need to view the world (or all of our books) with rose-tinted glasses or pretend that tragic stories don’t exist. They do and they always will. But this is also to say that we can do better. And we must do better.

We need books that showcase not just how we survive, but how we become, and more importantly, how we remain. We need realms filled with the brilliance of queerness that’s not under attack, denial, or threat of violence. We need word seeds and word breaths and word reimaginings that depict the world as inhabitable, joyful, and profoundly, ordinarily alive.

We need this not only for the next generation of queer people––many of whom are already leagues ahead when it comes to knowing who they are and being unapologetic about what they want––but for all people. Yes, straight people benefit from hopeful queer stories, too. If the only representations of a culture or subculture you see are marred by tragedy or stereotypes, then those representations form negative associations and often lead to biases, prejudices, or outright hostility.

I remember reading a book about the famous Implicit Association Test (IAT), which is a way to identify implicit bias (that is, hidden biases we hold that we might not be aware of), including race bias, but also bias against people with disabilities, obesity, and queer people. It’s extremely difficult to decrease one’s implicit bias, and in the book, the author tried over and over again to decrease his bias against Black people. Nothing worked, despite his sincere attempts. And then one day, he took the test and his bias went down, seemingly out of nowhere. He realized it was because he had been watching the Olympics that morning, which showcased the incredible feats and strengths of Black athletes. It was an antidote to the racist and stereotypical images he saw every day. Consuming resilient queer stories can have a similar effect. It’s one of the many reasons why visibility and representation matter.

If you had told the closeted, terrified queer person I was back in Arizona that I would grow up to be very out, proud, and to experience the immense privilege of writing three humorous, radical, queer books (with many more to come), I wouldn’t have believed you. I had no frame of reference. I was too blinded by the mirror society held up for me to see my own stark, vulnerable luminosity.

Every piece of art we create that affirms the truth at our cores is a radical act. It holds a small light up to the darkness that surrounds us, not only for ourselves, but for anyone else who needs to see there’s a universe of possibility waiting for them.

[satoruvt]

for now; forever

pairing → kwon soonyoung x reader

word count → 9015

genre → mostly fluff, angst ↳ tags: ooh boy. firewatch au, banter, like a little bit (a lot) of pining, strangers to friends to… something, FLIRTING, reader’s kinda fucked up but its ok, hoshi’s weird and endearing (as always), a tiny bit of hurt/comfort, minghao best boy, soonyoung is very sweet it makes me want to cry

synopsis → after an unfortunate burnout that lands you in every critic’s negative and all-seeing eye, you decide to take a break from the one thing you know. you’re not sure if you’ll find what you’re looking for out in the middle of the woods - if you’re looking for anything at all - but at the very least, soonyoung will make the hunt a little less lonely.

warnings → there’s eventually a forest fire (starts on day 64 and is mentioned throughout the rest of the fic) that leads to an evacuation but it’s not super detailed, mentions and descriptions of creative burnout/breakdown

a/n → IT’S FINALLY HERE!!! i made a fancy banner nd everything <3 i know 9k isn’t a lot to some people but this is probably the longest one shot i’ve ever written LMAOO so i hope it’s paced ok and everything <33 PLEASE let me know what yall thought about this i am insanely proud of it. ok thats it hehe. hope you enjoy!!! see u on the other side!!!!

btw here’s a fun playlist of songs i listened to while writing mixed with some songs i think reflect the fic super well <33

DAY ONE.

So. You’re… out here, now.

Save for the bugs you have to swat at every fifteen seconds, the outdoors doesn’t seem that bad. The weather isn’t too hot (yet, your mind reminds you) and there’s something about the color of the sky that makes your heart constrict in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s good or bad, but given your luck recently, you’re hoping it’s not a warning for the coming months - God knows you need a break. The weight of the journal in your bag feels heavier than any of the camping gear you brought with you.

You debate texting Minghao that you’ve made it to the park safely, but when you check your phone after deciding yes, you see the words no service instead of the familiar lines of a signal. It’s not that big of a deal - you’d told him when you left that you probably wouldn’t have service at all - but a little part of you feels the tender shake of anxiety at the thought of not being able to contact your best friend. 

He was the most worried out of everyone when you told him you were leaving for the summer. You can’t really blame him - it was abrupt, you saw the flyer at the grocery store and took it - but after what happened… doing something felt, feels, better than sitting around and waiting for nothing to happen. Waiting for a healing you aren’t sure will ever come, at least not completely.

“Is this really…” Minghao had started upon first entering your apartment after getting your text. Clothes were thrown all over your bedroom floor in an attempt to pack. “Do you need to do this?”

The tone of his voice told you he wasn’t going to try to stop you, that he just wanted to make sure this was what you needed. You had only nodded, sitting down on the edge of your bed to fold clothes and pack them into your suitcase.

“I just don’t want you to run away from it all,” Minghao said softly, sitting next to you. “You’ll need to face it eventually.”

“Is escaping really such a bad thing?” You asked, looking at Minghao. He gave you the look he did when you said something stupid, and if you weren’t still so wired from everything, you might have laughed. Instead, you sighed, placing a pair of pants into your suitcase. “I just need some time.”

Before you can face it, before you can come back, before you can write again… you still don’t know. Minghao had placed a kind hand on your shoulder to tell you there was no rush.

It’d taken no more than two days for you to get everything ready - including buying some apparently necessary survival equipment from Target. In a matter of a few hours you had gathered everything up, texted some other friends and your family that you might not be available the next few months and then… you left. 

(Your manager was pretty pissed off that you left so suddenly, but she was also pissed off at you when you told her you needed a break for at least a few weeks, so you’re not really offended.)

You take one last longing look at your car before locking it, pocketing the keys, and starting on your hike.

The hike takes almost the whole day. 

You think you almost cry when you finally see the watch tower you’re supposed to be staying in, your legs barely able to hold the rest of your body up. The hike wasn’t hard, really - long, though, and for someone who usually spends a work day sitting at a desk, you’re surprised you’re still alive. You find the little lock that holds the keys to the tower at the bottom of the stairs, fastened onto the railing. It takes a few seconds for you to enter the code you’d been given earlier, relishing in the soft breeze the cools the sweat on your face and neck. The sun is just barely starting to set beyond the mountains, a beautiful sight that you can’t properly focus on because all you want to do is pass out. You’re pretty sure you almost do on your way up the stairs.

The cabin at the top of the tower is pretty scarcely furnished, save for a few basic necessities (a gas stove rests on one wall, a small desk opposite to it by the door, a mini-fridge, and a bed in the corner plus what looks like a map table in the center of the room). It’s a little weird, a feeling caught between the nostalgia of moving into a new place and something you can’t quite name, but you figure you have a few months to make it all a little more comfortable.

For now, though, you feel like you’re on the last leg of your energy. Your mind is saying eat, sleep, eat, sleep on repeat and you have to agree with it, so you change the sheets on the bed, take down the boards over the windows while you wait for the macaroni from the Kraft box to cook. You end up eating a few forkfuls of poorly-made mac and cheese before crashing.

When you wake up, it’s to gentle static and a semi-clear, unfamiliar voice. It takes you a minute to remember where you are and what you’re doing, too disoriented to even think about the voice, but then - oh. Forest. Watch tower. Escape. Okay.

“Yo, Cottonwood! Am I coming through okay? Pick up your radio!”

Right. The voice. Radio?

“Come on, I saw you get in yesterday, I know you’re there. Unless,” a gasp, “you died! Oh my God, this is like a horror movie… and I’m next!”

You manage to wake up enough to locate your radio (a walkie-talkie resting on a charger on the desk) and, after a few seconds of gentle struggle, work it. “Not dead,” you say, then clear your throat because your voice does not sound good right after waking up. “I mean… almost. But not dead.”

There’s barely a moment of hesitation before the person on the other end hoots, apparently excited. “Arisen from the dead! Brought back to life by none other than the legendary Hoshi!”

A brief thought crosses your mind about having to listen to this guy all summer, but you quickly shoo it away. You won’t have to deal with it for the whole three months, right? “Who… who is Hoshi?”

“Me!” The voice answers, sounding a little too smug. “But it’s really just an alias. You can call me Soonyoung. I’m at Twin Peaks tower, west of yours!”

You spin around your cabin, looking through the windows cluelessly - how long have you been asleep, it’s practically afternoon - until you see a very small silhouette of another tower in the distance. You nod, then realize Soonyoung can’t see you. “Oh. Cool.”

“Aren’t you gonna tell me your name?” Soonyoung asks, but his tone is light, breezy. You blink, reciting your name to him in a daze. “Pretty! So, what brings you out here?”

You weren’t expecting that question. “What?”

Soonyoung giggles into the radio. “Everyone comes out here for some reason. Like… Jihoon says it’s ‘cause it helps him write music. And Joshua loves the outdoors, so… what’s your reason?”

“You…” you start, not exactly wanting to tell a stranger the reason you ran away from everything you know. “Do you normally ask this many questions?”

“Yeah!”

You feel yourself sigh, already tired again.

“I… just wanted to get away for a while,” you end up saying. A half-truth. “I live in the city.”

“No way,” Soonyoung gasps excitedly. “Me too! I wonder if both of us have ever been walking and, like, passed each other without knowing…”

This isn’t exactly what you had in mind when you thought of escaping.

DAY TWO.

The next morning, you dedicate time to getting a little more settled into your home for the next few months. You didn’t bring a lot of decor - you didn’t think you needed any - but even seeing your blanket on the bed and a few books you need to catch up on reading stacked on the desk makes the place feel a little bit more like you. You eventually reach the journal you packed (that Minghao made you pack) and stare at it like it might do something. Like it might tell you to write again, or like it might tell you to leave everything behind. You don’t really know what you want from it.

A sing-songed version of your name comes from your radio and you blink away from the journal, set it down on the desk. “Good morning!” Soonyoung says from the other end, and you feel yourself take a deep breath as you pick up your radio and press down the button so he can hear you.

“Morning, Soonyoung,” you respond, calm compared to his excitement. 

“So… what are your plans for today?”

“Um,” you pause, brows furrowed, looking towards the direction of his tower even though you know he can’t see you. “Looking out for fires?”

“That’s boring,” is Soonyoung’s immediate response, and you laugh a little.

“Kinda my job for a while.”

And listen, you’ve known Soonyoung for less than a full 24 hours, but even before your brain really comprehends what he’s saying you know you’re not going to like it. “Wait, that reminds me,” he says, tone of his voice a little less overexcited puppy. “What did you do before this? Or, like, what’s your career? I mean, you don’t have to answer, I just thought it could be a way for us to get to know each other…”

His voice fades away for the split second you remember a little too much all at once, but somehow your voice still sounds put together when you speak. “Nothing special,” you say. There’s a pause when you don’t elaborate any further, but instead of asking about it, Soonyoung changes the subject.

“Okay!” he says, back to a more playful tone. “Anyways, I asked about your plans ‘cause I kind of need you to do something for me.”

“Already asking favors?” you tease. “We just met, Soonyoung.”

You hear him laugh, loud and hearty, and it’s contagious even through a radio line so you feel your own smile pull at your lips. “One of the other lookouts found some teenagers with fireworks,” he informs you. “I need you to meet him and get the fireworks from him.”

Your feet are already in your shoes, one halfway tied. “You can’t do this?”

Soonyoung’s voice is strangely thoughtful, but you catch a hint of mischief at the end of his sentence. “I would, but Jihoonie said he’d eat me if I tried to see him again and I think he’s serious this time.”

He tells you where the other lookout - Jihoon - should be and gives you a quick lesson on how to properly use your map to get there. You’re not really excited for another hike this early on (you’re still sore from even getting up here) but by the time you meet the halfway mark you’re convinced it’s not that bad. It’s neither long nor challenging, and… well, Soonyoung’s insistent on keeping you company the whole time. 

When you see what looks like a guy at the edge of a now-abandoned camp, you tell Soonyoung you’ll radio him when you’re on your way back to your tower. “Hey,” you call out as you get closer. The man looks up at you, his eyes sharp but not unkind. “Jihoon?”

“Yeah,” he replies. Under his cap you notice that his hair is a gentle silver, almost purple. He’s dressed casually, like you, and you suppose it’s a given since there’s no exact dress code for this job.  “You’re the newbie?”

You didn’t know people knew about you. “I.. I guess,” you say, then tell him your name.

“Cool,” Jihoon says, voice flat like he’s distracted. He picks up the bag next to his feet and hands it to you. “Take these. Thanks.”

He starts to walk away, down a trail opposite the direction you came, but you think of earlier, when Soonyoung asked about your job (or when he didn’t). You call after Jihoon, hesitate, but then opt to make this quick since he looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “Have you and Soonyoung… known each other for long?”

Jihoon turns around. He shrugs, then nods. “We met in college, a few years ago.”

“What kind of person is he?”

You watch in vague amusement as Jihoon’s nose scrunches up, but the small smile on his face refuses to hide and it makes you giggle. “Really annyoing,” he tells you, then pauses for a second like he’s looking for the right words, “kind of overwhelming sometimes. But he’s good. He’s someone you want around.”

Someone you want around, your brain repeats to you. You nod with a friendly smile as you haphazardly stuff the fireworks in your hiking bag. “Okay. Thank you.”

Jihoon offers an acknowledging nod of his own before continuing on his way back to his tower. You’re about five minutes into your hike back to yours when your radio sounds from your pocket with a now-familiar voice.

“Are you on your way back?” Soonyoung asks. “You forgot to tell me!”

“Sorry, yeah, I am now. I was talkin’ to Jihoon for a second.”

“Really? That’s weird. He rarely talks to anyone, especially strangers. What’d you talk about?”

You can’t help the small smile that lands on your face as you speak. “Stuff to blackmail you with.”

You think you hear Soonyoung’s groan all the way from his tower, and your smile only grows when it turns into a laugh.

DAY FIVE.

The clouds look dark today.

They haven’t covered the sun completely yet, but they’re closing in fast. You hope that it rains, already sick and tired of the disgusting heat, but also. Something else.

Rainy days always used to be the best to write, your brain supplies to you. You brave a glance at the still-unopened journal on the desk, thinking that maybe…

Your radio turning on drags you away from the crack in metaphorical door, coming at the perfect time as if to tell you that you’re not ready yet. You listen to it, grab the radio, murmur a greeting to Soonyoung.

“It’s getting pretty dark out, huh?” He says. He must be looking at the sky, too.

“Yeah,” you hum. “Hopefully the storm isn’t too bad.”

The line goes quiet, but you know that Soonyoung’s still there even if he isn’t saying anything. The knowledge comforts you, just a little.

“Well... got any rainy day stories?”

DAY SEVENTEEN.

“So, Soonyoung,” you call into your radio as you step outside. You’ve taken advantage of the small balcony around the entire cabin, setting up a few chairs you found in the storage unit at the bottom of the tower (just in case someone stops by, you tell yourself) and a small table you weren’t using inside. The nights are hot but still relaxing, and you find yourself sitting outside often, catching up on reading or taking in the stars. 

“I can’t believe you radioed me first,” Soonyoung responds, and you hear the smugness in his voice. “I’m so happy!”

Soonyoung somehow almost always manages to be with you in the nights, too, even if not physically. Being away from the urban civilization you’re used to has been a little difficult to adjust to, but you feel significantly less alone whenever you hear him calling you. You tell him to be quiet even though both of you are laughing. The distant crickets make your chest warm.

“What do you do? You didn’t tell me before,” You ask him after a second. There’s a small wave of anxiety that rushes over you at the idea that he might call you out about when he asked you the same thing. That was two weeks ago, though, you think, and Soonyoung wouldn’t. You’re sure he’s been able to tell that it’s a touchy subject. You’re not as discreet as you think you are, even if (and you’ve learned this the past few weeks) Soonyoung’s a bit more on the oblivious side sometimes.

“I dance!” 

Somehow, despite having not even seen what he looks like, it’s fitting. “Like… teach, or choreograph, or…”

“A little of everything,” Soonyoung tells you, and then starts elaborating. His voice echoes through your radio and you look up at the stars as you listen to him, trying to map out constellations from memory. He sounds so excited to simply talk about it, you can’t imagine what he must look like when he’s actually on stage. You hope you get to see it one day.

“You’ll have to teach me something sometime,” you say once he’s finished, voicing your thoughts. With a giggle that sounds like the stars above you, he tells you he’d love to.

A moment of quiet passes, spent focusing on the tiny specks of fireflies you see in the field around your tower and feeling the summer breeze as it passes. The words slip out of your mouth with much less resistance than you thought they would.

“I used to write,” you murmur into your radio. It takes you a moment to register the heavy beat of your heart, like you just got back from a run.

“Used to?” Soonyoung asks, curious but soft.

“For now,” you answer. The ache you’ve become familiar with throbs in your chest. “Hopefully not forever.”

It’s not the whole story - not even close - but you figure you might be able to tell him with time. The thought stresses you out even when you have nothing to stress about, and you think Soonyoung is psychic because he says, next, “the stars are really pretty tonight.”

You’re not looking at the sky when you answer. Your head is tilted in the direction of his tower. 

“They really are,” you say.

DAY THIRTY-THREE.

You’ve fallen into a bit of a routine with Soonyoung. 

Not a day goes by where you don’t talk to him - the one day you radioed and he didn’t pick up you genuinely thought something happened to him, seconds away from calling a park ranger. Right before you actually did it, though, he picked up his radio and said he had been taking a nap.

(His voice was a little groggy from sleep, sounded like he was pouting whether he meant to or not and you’d be lying if you said the thought didn’t make your heart skip a few beats - but if anyone asked, you’d definitely lie about it.)

One of you calls the other around the same time every morning and you don’t put down your radio until the sun is well behind the mountains. You’ve grown used to his presence, in a way, even if you can’t really feel him with you (though sometimes you swear you can). It’s comforting to have him out there with you, and it’s been so long since you’ve talked to someone the way you do with Soonyoung… you find yourself looking forward to every morning, waiting for when you hear him over your radio.

Today is no different.

Well, in an unrelated way, it is - you have to hike to a supply box to get your surplus of food for the next month and a half you have left. But even as you’re doing inventory of what you have left in your cabin on a piece of paper, you’re waiting for Soonyoung’s usual good morning. It comes as always, makes you smile when you hear it.

“Good morning!” 

You leave your scratch paper on your desk and reach for your radio. “Morning,” you say after you’ve pressed the button down. 

“So…” Soonyoung trails off. “Supply drop day.”

“Yeah,” you reply, sitting on your bed.

“Both of us are getting crates of food today…”

What is he getting at? “Uh-huh…?”

“Both of us… getting supplies… from the same place.”

A confused laugh leaves your lips. “Soonyoung, what is your point?”

Even for as often as you talk to him, you’re still always surprised when he starts yelling. “Let’s meet up!” he exclaims, obviously excited, and it clicks in your head.

“Oh my God, can we do that?” 

“Yeah!” Soonyoung sounds like he’s grinning, smile palpable in his voice. “If we pull some strings with the other lookouts and get hiking at the right time, it’s totally possible.”

Holy shit. Your heart is beating wildly, butterflies swarming around it at the thought of meeting Soonyoung in person. “Okay,” you tell him, noting that you sound a little breathless. “Okay, yeah, let’s do it.”

It takes a few minutes to work everything out - the supply boxes should be dropped off by midday, so you can leave your tower around then and get to the drop location in a little over an hour. Soonyoung has to leave earlier than you since he’s farther away, but if everything goes well the two of you should get to the drop location close to the same time, margin of error small. You radio Jihoon to cover for you while you’re out, and he agrees, although he sounds a bit miffed.

When you finally leave for your hike, you’re not expecting how quiet it is. Soonyoung’s usually there to cover it up with his voice - you don’t hike often (you’ve not had to, given your job for the summer is to watch for fires) but whenever you have he’s been there to keep you company. You plug in your earphones about halfway through your trip just to drown out the quiet, something more to listen to than just trees and the sound of your own footsteps.

Eventually you make it to the supply box, and, well. There’s a guy. Standing in front of a long, green box - you think you see lookout tower names engraved ever few inches: Thorofare, Cottonwood, Twin Peaks. Packing some ready-to-eat meals into his backpack.

Holy shit, Soonyoung? your brain automatically asks, and it sends your heart spiraling up and down. You’re not sure what you thought he looked like, but it wasn’t this. Tall, lean - wait, you don’t even know if this is actually him yet.

Before you can think too much about it, you call out, voice tentative. “Are you… Soonyoung?”

The man turns around, shakes his head with a kind smile. “No,” he says. “I’m Joshua.”

You think about throwing yourself into the river by your tower when you get back for absolutely no reason. Somehow you manage a polite smile and a gentle sorry.

“No, don’t apologize, you’re fine!” Joshua chirps, adjusting the cap on his head. “You’re looking for him?”

You pause. Those aren’t the exact words you would use, but they’re not technically wrong, so you nod. After all, you don’t know what he looks like (you probably should have asked him before both of you left, but you weren’t expecting another person to be here).

“Please don’t tell me he got lost again,” Joshua says, suddenly looking tired, and you look back at him wide-eyed because... again? Has this happened before?

“No,” you tell him. “No, I mean, I don’t think so. I don’t know. Since we both have to pick up supplies he thought it’d be cool if we met up in person.”

Joshua sighs, seemingly relieved, then continues packing what’s left of his supplies into his backpack as he hums. “That’s weird.”

“What is?”

He shrugs. “Soonyoung likes the outdoors, yeah, but the supply box is a pretty far hike from his tower. I think the last few summers he’s had them delivered.”

Oh, you think, and maybe say out loud, because then Joshua’s looking back at you, a mischievous smile on his face. 

“He must really like you to come all the way out here,” he tells you, and you laugh like it might get rid of all the thoughts popping up in your mind that you keep telling yourself to stop thinking about.

“And yet,” you say wistfully, looking towards the horizon. “I still come second to Jihoon.”

This time Joshua laughs, a friendly sound, and the two of you fall into a playful conversation. He’s somewhat a superior of yours, though not by a far gap - as the lookout who’s been on the job the longest, he oversees the rest of you (which is you, Soonyoung, Jihoon, and a few others you have yet to come across). You get along with him easily and it’s weird to think that if you hadn’t gone through what you did a few months ago you wouldn’t be here talking to him, establishing what could be a new friendship. You wonder if that’s a new step towards healing, finding a way to be grateful even if it was horrible.

You talk to Joshua for a while until he says he should get back to his tower. You nod, tell him goodbye (and thanks for his company) and he starts to walk away -

“Shua!”

A burst of platinum blonde hair rushes past you from the opposite direction you came from, heading for Joshua. The new guy drops a bag at his feet and almost softly crashes into Joshua, who has this look on his face you can’t really decipher.

“Hey, Soonyoung,” he says, and you blink.

Soonyoung, like… your Soonyoung? The Soonyoung you’ve been talking to for weeks?

You watch as the two hug, Soonyoung excited to see Joshua and completely ignoring you (though you’re not sure he’s doing it intentionally). All you can do is stand there. This is him, your brain keeps telling you. This is the guy.

“I haven’t seen you in forever!” Soonyoung exclaims, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly. “How are you? How have things been?”

Joshua shrugs, a small smile on his face as he puts a gentle hand on Soonyoung’s head and starts… petting. “I’ve been good, same old deal. I know that you’ve been doing good too, though, as far as I’ve seen from your reports.”

Soonyoung beams at the praise and you take note of it in the back of your mind (you also note the way Joshua’s treating him like a toddler and how it’s working). He opens his mouth to say something else but looks around and meets your eyes - for a second there’s nothing at all, but then you think you see an exclamation mark actually pop above his head.

The yell of your name is so loud it makes you jump. “Oh my God,” Soonyoung whines, falling to his knees dramatically. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you!”

“This is the first time you’ve seen me,” you say. You can’t seem to hold back your smile.

Joshua excuses himself (again) and finally moves on his way, says he’s in Thorofare lookout if anything happens. The sun is mellow on your skin as you look at Soonyoung, take him in - light hair, warm eyes, tan skin. His smile matches your own. A breeze shifts by, slow and sweet.

“Hi,” you say.

Soonyoung grins.

“Hey.”

-

So the bag you saw Soonyoung drop on the ground before was, in fact, for a picnic.

He didn’t bring a lot of food (the whole point of the hike was to get supply boxes anyways) aside from a few candy bars he’d saved for today. He did bring a blanket, however, and the two of you set everything up on the edge of a rock not too far away from the drop location, under some trees. It looks over a small ravine, a stream cutting through at the bottom. 

The time goes by like it was never there in the first place, spent talking and laughing. Soonyoung is just as animated in person as you thought he’d be, telling stories wildly as the two of you snack away a portion of your supplies. You know the two of you don’t have much time together, given how late it already was when Soonyoung arrived and both of your hikes back to your respective towers, but it’s still… refreshing, almost, to be with him like this, to finally get a piece of him you didn’t before. To hear him without the crackle of the radio and to see him.

To see him.

Something stirs in your chest when you look at him lying back on the blanket, arms supporting his head with his eyes closed. The sun lights up his skin in a golden glow, like honey, and the dark roots growing into his blonde hair are somehow endearing. The breath leaves your lungs when you finally label him as pretty. You hope you can blame the heat in your cheeks on the sun.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Soonyoung sighs, still not opening his eyes. You almost reach out to brush the hair away from his face, but a breeze comes by and does it for you. You hope it’s not a sign.

“It would be nice, huh,” you murmur in response. You finally break your gaze from Soonyoung and lean back on your hands, soaking up the feeling of the blue sky.

It’s now that you remember what Joshua had said earlier about Soonyoung usually getting his supplies delivered, and you turn back to him. “Hey, before you got to the supply box, Joshua and I were talking.” Soonyoung hums in acknowledgement. “Is the hike from your tower to here really that bad?”

His voice strains as he stretches, opening his eyes to look at you. “I mean, yeah, it’s a bitch of a hike to take sometimes. But it’s not really hard except for a few spots, just long.”

You furrow your brows. When you agreed to meet him, you didn’t think it’d be this much trouble for him. “And you came all this way so we could… what, sit here and eat? Like we do most of the time anyways? Just separately?”

Soonyoung pouts at you and you feel personally attacked. “Food tastes good when you’re with other people.”

You give him a soft, semi-playful glare, and Soonyoung offers a small giggle. You turn back towards the view in front of you.

“Did you not want me to come down?” He asks, and he doesn’t sound… sad, really, more observant. Like he wants to know where you’re at.

“No,” you answer almost immediately (Jesus, your brain says). “I just… it’s a long trip. It doesn’t really seem like it’s worth the effort.”

Like I’m worth the effort, you think to yourself. 

You hear Soonyoung shuffle behind you and turn around to look at him again, finding him sitting up straight. “It is to me,” he tells you, and there’s something in his eyes that holds you in your spot. The tips of his fingers brush against yours on the blanket. You’d look down if you didn’t think you’d miss something. “I wanted to.”

In a second, it clicks.

-

It’s not much longer until Soonyoung needs to start heading back. The two of you get your things together, and you help him pack up the picnic supplies he brought. When everything’s said and done and the two of you are back by the supply box, there’s a second of uncharacteristic quiet that falls over you.

“Let me know when you get back,” you say after a moment. Soonyoung grins.

“You’re worried about me!” he swoons, and you hit him on the shoulder playfully, but don’t deny it. It can be dangerous out there, and even if Soonyoung has been out here longer than you, anything can happen. 

“Just radio me, okay?”

Soonyoung smiles, something a little softer from before. He nods. “I will. You be safe too.”

You nod in return, taking a few steps back towards the trail that leads back to your tower. “Talk to you later, Hoshi.”

The last you see of him before you turn around is the grin on his face.

DAY THIRTY-FOUR.

It feels like forever since you’ve been here.

A window is open and welcomes a distant ambiance of the forest around you, trees and birds and animals. The journal you brought with you is open to the first page, but remains untouched - nothing on the pages. At least, not yet.

(The not yet you always tell yourself seems closer, this time, not so far away. Within reach, or at least within reason.)

Soonyoung had called in that the hike from yesterday had worn him out and he needed a nap. You had laughed fondly at how tired he sounded, told him to sleep well and that you’d be waiting for him. And you feel the words, right at your fingertips, the way the rest and wait to be written. Their presence is both terrifying and reassuring. 

You don’t think they’ll be able to bleed out correctly, not the way they used to since it’s been so long. But they’re there, in your mind, in your heart. 

You pick up the pen you got out, feel the weight of it as you click it a few times. You tap it on the desk once, twice, and then.

You take a deep breath and start to write.

DAY SIXTY-FOUR.

“Are you lookin’ at the fire?”

Your eyes leave the page of your book at Soonyoung’s voice crackling from the radio, looking around your cabin windows to see that, oh, there is a fire. You’d kind of forgotten that it’s… literally your job. At least there are multiple lookouts.

You fold the corner of the page you’re on as a makeshift bookmark before closing the book and setting it down on your bed as you stand to get your radio. You grab a can of soda from the mini-fridge you’ve started to utilize (as best you can, given it does a mediocre job at keeping things cool) before walking out onto the deck, sitting in one of the chairs you set up. “Now I am,” you tell Soonyoung as you adjust the chair so it faces the direction of the fire. You think you’re the closest lookout to it - which makes the fact that you didn’t notice it even worse - but not in any danger. The smoke paints the evening sky red-orange, washing over the purples and blues the sun used earlier as it set. “You’ve called it in?”

“Yeah, told Josh, who told the higher-ups,” Soonyoung responds, voice strangely… solemn? He sighs his next words. “They’ll probably send a crew in for suppression by morning.”

“Is there a reason you sound sad about putting a potentially dangerous forest fire out?” You tease, cracking open your soda and taking a sip. The carbonation feels good in your mouth, pops on your tongue.

“I’m not!” Soonyoung denies after some sputtering, and you laugh. “Just… ugh, looking at it - I’ve worked here every summer for the past, like, five years, and I’ve only ever seen two fires. Three, counting this one.” His voice gains a certain softness, like he’s lost in thought. “I don’t want the place to burn down or anything, but… don’t you think it’s kind of beautiful?”

It’s a little morally ambiguous, but as you look at the distant, licking flames you have to agree. In the dark, it’s vibrant, more than just ashy smoke and the smell of burning - it glows red, flushes out silhouettes of the trees in between it and you.

“I guess it is,” you hum into your radio as you stare at it.

“So. What should we name it?”

“The fire?”

“Yes,” Soonyoung says, dramatic as always. “She needs a name! I’ve always given them names, but I’ll let you do the honor this time.”

There’s something sweet in the way he offers you the chance to name it, and you try not to dwell on it too much. “Ah,” you start, thinking for a moment. “Barbara. The Barbara Fire.”

Soonyoung howls out a laugh and it’s infectious; you feel the tugging of your lips into a grin. “That is the worst thing that has ever come out of your mouth,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “We are not naming it the Barbara Fire.”

You huff out a fake whine. “Come on, it’s just Barb! She’s beautiful.”

“But deadly,” Soonyoung adds in a voice that sounds like it came straight out of a crime documentary. It makes you giggle, the two of you throwing around silly, stupid names.

“Okay, okay,” you say after a few minutes. “Then… hmm, the Hoshi Fire.”

There’s a long, long pause, and you hold down the button to your radio again. “Uh oh, is he broken?”

Soonyoung’s voice comes through, joking, but you sense a pinch of sincerity. “You want to name a raging forest fire after me… I feel like I shouldn’t be happy but I kind of am.”

You remember to push the button as you laugh, looking directly at the fire and shouting, “I hereby dub thee… the Hoshi Fire!” as loud as you can.

After the laughter dies down, for a second, there’s quiet - not awkward or for the sake of a bit, just quiet. Soonyoung’s not telling a story, you’re not giving witty comebacks. It’s just the two of you and the fire, alone in the forest.

It breaks eventually. Soft, gentle. “I’m glad you’re out here, you know,” Soonyoung says.

His words make you stiffen and relax all at once, and almost on instinct you look in the direction of his tower. You can’t really see the silhouette - the sun too far gone, taking the last of its light with it - but you know it’s there, can pinpoint exactly where it should be. You hope Soonyoung’s looking over at you, too.

And even if the reason you’re here in the first place is still a tender bruise to be pressed, you find yourself recovering a little more every day. “I am, too,” you respond. “I… I wish you were over here.”

It’s a roundabout way to say I miss you, but a part of you thinks neither of you are ready for something that explicit. You reach a hand out in the direction of Soonyoung’s tower, grasping at it like it might bring him to you. It’s not as if you can’t meet up with him again, but… between the distance and the fact that there’s an actual fire to keep your eye on, it certainly wouldn’t be easy. This is the closest you can get for now.

“I wish I was too,” Soonyoung says. You close your eyes to picture him, pretty smile and fond eyes. “We could hang out, like last time.”

“Without the radios,” you add. 

“We could, um… you know.”

His words make you giggle, and you feel a little lucky that you’re not holding down the button. Your heart is pounding in your chest, nervous but stable, secure, as you reply. A welcomed beat, even if startling.

“No, I don’t,” you tell him. Your soda sits forgotten, half-empty, on the floor of the deck by your feet. You don’t bother paying attention to the fire. “What could we do?”

Soonyoung groans and this time you laugh pushing the button so he can hear you, warm and affectionate. “Don’t tease me! You know what I’m talking about.”

You do. “What could we do, Soonyoung?”

There’s a pause, but you know he’s still there.

“Well,” he says eventually. “Let me tell you.”

DAY SEVENTY-SIX.

The fire’s gotten big.

You feel like you shouldn’t be surprised by it - it’s a wildfire, they’re not exactly easy to contain, but seeing it up close like this is vastly different from being in a city and barely even noticing the smoke. It is larger than life out here, consuming more and more of the forest each day. The last few days you’ve spent inside due to the low visibility (though it’s not as if you take a hike every day anyways). It makes you wonder if it’s safe to stay out here.

“...Hey,”  Soonyoung radios in. “I have a question for you.”

Rationally, you know whatever it is, it can’t be that serious. But your heart picks up pace anyways, beats a little harder as you pick up your radio to respond. “Look, it was Jihoon’s idea to use the fireworks, I promise neither of us knew it would start the fire.”

Soonyoung sputters out a laugh and you match him, feeling yourself calm down. “I’ll… I’ll ask Jihoon about that later, but - I really do have something to ask you.”

You lay down in your bed, unmade and messy. “Is it… bad?”

“I don’t think so,” Soonyoung responds. “Maybe?”

“Okay…” you say, timid. “Shoot.”

“When you first got here, I asked why you took the job,” he says, and you nod to yourself, remembering the first call you got from him. “You just… never really responded. I get it if it’s, like, a touchy subject, I don’t want to pressure you at all…”

“No,” you interrupt before you realize what you’re saying. You take a deep breath, Soonyoung waits. “No, it’s probably… it might be good to talk about it. I’ll tell you.”

He murmurs an okay, tells you to take your time and you do. It’s not like you’re scared to tell him - you’ve come to trust him, you know he won’t judge you for anything that happened or think any differently of you. You’re not even sure that’s why it’s hard for you to talk about - rather than any sort of outside force that might affect you, it’s more… more of a part of you that you felt you lost. It’s more coming to terms - even after these months - and going through the motions. It’s scary to talk about disconnection, especially from the one thing you loved (love?) more than anything.

“I… write,” is how you start, looking at the ceiling of your cabin as you speak. “Or wrote, maybe? I’m an author. I have a few books published. Writing is something I’ve loved since I was so young, it’s… a part of me, really. It’s special to me.

“When I finally got a manager and a publishing company and all that official stuff, I was so excited. It was like I was finally living my dream. I wrote my first book and got it published and it did really well, so my management asked me to do another, and I did. Then they asked for one after that, and I didn’t… it felt too soon, in a way. Rushed. But I guess I did it because I had to, because I figured this just came with being a writer and not everything is what you want it to be - and I didn’t want to risk losing what I had wanted almost my entire life.”

You take a moment to steady yourself, note the tremble of your fingers and take a few deep breaths. Soonyoung waits for you, patient and kind. “It went like that for a while, and I lost touch with writing. I stopped loving the only thing I knew how to love. I was so detached from it. A few months before I took this job my manager set up a press conference for me, and I… kind of… had a breakdown. At the conference. So I’m out here to run away for a second. Be away from it all.”

The quiet that follows doesn’t make you nervous, really, but you’re still waiting for a reply of any sort. Even if it’s the common oh or it’ll be okay that you got from distant friends and relatives who didn’t know what was really going on. But Soonyoung was patient with you, so you can be patient with him.

“Have you written since?” He asks after a minute, and your eyes flash over to the journal on your desk. One page has the familiar strokes and loops of your handwriting, written after you met Soonyoung in person.

“Only once,” you respond, truthful.

“When you start to write again… will you show me?”

And for some reason the question is so tender, filled to the brim with something you want to name. It makes tears spring to your eyes as you look out over the rising fire, trying not to let your voice shake too much as you reply.

(Maybe it’s because he said when and not if, maybe it’s because he didn’t tell you it’ll be okay, maybe it’s because it’s him and not someone else telling you the same thing.)

“Yeah,” you say, letting go of the button to sniff. “Yeah, I will. If you let me see one of your dances.”

You hear Soonyoung’s smile through the radio as he tells you it’s a deal.

DAY SEVENTY-EIGHT.

For the first time since you started working, someone who isn’t Soonyoung calls you through the radio (not counting the time you radioed Jihoon to make sure he was still alive, because you only saw him once and hadn’t heard from him since then). You hear the familiar click that tells you someone’s on the station, and you’re fully expecting Soonyoung’s voice to light up your cabin the way it always does. Instead, Joshua’s voice rings through.

“You there?” He asks after a comfortable call of your name, and you pick up your radio.

“Yeah, I’m here. It’s been a while,” you respond, and Joshua hums. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve… been,” he tells you, which earns a small laugh. “Anyways, I called in to let you know that they’re having trouble controlling the fire -”

You take a look at the giant flume of smoke north of your tower, nodding to yourself. “I can see that.”

Joshua tells you to be quiet. You hear the friendly smile in his voice.

“There’ll be an evacuation team here within the next two days,” he says. “Maybe less, shouldn’t be more. They’re gonna get all the lookouts evacuated.”

Oh. Evacuation? That means… the city. Your apartment, back to your family and friends. You’d forgotten an entire world exists outside of the bubble you created for yourself.

“Okay,” you say slowly, still looking at the fire. “I assume you’ve told the other lookouts?”

“I’ve got a few more to call, but other than that, yeah, everyone’s covered. I told Soonyoung and Jihoon first,” Joshua tells you, and you blink at the fact that you didn’t even have to ask. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

“Yeah. Stay safe, Josh.”

You sit for a while after that, trying to cope with the feeling in your chest. You… you feel better about everything, about writing, for sure, but. But. It’s cut short, even if only by a little over a week. You haven’t even started packing anything up - so much of you is strewn around the cabin, in the field around your tower, in the trees of the forest you hiked through. You don’t think you’re ready to say goodbye to the place you’ve made your home and the people (person, your heart whispers) with it. 

The sun starts to set and the fire grows. You sit on your bed and look at the things you’ve made your own, a sunken, unfinished emotion spreading through you. Eventually it is Soonyoung’s voice that comes from your radio, low and humorous.

“The Hoshi Fire can’t be stopped…” he murmurs, and you laugh despite the loss you feel. 

“Please,” you groan into your radio after you’ve grabbed it. “We’re getting evacuated!”

Soonyoung giggles, something mischievous that makes your heart warm with slow appreciation. “I can’t believe it’s ending so soon,” you say, standing up to walk around aimlessly.

“Yeah, the summer went by super fast, huh?” Soonyoung replies. “I’m kind of excited, though. I’ve missed a proper dance studio.”

That’s… oh. 

A current of mild surprise rolls through you and you think you physically feel your jaw drop, just a little. That - that hurt. More than you want it to, more than you think it should - but it’s... fine. You’ve only known Soonyoung for a few months, it’s not like…

You realize you haven’t responded and open your mouth on purpose this time. “I wish we could share the sentiment, Hoshi,” you joke, hoping it doesn’t sound too stiff. 

If Soonyoung notices anything, he doesn’t say it. Only laughs, sweet and genuine. “I’m sure you’ll find something to yearn for just as I yearn for dance,” he says dramatically. You laugh, forced, because yeah, you will. Maybe you already have.

DAY EIGHTY.

Evacuation day.

Last day in your tower. Last day in the forest. Last day of the job you took to escape, to heal. It’s spent packing up the things you brought with you, throwing away everything else. Joshua said helicopters would be touching down at two points - Twin Peaks lookout and Mule Point lookout. Twin Peaks is Soonyoung’s tower, and if you planned it out right, you could probably get there and leave with him.

You tell yourself that the reason you can’t is because Mule Point is closer. Safer. They’re evacuating you for a reason.

“Hey.”

Speak of the devil, you think, grabbing your radio from its charging port. “Hi.”

“So,” Soonyoung says. For the first time since you’ve known him, he seems awkward. “Evacuation day.”

“Yessir…”

“What evacuation point are you hiking to?”

You pause, hesitate like you’re about to say something you shouldn’t. “Mule Point,” you manage to get out. “It’s closer,” you say after, your brain telling you to justify it, explain.

“What did the Hoshi Fire ever do to you?” Soonyoung huffs out through a laugh, and it sounds so unaffected that you feel that ache from before again. After a second, he adds, “so… this’ll be the last we talk. At least for a while.”

That realization hits you like a brick and the sting behind your eyes seems normal - regardless of whatever was built between you and Soonyoung or what lead you out here in the first place, it’s so sad that it’s ending. “Yeah,” you say quietly. Everything is packed, you just need to get hiking. “I, um. Is it cheesy to say thank you?”

“Maybe,” Soonyoung chuckles. “But it’ll also make me feel really good, so…”

You feel yourself calm down and let out your own small giggle. Maybe it was always meant to end this way, a little too soon, a little too sad. “Really… thanks, Soonyoung. I think it would’ve been worse for me if I got the silence I came out here for. I’m glad I had you to talk to.”

“Thank you, too,” Soonyoung says back. “I hope… you write again. I’ll talk to you later.”

The mention of it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, and you feel the smallest of smiles on your lips. “Yeah. Later.”

The radio clicks off and that’s the last you hear from Soonyoung.

EPILOGUE.

It’s hard to come back.

From nature, from Soonyoung - everything, really. To go from trees and fires and talking every night back to car horns, busy sidewalks and your own apartment. It’s weird to wake up and not see the immediate shine of the sun through your windows. But you come back, slowly get used to the life you had before.

And you start writing.

Given - you get back in August only start writing again in October, but you write. Little by little, page after page. Maybe not every day, like you used to, but the words are back and they are eager to get out, leave their mark as your work. You stand up to your management (with Minghao’s support) and take control of your own writing schedule. The pressure from before leaves. Writing becomes special more than ever, returns as the one thing you never get truly tired of.

Minghao asks about the job, your summer. You tell him it was easy and peaceful, and that you’re thankful for the time. You mention the other lookouts. You mention Soonyoung. Only in passing, though. 

(Minghao definitely suspects something, but even if he asked, you wouldn’t tell him much.)

Sometimes you allow yourself to think of him - when you got back, you looked for a Soonyoung in the multiple dance studios in the city, but since you didn’t have a last name or any proper title, nothing came up. After that, you gave up, but he still shows up in your thoughts from time to time, bright blonde hair (the roots growing in) and glowing smile. It’s cold out, now, so you hope he isn’t getting sick and that he’s staying warm.

You’re reminded of just how cold it is when you have to brace the outside world to get your mail. There’s not even any wind, just an undeniable cold, and it makes your nose burn and eyes water as you walk the short trek to your mailbox. You find your slot and push your key in, unlocking it and gathering your mail. Most of it is junk, but you could have sworn something you ordered was supposed to come today -

“Excuse me?”

You turn your head to the voice and find a man walking towards you, his head turned down towards a small piece of paper. His voice sounds familiar, but you figure it must just be a neighbor you haven’t spoken to in a while. You turn your body to him, waiting for him to look up from the note so you can place a name on him. “Do you know where I can find an author…”

He looks up.

It’s Soonyoung.

He looks a little different - his hair is shorter, dyed black instead of the platinum you remember from last July. But it’s definitely him. The longer you stare at each other the wider his smile gets, and you stand, speechless. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world. Your heart starts to race, warms you up beneath your jacket.

“Found you,” Soonyoung grins. You can’t take your eyes off of him.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “You did.”

[crow-in-a-teapot]

tower of nero spoilers

i have just finished the tower of nero. and before i go searching for other people’s thoughts and art and more of the characters i love so much, i want to write down some of my own thoughts because i know as soon as i delve into that ‘ton spoilers’ hashtag there are going to be complaints and criticisms and so much that i don’t want to hear, or essays that’ll make me upset, or things that’ll change my perception on the book (because on this website people really love to hate the trials of apollo).

i want to start with: i loved it. it didn’t feel earth-shattering or huge and momentous like some of my favourite riordanverse books (house of hades, the blood of olympus, the last olympian and maybe some of the magnus chase books take those pedestals for me) but it was satisfying. and i think it was satisfying because it in no way felt like an ending. whether because eventually rick will write that will-and-nico-go-through-tartarus-and-save-bob novella, or because we (or at least i) will continue writing and imagining and creating for this world i don’t know. he didn’t wrap up the story in a perfect little bow like ‘nineteen years later’, he simply put it on pause. gave us a glimpse of where every character was at at the end.

the only thing that makes me so angry and upset is that i did manage to get some spoilers for moments that i know would have been so good to experience for the first time if i hadn’t been spoiled for them. the moment where rachel mentions penguins in a mansion near her house, nico getting mental health advice from mr d, the fact that will and nico were going to be in the book for so much of the story, but the big thing was literally spoiled for me two days ago, it was the reason i sat down to read it as fast as possible because i was terrified of getting more spoiled and not being able to experience the moments for myself, was that piper had a girlfriend. i know that reading that for the first time would have been so cool and surprising, and the fact that when it came up for a moment in the last couple pages all i felt was disappointment because it was spoiled for me and because it was now tinged with whatever that person was saying about her having a girlfriend.

but i still had some warm fuzzy moments, the two parts where apollo thinks he’s going to die but nico comes up behind him - so good. impeccable. 

Leader Guy spat. ‘Now, I kill you.’

He raised his sword... and froze. His face turned pale. His skin began to shrivel. His beard fell out whisker by whisker like dead pine needles. Finally, his skin crumbled away, along with his clothes and flesh, until Leader Guy was nothing but a bleached-white skeleton, holding a sword in his bony hands. 

Standing behind him, his hand on the skeleton’s shoulder, was Nico di Angelo.

and

Nero raised his hand, ready to give the kill command, when behind me a mighty BOOM! shook the chamber. Half our enemies were thrown off their feet. Cracks sprouted in the windowsand the marble columns. Ceiling tiles broke, raining dust like split bags of flour. 

I turned to see the impenetrable blast doors lying twisted and broken, a strangely emaciated red bull standing in the breach. Behind it stood Nico di Angelo.

gods. poetic brilliance. i can’t believe i’m still a nico di angelo stannie in the year 2021. in five years i have not changed (ever since the tv show announcement last summer i have managed to morph into myself from 2017)

from here i’m not sure where to go next i kind of want to go through everything, except it’ll be more difficult than my tyrant’s tomb reaction because i wasn’t reading on a kindle and thus can’t just do funny little reactions to screenshots of quotes, so i’ll just skim through the book page by page and see what i can comment on (i’m not planning on doing analysis today, no thank you, just enjoying the end of my childhood and trying to squeeze as much out of it as possible)

i have an emotional attachment to mr. snake from the very first chapter, and am very upset that he’ll never get off on his baltimore stop and get to see his wife, lu had no reason to shoot and kill him like that.

that brings me to lu, i liked her, it was interesting to see how rick kind of brought in not only the overarching theme of abuse, but also people who let the abuse happen, i have more i could say on this i’m too lazy to right now, and i promised no analysis - or the fact that Lu had conspired to make the show non-lethal to spare Meg’s feelings rather than - oh, I don’t know - refusing to do Nero’s dirty work in the first place and getting Meg out of that house of horrors. 

And are you any better? taunted a small voice in my brain. How many times have you stood up to Zeus?

Okay, small voice. Fair point. Tyrants are not easy to opppose or walk away from, especially when you depend on them for everything.

the parallels to meg and lester heading to percy’s apartment, and then to camp half blood to the hidden oracle was so cool to read, every callback to the hidden oracle just there to remind us readers exactly how far apollo has come and how he’s changed; the entire chapter with sally, paul and estelle just felt sickly sweet, it just didn’t seem real how wholesome and good that family is, like i get why apollo broke down and just sobbed in that shower.

also rick really saying acab again in toa, i thought he was done after that elf cop chapter in magnus chase (the magnus chase series is a masterpiece) but apparently not, with A ‘good cop’ is still a cop... still a part of the mind game.

the grey sisters, i forgot about them completely but this threw me back into was it the sea of monsters when annabeth summoned them? i’m not sure, it could have been the lightning thief either, they really remind me of the disney hercules movie. the whole ganymede paragraph was gold, i love gods being canonically confirmed lgbt in the riordanverse. i also love the whole eye-tossing part - 

‘He will crush our eye,’ Anger cried, ‘if we don’t recite our verses!’

‘I will not!’

‘We will all die!’ Wasp said. ‘He is crazy!’

‘I AM NOT!’

‘Fine, you win!’ Tempest howled.

also, the explanation for why dionysus chooses to look the way he does was perfect, because it was something i often wondered about and wasn’t expecting to get an explanation for, and i imagine the whole mythological dionysus to look like.. well like a more feminine apollo i guess, beautiful in a gender non-comforming way.

Other Olympians could never comprehend why Dionysus chose this form when he could look like anything he wanted. In ancient times, he’d been famous for his youthful beauty that defied gender.

... 

In retaliation, Dionysus had decided to look and act as ungodly as possible. He was like a child refusing to tuck in his shirt, comb his hair or brush his teeth, just to show his parents how little he cared.

every scene with nico at camp just BREAKS ME, i would throw in screenshots of every damn quote but unfortunately, as said above, cannot and would rather not type every one; we’ll start with, obviously apollo confirming to him that jason is dead. 

He didn’t look angry exactly. He looked as if he’d been hit in the gut not just once but so many times over the course of so many years that he was beginning to lose perspective on what it meant to be in pain. He swayed on his feet. He blinked. Then he flinched, jerking his hands away from Meg’s as if he’d just remembered his own touch was poison.

ugh then will talking about how nico’s doing, confirming that he’s suffering with ptsd, mr d giving him advice, helping him sort though what voices in his head are real and which ones aren’t, then the paragraph that just recounts every horrific thing poor nico has been through, how will has to reassure him that he’s okay and ‘with friends’ when he wakes up after shadow travel

will’s kindness to apollo, buying him clothes, and apollo finding seymour the leopard’s head in his bed, put there by mr d aaaa AAAA A A A A A THE ORDINARY, EVERYDAY CAMP HALF BLOOD THINGS..

i could go on for years and years about how much i appreciate rachel having a big role in this book, and the visit to her apartment, everything, her art, the fact that she got what she wanted, she’s going to PARIS to study ART, she isn’t forced to be someone she’s not by her dad, and gets to be a big part of a demigod mission and not stand on the sidelines for once.

i love that her landscapes are still visions, that she still paints the quests demigods go on - the burning maze, jason’s funeral pyre, caligula’s ships; and how nico ~appreciates art~

‘And, hey, di Angelo -’ she pushed him playfully away from the canvas he’d been ogling - ‘don’t brush against the art! I don’t care about the paintings, but if you get any colour on you, you’ll ruin that whole black-and-white aesthetic you’ve got going.’

i. love. rachel.

WILL GLOWS!! THE HEADCANONS FROM LIKE FIVE YEARS AGO THAT YOU’D SEE FLOATING AROUND ABOUT HIM MANIPULATING LIGHT!! CONFIRMED!! CANON!! AMAZING

I AM  OBSESSED WITH THE TROGS, I LOVE THEM, THEY ARE GREAT, not gonna lie, i was expecting something more dramatic and spooky with how worried will was and how dionysus was going.. visiting the cavern-runners isn’t ♫ good for your mental health  ♫ but the little hat frog gremlins were a good addition. i like them very much and their funky little soup shenanigans. quoting the ghost king himself: trogs good. nice hats. (IM SORRY I KEEP MENTIONING HIM BUT I JUST) also how apollo starts wishing for breadsticks a s ajoke and theY STRAIGHT UP HAVE BREADSTICKS? HUH? WHERE DID THEY GET THE BREADSTICKS FROM??

yeah, i’m also still very much upset by every mention of jason grace, it’s funny how ever since his death in the burning maze i have grown to love him more and more and that’s not fun for me, for that boy to become one of my main comfort character’s and have his death and sacrifice and nobility mentioned every few chapters. i’m pretty sure i cried when he appeared to talk in apollo’s dreams, and this time the tears weren’t from the effort of keeping my eyes open and working for hours straight reading this book (i remember staying up until 2am to finish the sequel to beautiful, broken things, it was very much worth it)

‘All right, Jason. We miss you, though.’

ALSO. THE FACT THAT THIS KID. THIS CHILD. HAD TO THINK ‘BUT IF A HERO ISN’T READY TO LOSE EVERYTHING FOR A GREATER CAUSE, IS THAT PERSON REALLY A HERO?’ A KID ISN’T SUPPOSED TO THINK ABOUT THAT AND BE READY TO SACRIFICE THEMSELVES FOR THE GREATER GOOD,, i,, ugh,, he’s supposed to be finishing school and designing temples not being the perfect hero and soldier,, spain without the s,,

as @couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name said: ‘thinking about how ghost! Jason didn’t seem to understand why Apollo was so upset about his death because he’s been raised to believe a hero’s sacrifice is noble and his life doesn’t matter in the grand scheme and also if he doesn’t understand why the person who watched him get horrifically killed is so torn up over his death he probably doesn’t even realize his other friends are grieving him..’

IM SO UPSET THE ARROW OF DODONA IS DEAD D: IT WAS ONE OF MY FAVOURITE CHARACTERS ALL THE FUNNIEST MOMENTS WERE BECAUSE OF THAT ARROW AND IT'S DEATH WAS SO SAD WTH LIKE WE FIND OUT HOW USELESS THE ARROW FELT AND HOW THE GROVE OF DODONA ALL THOUGHT IT WOULD BE CRAP AND WOULD FAIL APOLLO AND THEN ONCE WE FEEL BAD FOR IT, IT DIES??

the entire python battle was pretty grim, there is a part of me that's like because this is the last book series i would have loved say the magnus chase and kane chronicles gang in a giant battle with everyone like the battle of manhattan but even more dramatic, but even so, i did appreciate that python battle and the whole almost-falling-into-the-depths-of-tartarus thing.

him talking to artemis was cool, but JESUS: 'I turned and strode out of my room, trying to recall how the god Apollo walked.' like that HURTS. it was such a huge culture shock for apollo to go throught this huge character arc and be so human and understand the pain of others, to be around gods again who are so.. apathetic. also, zeus. 'Interesting how he put that: I had done him proud. I had been useful in making him look good. My heart did not melt. I did not feel that this was a warm-and-fuzzy reconciliation with my father. Let's be honest: some fathers don't deserve that. Some aren't capable of it.'

OKAY OKAY SO THE END?? CHIRON TALKING TO A CAT (BAST) AND A SEVERED HEAD (MIMIR) ABOUT SHARED PROBLEMS WITHIN THE PANTHEONS!! WILL AND NICO RECEIVING A PROPHECY FROM RACHEL TO GO TO TARTARUS AND SAVE BOB!! THE HUNTERS OF ARTEMIS, INCLUDING THALIA AND REYNA BEING BEST FRIENDS (qpr.. qpr..) HUNTING THE TEUMESSIAN FOX!! PERCY, ANNABETH AND GROVER, THE ORIGINAL TRIO, GOING ON A CHAOTIC ROAD TRIP TOGETHER!! - SO MANY STAND-ALONE SET -UPS PFSJSJSJ

okay quick word on the reunions at the end: funny little elephant visitation program with livia and hannibal. love that for them. calypso and leo's relationship seems rocky and complicated, but that's to be expected, i think even if they do get properly back together again it might not last long, because it does pretty much feel like a teenage relationship where the two aren't very compatible, but we'll see. hazel and frank are so funny with their gold plated necklaces. lavinia - tap-dance icon. almost cried at the mention of jason's temple-extension plan again. percy not being sure about what he wants to do in college is accurate and i like that that's left to be up-for-interpretation (rick does THE MOST for the fanfic writers pfsjsj). i am OBSESSED with aeithales, like i hate deserts so the burning maze setting is not my favourite but GOD that HOUSE, the vibes are off-the-charts. i'd love a house made of living trees that's also a greenhouse filled with dryads. meg gets a unicorn. that is so great.

i kind of wish the book hadn't ended with 'Call on me. I will be there for you.' because every time I imagine the friends theme song and i don't think that's the vibe he was going for, BUT i do love him talking to meg, that was genuinely emotional - 'You'll come back?' she asked. 'Always,' I promised. 'The sun always comes back.' ; i really wish it had ended with that, but i guess apollo does tend to break fourth walls and talk to the readers, like a lot of the protagonists of riordanverse books.

[coldmorte]

Hey! I really really like your blog and all the Dutch content, and I read your posts on Molly and Dutch and I just felt like sharing my thoughts :) If you don’t feel like it, just ignore this

I like Molly, even though I agree that she’s very much a snob and very paranoid at times.

It’s always felt very clear to me that Molly really, truly loves Dutch. And love makes you do stupid, desperate things (just look at Arthur).

Molly’s interaction with Abigail is about Dutch’s love for Molly, not the other way around. It’s Abigail saying that Dutch doesn’t love her and Molly lashing out (probably to protect herself from the truth).

This is brought up again in An Honest Mistake, when she talks to Arthur about Dutch, questioning how Dutch seems to him. When Molly says, “I really love him, you know,” Arthur averts his eyes and doesn’t look at her. I’ve always seen this as Arthur knowing Dutch doesn’t love her in the way Molly wants him to, if he loves her at all.

I’ve always seen Dutch as being kind of ahead of his time when it comes to certain progressive ideas (especially as it pertains to race), but when it comes to women, he’s very much a product of his his time. The way he talks about them and to/at them, whether it’s Molly or Abigail or Mary-Beth or Sadie, is often either dismissive or condescending.

While he doesn’t outright say it, the way he acts around the women at camp has always left me feeling like he prefers women (at least the ones he takes an actual interest in) to fit into the roles society has carved out for them; they have to be beautiful and docile and romantic-minded for him to take an interest.

You’ve said yourself, that Dutch deals with a lot of self doubt and that stems from wanting to be seen as a great and powerful man, who the people in camp can look up to, and women (especially young women) were (and to some degree stil is) seen as symbols of status. Molly is a beautiful woman from a wealthy family; she could have anyone she wanted, and she chose Dutch and ran away with him, leaving her old life behind – that’s the ultimate powermove on Dutch’s part.

I’ve always thought of Dutch as a romantic, the way he talks about love and how it’s the one thing worth living for, and I believe that he may have at some point actually loved Molly or at least convinced himself that he did, but the second he grows tired of her and realises that he doesn’t actually love her, he’s moving on to another, younger woman.

His inner romantic and his ego and need to be perceived as powerful are at odds with each other, and as the game progresses we see how his romantic and kind side wilt under the weight and pressure of his responsibilities as a leader and his need to be perceived as powerful and a great leader.

Those are my thoughts at least :)

Hello!

Thank you for the ask and the kind words! That really does mean a lot!! 💜💜💜

I am very grateful for your message, and no!!!! I don’t want to ignore it!! That wouldn’t be very fair of me, as I feel like you bring up some good points to discuss. Also, I appreciate the respect in your message and for taking the time to write so much out! I’d be happy to give you some of my time in return 🥰

(Warning: SPOILERS below)

I’m going to take your points one at a time here. So, starting with liking Molly, it’s totally fine! I don’t want to be too negative on my blog, and I don’t want people to feel like they have to think the same way I do. That wouldn’t be any fun, so it does make me happy that you can enjoy her character. I don’t want to take that away from you!! By all means, love her to your heart's content!!! ❤️

Furthermore, though I don’t personally like Molly, I don’t think she was a truly bad person. Just like every other character in the game, she had flaws and made mistakes. I primarily wish I could have gotten to know her better because she was presented during a very dark time in her life. I feel like this affected my perception of her, and I might have seen her differently, if I had gotten the chance to interact more with her character (especially outside of the RDR2 timeframe). Everybody deserves not only to love somebody, but everybody also deserves to have faith that the person they love can truthfully say the same back to them. I felt bad that Molly died such an unhappy, loveless death.

About the love Molly had for Dutch, I agree that she loved him. My point in bringing up infatuation was to primarily highlight the reason and the degree to which she honestly loved him. Did Molly love Dutch for the man he was, or for the idea of the man he was? Maybe, it was a mix? I am not sure there is enough information to give a conclusive answer to this (as I somewhat mentioned before).

To be fair, the same thing could (and should) be asked of Dutch. Did he truly love her, or did he just love the idea of having her at his side? Again, it would be fascinating to see the early part of their relationship. It would answer a LOT of questions. You mention that Dutch arguably saw Molly as a symbol of status, and I agree that it was very plausible. I think, to some degree, both Molly and Dutch saw each other as being favorable for what they represented, unfortunately.

In regard to the interaction between Molly and Abigail, I realize my response was unclear about this (that’s my bad). I'll try to write it better here, but this is really complicated to put into words! I'll do my best!!

What I said was that Molly got angry at people she “perceived” as challenging her love (this was subjective to her POV and not necessarily reflective of true reality). My original answer was not objective (nor was it meant to be - I was trying to write this part from her POV), and there are a few layers I want to analyze here. First of all, from an objective perspective, you are correct. The conversation between them was ultimately about Dutch not loving Molly the way she wanted to be loved. However, the first thing Molly did was state to Abigail that she loved Dutch. If she didn’t see this point as being in question, why did she feel the need to immediately justify it before saying anything else? To me, it seemed like she needed to actively prove that she loved him to others.

This was also seen with Karen and Arthur. The conversations with Karen were confusing because they didn’t have much context, but perhaps, that was the point - to show the extent of Molly’s paranoia (in other words, that there was no context and that she was imagining Karen to be against her out of insecurity). Molly continually complained that Karen said bad things about her, and she insisted that she not only loved Dutch, but that he loved her as well. Then, as you mention, Molly emphasized to Arthur that SHE loved Dutch (it was not directly about his love for her). Again, by constantly having to profess her feelings, it was as if she thought people were doubting her on some level.

But here is where the contradiction comes in - I believe that Molly was smart enough to know that this doubting wasn't entirely genuine. She knew it was never really her love that she should have been concerned about. Although, by focusing on herself, it was a way to deflect from her insecurity regarding Dutch and the fact that she knew, deep down, he didn’t truly love her (at least, not anymore). That’s why she got so upset when Abigail, for instance, brought this point up. As soon as the conversation shifted from Molly’s love to Dutch’s love, she lashed out and stormed away.

So, to try to summarize this all up, what I am trying to say is that Molly “perceived” challenges to her own state of emotions as a means of shifting away from her concerns about Dutch’s feelings. She knew her "perceptions" were really more like lies to herself. Molly wanted the conversation with Abigail to seem like it was about her because she felt she was more in control of that and could handle it better. From a neutral perspective, the conversation was definitely not about Molly - it was entirely about Dutch, which Molly knew (she just didn’t like Abigail directly pointing it). I hope my response makes more sense? Sorry, if I am still being confusing!

Now, as for Dutch and his progressive ideas, I think a lot of them were formed in his youth. Little information was given about his childhood, but he did seem pretty sensitive about the fact that he grew up fatherless. His dad died in the Civil War (a conflict primarily centered around the issue of slavery and states’ attitudes towards it), while fighting on the side of the Union. One reason Dutch was probably so progressive in regard to race was because of his anger over losing a parent to racially-motivated violence. Racism seemed like a waste of time and life, so he was bitter towards people who still harbored racist sentiments. He knew firsthand how destructive they could be.

Minimal insight was provided into Dutch’s relationship with his mother, other than the fact that it was quite strained and unhappy. He left home at a young age and essentially disowned her. He obviously didn’t keep in touch with her, judging that he didn’t even know she died until years after the fact. Could this have affected his attitude later in life (towards women)?

I suppose it’s possible. Maybe, Dutch would have looked better on women, had he been closer with his mother. I consider his attitude towards women as pretty average for the era. It’s not entirely fair to compare him to Arthur, who was very progressive for the time and definitely above normal standards. As you say, I think Dutch was a product of his time. In RDR2, he didn’t come across as physically abusive, nor did he overtly sexualize women. However, he did seem to expect women to act in a subordinate manner. It's not great (and I certainly do not agree with his attitude), but again, the contemporary standards in regard to gender roles did not exist in 1899.

Lastly, I COMPLETELY agree about Dutch being VERY romantic, sentimental, and idealistic. This wasn’t just limited to interpersonal relationships either - it also fit his entire perspective of America and the values he held dear. Just take a look at some of his quotes:

“The promise of this great nation - men created equal, liberal and justice for all - that might be nonsense, but it’s worth trying for. It’s worth believing in.”

And:

“If we keep on seeking, we will find freedom.”

In the beginning, he had such high hopes and strong faith that he could find a way to live free from social and legislative demands. Compare that to the end, where he started to say things like:

“You can’t fight nature. You can’t fight change.”

And:

“There ain’t no freedom for no one in this country no more.”

Dutch wanted to believe that there was a chance to live free from the threat of control, but as he started to lose people he loved and got closer to losing his own battle, he started to take on a much more cynical tone. He began to realize that his romantic notions and idealistic visions of life were not always obtainable - no matter how hard he tried to reach them - and it broke him. This change in his life outlook was kind of similar to his interpersonal relationships. When he realized they were a lot of work and not always happy/perfect, he seemed to grow frustrated. Love requires a lot of patience and energy. Despite full effort, love still does not always succeed.

Also, I just want to add that I think Dutch knew he had a problem with his pride, but he tried his best to maintain his tough, confident persona because he didn’t want to be perceived as weak. He definitely realized he messed up in putting his pride first in the end, but at that point, it was too late. Whatever was left of his idealistic aspirations in life died with Arthur up on that cliff.

Anyhow, I’ve said more than enough. I’d like to once again thank you for the ask!! I hope my response was worth the time to read and that it makes sense. Feel free to share any more thoughts you may have!!!

~ Faith 💜

[hadtochangemyurlquick]

here’s 5.7k of the unsinkable 8 during the zombie apocalypse. good for fans of leatin and goodfoe. it’s super unedited and i’m mainly just posting it for fun cause i finished it today. some references to world war z the book for fun, and i used the zombies from that too.

A flash of blonde and Dot’s gun went up, pointed directly at the head of whatever made their way toward her. She had two bullets left, six cigarettes, and the last mini of hard liquor she raided from the motel back in Aquilla.

She’d have to get it in one shot, which would be hard sitting down, with her back to it, half delirious.

She grunted as she pulled herself around, her leg still out in the makeshift splint. The zed crept closer, not going at the usual hobbling pace. It definitely had caught her scent though, maybe it was down a few limbs already.

She cocked her gun, flicking off the safety, keeping her finger off the trigger. She’d wait until she could see the whites of its eyes. Get it in one shot.

The blonde head crept closer and she finally tucked her gun over the rocks, making eye contact with it for the first time.

“Shelby Goodkind?”

“Dot Campbell?”

Shelby stared at her, lowering her own gun and Dot let out a breath of relief.

“Dottie, oh my god, I thought you were one of ‘em.” She put away her gun, Dot doing the same and she ran over. “It’s so good to see ya, what’s wrong?” She looked at the leg, her face paling.

“Ankles broken,” Dottie muttered. “Was gonna treat myself to one last drink,” she gestured at the bottle.

“Oh lord,” Shelby said. “Well that’s no good, I got a place not to far from here I’ve been camping out in. Some first aid stuff too.”

“I can’t give you anything back for it,” Dot said.

“We both know two people are more likely to make it,” Shelby said.

She looked sunburned and hollowed out, a little hungrier than the last time Dot saw her, headed with her family to that military base. She was alone, and desperate, everyone was. Because here was how it went in Texas. You could trust a stranger as far as you could throw ‘em, but you needed people to live. So if you had people, you lived. And Dot was people, or as close to people as Shelby was willing to get. She musta lost a lot to lower her standards so far.

“Alright,” Dot said. “We’re gonna have to go slow and you’re gonna have to carry a lot of shit.”

“No problem,” Shelby beamed.

Back at the camp, an old rusting trailer with some battery Shelby told her she was saving for a rainy day, Shelby re-splinted her, fed and watered her, and they pooled their resources. Twenty-six cigs now, which might get ‘em a few hours in a safe car north, if they wanted it. Or it might get ‘em some food, or a get out of jail free card, depending on the hunger of the people hunting ‘em.

It was late at night when Dot realized she hadn’t even asked yet.

“Family’s gone then?”

“Yeah,” Shelby said. “You?”

“My dad died before this shit show,” Dot said.

“Lucky,” Shelby said. She took a swig from the mini, and passed it over to Dot. “What’s your plan?”

“I heard there was a safer spot near San Antonio,” Dot said. “Running water and shit.”

Shelby shook her head, “Gone, three weeks ago. Heard it on the radio.”

Dot nodded, “What about you?”

“Radio said Hawaii’s better,” Shelby said. “There’s an operation ferrying people there on the west coast. It’s a thousand cigs per person. But there’s work by the dock if you’re willing to do it.”

“Work for you?” Dot asked.

Shelby’s jaw tightened, “I’ll do what I have to do. Lord forgive me.”

Dot sighed, “Sounds like we go west then.”

They hung around in the trailer for three days, pushing the limits of what was safe, and stumbled on to a new place in the area at daybreak on the fourth day. Dot’s ankle wasn’t broken, with the inflatable cast Shelby had in a week or so she’d be something regarding useful, and as long as she didn’t push herself she’d be more than fine.

Spending time with Shelby Goodkind was another story. For one thing, despite the zombie apocalypse, complete destruction of their lives and modern society, the death of her family and everyone in their town, Shelby was still good and kind. She’d clutch at the cross around her neck every time they’d pass a body, and would never touch one, even the ones that were recent and obviously not stripped clean. It made Dot kinda mad, she found five cigs just walking, and she wondered how many Shelby passed off being squeamish.

But Shelby also wasn’t squeamish, wasn’t afraid to take down a zed with a kitchen knife, and with that same hand wipe the gore off Dot all gentle. She called her Dottie, gave her the last blanket, and always volunteered for the first shift so Dot could watch the sunrise. Dot hadn’t been cared for in a long while, hadn’t been around people in even longer. She decided she might love it.

But Shelby was a magnet, always had been, she talked about god’s light long enough that she got Dot believing it all fell on her. It wasn’t a real surprise when she showed up with a stray.

“What the fuck,” Dot said. “Did you kidnap a child?”

“I did not kidnap a child,” Shelby said, picking the girl up with some difficulty and lifting her onto the backseat of the broken down minivan they were holed up in.

“I sent you out to get sunscreen,” Dot said. “How did you come back with a child?”

“She’s our age,” Shelby said. “I think. And listen, I found her barricaded in a utility closet with a bad fever, I knew we had some tablets but I didn’t wanna leave her.”

“Like bite fever?” Dot asked. “We don’t have enough bullets to—”

“No,” Shelby shook her head, “Look,” she gently unwrapped a bandage around the girl’s arm, revealing a bad slice. “It’s infected. Not a bite. We’re okay.”

Dot sighed and nodded. The girl’d probably try and rob ‘em blind but if they watched her hands and got away fast enough they should be fine. They’d be fine.

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Dot muttered. Shelby smiled, all sweet and gentle and bright and Dot rolled her eyes.

The girl took the tablets, they washed and changed the bandages, after about fourteen hours she blinked awake, unfortunately while Dot was on watch.

“Who—who are you?”

“Dot Campbell,” she said.

The girl stared at her.

“My friend saved your ass,” Dot said. “Shelby.”

“Um,” the girl inched back, “Why? Where am I?”

“We’re on the twenty-two, not from from the ten-eighty,” Dot told her. “You got a nasty infection there, got any cigs?”

“No, I don’t smoke.”

Dot blinked at her. “Alright then.”

“My friends will be looking for me,” the girl said. “I should get back to them.” She didn’t have an accent, Dot realized, not even a thin one like her own.

“Shelby found you around Mr. K’s, we can draw you a map if you’d like,” Dot said. “Where you from?”

“Austin,” the girl lied, badly.

“Alright then,” Dot said again. “Well we’ll draw you a map in the mornin and you can leave a day break. It ain’t far.”

“Thank you,” the girl said. “For helping me.”

“Shelby’s idea,” Dot said. Neither of ‘em slept the whole time, the girl smart enough to keep an eye out, and Dot’s whole job to watch out. She woke Shelby up when she was supposed to and easily muddled into a slumber.

A nice thing, about the zombie apocalypse, was Dot had gotten a lot better at sleeping. She used to stay up for hours thinking ‘bout how she’d pay the bills, how much her dad’s meds cost, whether he was coughing more that night than he did most nights, but now she hit whatever soft looking rock she decided to call a pillow and conked out until Shelby woke her. Shelby, on the other hand, barely slept a wink, shooting up at the slightest sign of trouble, even when Dot was on watch. Too much time on her own, Dot’d guess.

Before Shelby Mateo wandered with Dot. He was quiet and sweet and she had took care of him as best she could. Shelby didn’t have nobody before Dot. Just her dead parents, and if Dot remembered eighth grade soccer well enough, a couple of dead siblings too.

So Dot pretty much conked out and missed the way the girl and Shelby giggled all night. But even she wasn’t blind to their bond when she woke, the way the girls smiled easily at one another, laughed with each other, kept up with each other.

“Dottie,” Shelby said. “Martha,” so that was the stranger’s name “said you told her we could draw her a map but Mr. K’s ain’t far, we might as well take her.”

Dot grunted, she didn’t wanna waste a day but it wasn’t like Mr. K’s would take all day and they might as well see if they could find any more cigs. She hadn’t met any non-smokers in a long while. Apocalypse sorta took the fun out of being straight-edge, if Dot had to guess.

Dot took the back, a metal bat out and ready, and Shelby and Martha took the front. Shelby had a makeshift spear made, good for longer range, but worse up close, and she gave Martha the other bat they had. To borrow, Dot had emphasized.

One of the other things that never got old about the apocalypse, was walking up a highway. Walking straight up that middle line, knowing no one would dare drive a car ‘round there. It felt like the world was yours and empty, like you were finding it, rebuilding it, building it. It was as close to a cowboy as she had felt since her daddy let her ride on his back. It was as close to free as she had ever felt.

They got back to Mr. K’s and Dot saw the approaching figures first, aiming her rifle right at ‘em, safety off and gun cocked, but her finger off the trigger. It was Shelby’s hunting rifle, actually, but she had handed it to Dot first chance she had, looking kinda pale. She had Dot’s old handgun now, useless with this kinda range.

“Live ones?” Shelby asked.

“Can’t tell,” Dot said. “Just kinda standing there.”

“They could be waiting for me,” Martha said. Dot glanced at her, hoping the girl wasn’t actually as naive as she seemed. She probably was.

They walked as close as they dared, before Martha was able to confirm that yes it was her friends.

She ran at ‘em and one of ‘em collided with her, slamming her into a hug. There were two more, just kinda watching Dot and Shelby.

“We should go,” Dot said. “We did what we said.”

“Dottie,” Shelby said.

Dot sighed and the two of ‘em trudged up to the happy pair, reuniting like they had been separated for years, decades, instead of a few hours. It was a miracle they were reunited at all, Mateo said he’d meet her back at the camp in an hour and she had to bash his head in six months later with a sledge hammer.

“Who’re your friends, Martha?” One of the other people asked. It was four girls counting Martha, lucky, none of ‘em white, but they all looked around the same age as Dot and Shelby.

“This is Shelby,” Martha grinned, “And Dot.”

Dot nodded at them.

“I am just so pleased to make your acquaintance,” Shelby smiled, holding out her hand to the girl who still had an arm wrapped around Martha.

“This is Toni,” Martha said, squeezing the girl’s side when she didn’t take Shelby’s hand. “And Rachel and Nora.”

“Ah,” Shelby smiled, “Toni your sister right?”

Martha nodded, Toni glared. “Yeah it’s great to meet you or whatever. There a reason you kidnapped Martha?”

“I saw her passed out and worried she was alone,” Shelby explained. “I knew we had some tablets back at the camp but—”

“What do you want?” Rachel asked. “We got about six hundred if that’s—” Martha from Austin, Dot’s ass. Money hadn’t meant shit in Texas for awhile. These kids were from up north, probably pretty far up north too. Maine or some shit. Delaware.

“Got any cigs?” Dot asked.

“Yes,” Nora said. “We have a couple packs.”

“Great,” Dot held out her hands and two packs were dropped into them. Nora didn’t make eye contact the entire time, her hands fidgeting with anything. She was covered in scabs and scars, picking at her own skin probably.

“Where y’all headed?” Shelby asked.

“None of your business,” Toni said.

“Apparently the San Antonio Zone relocated to Tyler,” Martha said. “We heard some people talking about it last week.”

“Y’all got a radio?” Dot asked.

Martha shook her head.

“If you had one you’d know that that’s what they’re pulling now, telling people to go to Tyler, they shoot you as soon as you step foot in Athens.”

“So where are you guys headed?” Rachel demanded.

“West,” Shelby said. “Radio says they’re ferrying clean folks to Hawaii. It’s an island so.”

“Clean how?” Rachel asked, taking a step forward and lifting her jaw.

Dot sighed.

Shelby’s eyes widened, “Clean as in not infected, I mean.”

“Chill,” Rachel smiled, all thin, “I was kidding.”

“Great,” Dot said. “Not that this hasn’t been fun, but we should be going.”

“Wait,” Martha said. “It’s just, we might as well go west too. And we might as well go west together.”

“Marty,” Toni grabbed her by her uninjured arm, “I wanna talk to you for a moment.”

They got into a whispered argument for a few minutes. Rachel joined and it escalated but Martha came out on top, smiling as she approached them.

“We might as well go together,” she repeated.

Shelby’s smile was just as wide, “We would be alighted to have you.”

The new girls were a nightmare. Rachel and Nora, sisters as Dot would learn, hated one another. And by hated Dot meant, had a complicated relationship of love without trust or mutual respect. Nora didn’t trust Rachel, Rachel didn’t respect Nora, and they were constantly going at one another. Toni had some sorta toxic jealousy thing going on, despising Shelby because she was monopolizing Martha. She also tended to fly into these rages, making her wander off for long periods that had Dot itching to grab her gun and demanding the girl strip to check for bites. Mateo’s dad used to do the same thing, wander off to check his bite.

Shelby also was wholly focused on two things now: Martha, and Toni’s hate. Dot ambled along behind all of ‘em, keeping the sisters from killing each other, Toni’s voice down, and everyone else alive.

The worst part was it took Dot nearly three days before she caught sight of it.

“You have one hand,” Dot glared at Rachel. Rachel slung the pack over her shoulder.

“You’re just noticing that now?” Rachel asked. “I must be getting better with it.”

“The fuck happened?” Dot said.

“My hand got bit,” Rachel shrugged. “Cut it off before it spread, didn’t even know it would work.”

Dot whistled, low and quiet, like they were all used to being.

“I cut it off,” Nora corrected, sullenly.

Rachel rolled her eyes.

“I’m still quicker on the draw than you,” Rachel said, the words clunky in her mouth.

Dot set her jaw, “So y’all are sticking with the story that you’re from Austin?”

“We’re from New York,” Nora said. Rachel glared at her. “What? You think some group would waste three days on four teenage girls?”

“New York?” Dot asked. “Everyone knows it’s safer up north, why the hell are you down here?”

“You hear about Yonkers?” Rachel asked.

Dot shook her head.

“It was the last op the US military set up before they fell apart. We’d made it out by then but we watched it happen on the news. Someone in a group we had still had a phone and the whole thing was live streamed. All of the death. The group were supposed to go to some military bases up in Canada but we wanted a wide open space with plenty of guns.”

“Texas,” Dot said.

Rachel nodded.

“Stupid,” Dot told her. “You probably came for San Antonio too.”

Rachel sighed, “Nobody was gonna survive those Canadian winters without a base, and we weren’t sure we were gonna get one. Rather get bit than freeze.”

“How’d you meet Toni and Martha?” Dot asked.

“Toni and I got into a fistfight over some Takis,” Rachel said.

Dot nodded, “Fuego?”

“Fuego.”

And yeah they were a nightmare but quicker than Dot wanted they became her nightmare. Still though, she dragged Shelby away from Martha and Toni’s sides, and muttered, “we can still go. Ditch if you want. Whenever. We don’t know ‘em.”

Shelby, in high school, woulda been scandalized, muttered some bible passage at her. This Shelby was a little more grown and only looked at her all serious.

“You knew what I was when you picked me up,” she said. “And I knew what Martha was. We’ll face our consequences, I reckon.”

Dot nodded.

Walking all day, everyday, wasn’t easy stuff. Especially since they had to strip as many bodies as they could find. Nora figured it out pretty quick, mumbling something to Rachel who recruited Toni to storm over to Dot.

“You don’t smoke them, but you’re hoarding them,” Rachel said. “Why?”

Dot kept her easy pace. “These things are currency now, the value’ll only go up over time.”

“Currency for what?” Toni asked. “What are you trying to buy?”

“You think a ferry to Hawaii is free?” Dot asked. “I’m saving for all of us.”

“Dottie,” Shelby walked over, Martha sticking by Nora, “What’s up?”

“How much?” Toni asked. “Really, how much?”

“A hundred each,” Dot said, too quickly.

“Try again,” Rachel said.

“Dot,” Shelby got between them, looking at Dot. “Thou shalt not lie, right? Tell ‘em the truth.” Dot glared at her and Shelby turned back around to Rachel. “It’s five hundred each. We got about a hundred now, so no one’s going to Hawaii.”

“What if there aren’t enough?” Toni asked. “Who decides then?”

“We’ll draw straws,” Shelby said.

It was as easy a solution as anything but the tenseness started building up, Rachel and Toni viewing Dot with more suspicion. It’d fade, over time, Dot knew. Or they’d all die.

The worst it got, was actually Shelby’s doing, the easy peace maker of it all. They hadn’t bothered building a fire, despite how cold and exposed it got in Texas at night, but they huddled together between three cars they found abandoned along the highway that they pushed into a triangle. Someone got to the seat cushions of all three first, so there was nothing comfortable to lie their heads on. It was easy for Dot though, the asphalt as soft as anything to her now.

They stayed up later than they should’ve talking. Trading stories about their old life that all of them knew weren’t doing any good. Toni played basketball, was pretty good at it too. Rachel had a skill for swimming she’d never have again. Nora did quiz bowl, surprising no one. Dot talked about metal, fishing with her dad, what types of pills sold for what. Martha was a dancer, and a vegetarian once. It was something that made ‘em all crack up. When humans become man eating beasts, and once upon a time there were jokes online about vegans. Shelby talked about the yearbook, mission trips, Andrew.

But then cause Shelby started it by prattling on about Andrew Toni got it in her head to talk about Regan and Shelby was talking about Leviticus.

The next morning, Rachel quietly pulled Dot aside and told her to take all the cigarettes and head out. That they could make their own way west. Dot didn’t ask for an invitation to go with her.

They split off at the twenty-five, Dot and Shelby heading for the forty, Toni, Martha, Rachel, and Nora heading for the sixty.

Shelby was heartbroken for a few days, apologetic too, and grateful. Dot didn’t let her have any of that, only said, “It’s cause we’re from the same town. We might be the only ones from there left.”

They trudged on.

In Arizona Dot found the love of her life, her soulmate, Fatin Jadmani. In a completely straight way too. Fatin matched her tit for tat, spoke a language Dot hadn’t realized she’d been born knowing. Her girlfriend was an anxious woman named Leah, who Shelby got on with. Dot had worried, upon bringing the two back to camp, that Shelby would chase ‘em away again, but she hadn’t. Just smiled at the two of them, easily offering up a couple granola bars.

Whenever tenseness came about Fatin just laughed, and Leah rolled her eyes. It wasn’t perfect, Dot knew, there was too much hate for that, but it would last ‘em long enough. The four of ‘em just worked in this great lovely way.

Only problem was their destination.

“We barely managed to get out of LA,” Leah mumbled, she hugged her legs, her head leaning on Fatin’s shoulder.

“LA?” Shelby asked. “That’s where we’re headed.”

“What the fuck?” Fatin glared at Dot, “Dorthy I thought you had more sense than that.”

“There’s some military guys ferrying people to Hawaii,” Dot said.

“Where’d you hear that, the radio?” Fatin asked. She sighed at their nods, “They’re broadcasting out to whoever will hear it, but there is no ferry to Hawaii. The entire thing is just selling and shipping as many girls out as possible. We have no idea where though.”

“So when you say you barely made it out,” Dot said.

Fatin’s face was grim.

“We have to warn ‘em,” Shelby said.

“Warn who?” Dot asked.

“Toni and the others! They don’t know!” Shelby stood up. “I’ll plot out the course now and we’ll start out fresh tomorrow. We aren’t leaving ‘em to—to—we aren’t leaving ‘em.” She stormed off and Dot watched her go.

“She wants to go towards LA to help some motherfuckers who kicked you out of their group?” Fatin asked.

“Yeah,” Dot said.

“Are you gonna go with her?” Leah asked.

“I knew what she was when I picked her up,” Dot said.

“What do you wanna do?” Leah asked Fatin.

Fatin pressed her cheek to Leah’s head, “I don’t know if I can risk you.” Fatin looked at Dot, “Are you gonna be stupid?”

“No,” Dot said.

“Then we’ll come,” Fatin sighed. “Leah that okay?” Leah nodded.

Neither of ‘em were as good at offing zed as Shelby and Dot. Fatin was decent at finding stuff though, scoping stuff, and Leah had endurance none of the rest of ‘em could match. She was like a zed sometimes, just kept going, could keep going, until her knees wore down to dust and then she’d crawl, crawl until her fingers wore down to nubs and then she’d inch, inch until something put her out of her misery. It terrified Fatin and Shelby, but Dot couldn’t help being impressed.

So Dot ambled after Shelby toward Bethlehem on the forty but they were gonna leap back on the interstate and hopefully head ‘em off. Hopefully Martha, Toni, Rachel, and Nora’d be alive, and they’d find ‘em. And if they didn’t find ‘em, hopefully they’d be dead. And Shelby stopped sleeping about a day or two into trek. Would just keep staring at the maps and keeping watch, and taking inventory and thumbing around her necklace.

When Dot woke up on the third day of their walk, Shelby’s hair was much shorter and Fatin looked real scared. Shelby kept walking and walking and, in a fit of rage that matched Toni’s, launched her necklace off the highway. She looked like she regretted it after but they had no choice but to keep going.

They passed an arm and it looked like Rachel’s.

Shelby walked faster. Leah had that glint in her eye. Fatin took Dot’s hand and looked very very scared.

After two more days Shelby said fuck it, and found a car with some gas in it and told 'em to get in.

Dot stood in front, “Shelby,” Shelby glared at her, “This’ll attract every body in the fucking country. The sound, the smell, I’m not just talking about the dead ones neither.”

Shelby swallowed hard, “You gonna stay behind then?”

“Shelby,” Dot said. “If you leave me here I’ll get caught up in the hoard. That what you want?”

“Get in the damn car, Dottie!” Shelby said.

“If we get to ‘em in time, but there’s a fucking hoard following us, we won’t have anywhere to go but on,” Dot said. “Fucking think!”

“I am thinking,” Shelby spat back. She shoved Dot, “I’m thinking about Toni, and Martha walking from Minnesota to Texas only to die in California. I’m thinking about Nora and Rachel watching Yonkers fall and then getting shipped off to who knows where. That’s what I’m thinking.”

“Shelby we can make it,” Leah said.

“No we can’t!” Shelby said. “I’ve done the math, I keep looking at these maps, there’s no way we’ll make it in time without a mode of transportation. No car and they die.”

“Then what the fuck are we going there?” Dot asked. “If it’s too late—”

“It is not too late!” Shelby said, her throat was all closed and choked sounding. “I can save ‘em! Jesus fuckin Christ we have to help ‘em!”

“Shelby,” Dot said, she put a hand on her shoulder. “We can’t take a car, and we can’t make it by foot,” Shelby’s face crumpled. “They’re gone, alright? We should be planning our next move.”

“No,” Leah said. She shook her head, “We have to help them.”

“You don’t even know ‘em,” Dot said.

“I’m not letting four innocent girls go through what I nearly went through,” Leah said.

“I’m with Leah,” Fatin said. “We’ll take the car and play it by ear.”

“Play the-hoard-that-will-start-coming-after-us-the-second-we-turn-on-the-engine by ear?” Dot asked.

“Let’s vote,” Shelby said. “All in favor of going?”

Fatin, Leah, and Shelby all raised their hands.

“C’mon,” Dot begged. She looked at Fatin, “You told me not to be stupid!”

“So don’t be stupid,” Fatin said. “Get in the car.”

Dot sighed, wanted to punch something, wanted to cry, was too tired to do either, got in the car.

The car attracted so many fucking zed, they wouldn’t be able to stop, and they had to hope there was enough in the fucking tank to get them to wherever the four were. Dot watched the dead bodies creep closer, at their slow hobbling, relentless pace. Fatin drove, Shelby used her pike to spear any who got too close, Dot watched the maps and steadily got herself into a panic.

They were gonna die trying to save the asses of some girls they spent a couple days with.

This was not what Shelby was when Dot picked her up, this was not what she was. Shelby had gone behind Dot’s back and fucking grown as a person, hadn’t she? How the fuck was Dot gonna get away from her? She’d have to pack Fatin in a suitcase and then Leah too and that would mean entirely abandoning Shelby to be on her lonesome oh god.

Dot was stuck, wasn’t she.

As they kept driving Shelby had to keep spearing zed. It started off as one or two, but as the hours wore on they were leaning on five, six, a steady growing mass ambling behind ‘em.

If that had really been Rachel’s arm, they were probably dead. All of ‘em. Or maybe in the mass behind ‘em. And if they weren’t, they’d hear the car coming and head for the hills, assuming it meant a hoard was close behind. Which it was.

This was such a fucking terrible idea.

“So what, we just wait for a sign to say welcome to LA and then give up? We won’t find ‘em like this,” Dot said.

“Shut up!” Shelby said, she speared another.

“At least check you ain’t offing one of ours,” Dot said. “They could all be zed, for all we know.”

“I said shut up,” Shelby turned to glare at her and a zed slammed against the door. She speared it and Dot’s mouth clamped shut. “We just gotta keep going,” she said. “We’ll be fine, we just gotta keep moving.”

“You’re crazy,” Dot said.

Shelby didn’t have anything to say to that.

It was worse at nightfall, with visibility down, and they just had to keep going, to hope their car wasn’t stripped when they went over the bumps of mutilated corpses still hungry for a last meal.

“We’re almost to LA,” Shelby said. “We got nearly a hundred cigs, we might be able to bribe someone if they jump us.”

Leah snorted.

They were driving through an empty enough part of Nevada though, less corpses hurling themselves off the road and towards them. Still the ever growing mass behind ‘em now, maybe fifty, seventy five, but about twenty out.

“I gotta piss,” Dot said.

“Hurry,” Fatin said.

Dot stumbled out, no one noticing her grabbing her pack. The zed would follow the car, she’d make a clean break. She’d survive.

She was only seven minutes south, judging by the north star Shelby taught her to find when someone’s hand grabbed her. She pulled out her hand gun, jamming it into the head and flicking the safety off.

“Dot! Jesus Christ!”

The girl was wide-eyed, tan, hollowed out, empty and desperate. Reminded her of the empty pill bottles around her house after her dad died.

“Toni?”

Toni nodded, “Why are you here? Fuck that I don’t give a shit, you got water?” Dot handed it to her and Toni downed it. “The other’s are close, c’mon.” She stumbled as she got up, clearly dizzy, and Dot grabbed her forearm.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you guys,” Dot said.

“Don’t tell me it’s you in the fucking car,” Toni said. “We’ve been running from that thing for ages.”

“I fucking told Shelby,” Dot said.

“Shelby?” Toni asked, she was almost too exhausted to sound disgusted, but she managed it.

“Listen, LA isn’t safe, we found out. They’re not taking kids to Hawaii, they’re taking them.”

Toni went pale, “Fuck.” She even sounded choked now. “Shelby’s having a fucking aneurysm worrying about you so I don’t even think she’s that fucking homophobic. I’ll get everyone back to the car, you tell ‘em I’m coming.”

Toni nodded, stumbling towards the street and Dot walked back to the direction Toni pointed to before she left. Rachel, Nora, and Martha were all in various points of disarray. Exhausted, dehydrated, starving, aching and bleeding. Dot had to half carry, half drag Nora with Martha and Rachel had to get a stick to lean on as they stumbled toward the street.

“We got like ten minutes,” Fatin said. “People are gonna have to double buckle, and before anyone else makes a decision, we’re going north.”

Dot strapped everyone in and found herself sitting next to Shelby who met her eyes in a hundred yard stare.

“You took your pack.”

“Yeah.”

“But you came back.”

“Yeah.”

“Fine.”

They started on again. Dot saw Toni keep sneaking glances at Shelby and Shelby kept sneaking ‘em back.

They weren’t far from Mt. Tobin when the two finally stopped dancing around each other.

Dot convinced everyone to ditch the car near LA, walking as quickly as they could once they did, knowing it’d take awhile to ditch the hoard too. Dot watched Toni talk to Shelby in low tones, Shelby full of apologies and panics and Toni keeping her cool longer than Dot had ever seen it.

Martha took to Fatin quickly, everyone did, and Nora and Leah spent long hours walking beside each other mumbling about books or something. Not anything Dot gave two shits about.

Rachel ambled along with Dot most of the time. Whenever Fatin and Leah were all over each other and Dot didn’t feel like third wheeling. Rachel was always listening to the radio and as time passed it became clear that the two of them were the most capable of keeping everyone alive. And not in a more knowledgable way. Because Nora knew what plants were edible, and Shelby was a better shot. Or in an emotional way, because Fatin and Martha handled that. But in a planning sorta way. Because Dot knew how to get them to point B, while Rachel was working on point E.

“We should go to Washington,” Rachel muttered on one of the late nights they spent keeping watch while they poured over maps. “We might be able to find a boat to Victoria.”

“Victoria?” Rachel pointed her out.

“It’s a Canadian island. Canada lasted a little longer than we did, Victoria might not be in such a bad way.”

“Less guns in Canada,” Dot said. “And there might not be a boat that’ll take us there. Plus, we don’t know the currency.”

“We’re eight teenage girls,” Rachel pointed out. “We stick around so close to Cali, we’re asking for trouble. We need to put an ocean between us and whatever the fuck they’re doing there.”

Dot sighed. So they’d go to Washington.

On the way they’d probably run into another group who’d tell them Washington was overrun but there was something decent in Wisconsin. Half way to Wisconsin someone would tell ‘em their information was bad and they need to get south where there were guns and space. They’d almost be in Georgia when someone would tell ‘em there was some real government up in New York again.

They’d follow pipe dream to pipe dream to pipe dream. They’d probably die young.

Toni curled around Shelby, holding Martha’s hand. Fatin and Leah held on for dear life. Rachel didn’t take her eyes off Nora. Dot watched them all.

Yeah they’d probably die young. Better than dying alone.

[project-paranoia]

Live Watch: S.C.I. Mystery Episode One

I enjoy camp because I've always enjoyed analysis and examination.  I enjoy looking at something from all sides, testing it with my fingertips. When I was a child I would sit for hours just looking at something until I had it all held in my mind and I felt like I understood it.  Camp necessitates that understanding the way that imitation and - good - parody requires it.  To quote Susan Sontag - who articulated what camp is so well - Camp is "a sensibility that revels in artifice, stylisation, theatricalisation, irony, playfulness, and exaggeration rather than content."  Because of this camp takes on head to head gender, sexuality, expectations, any sort of defined norm and sequins it up then shakes it down until understanding comes out.  When understanding something there are three major ways to work your investigation - what it is, what it's imitation is - the close but not quite, and what it isn't.  Camp handles all three, to quote again: "Camp sees everything in quotation marks. It's not a lamp, but a 'lamp; not a woman, but a 'woman.'"

Why are we talking about camp?  Because SCI Mystery is some of the best kind of camp outside of drag or screaming about wire hangers.  It deals a lot with mental illness in a way that would destroy a serious show, but in this one "mental illness" is a metaphor for being marginalised and a way to talk about the mouse and cat in the room.  This show is about being queer.  About being gay loudly and quietly, about resisting specific labels and needing them, about the threat of a cure and the blessing of acceptance.  All the messy realities of queer life as varied as queer people. Like Lil Nas X's Montero, you can appreciate the effort without being comfortable with it. While the show's allegory of mental illness when many queer people are still told they are ill is done well and there is reason to the choices and tone, things are said which can be hard to hear.  Knowing they're there because they're hard to hear and have been heard doesn't help everyone.

With all that said, it's also a fun, silly bl drama.  Don't let the analysis scare you off.  While the information about camp can be something to be aware of, all this show requires to be enjoyed is a willingness to be amused and spooked in turns.

You know the drill, spoilers below!

* I have memorised the youku sound, I have a triggered response with it. Not all triggers are bad, this one reminds me of Guardian

* Welcome to episode one where we just leap in!  But don't worry, one of them has a cute earring and they are colour coordinated.

* Watching from youtube the episode is 38 minutes long while most of the others are 45.  Attach whatever emotion you want to that fact.

* The exposition is handily delivered by asking a question which tells us some things, thank you show, I appreciate it

* First episode and he's already giving his partner an in case I don't come back letter to be opened if he dies

*  Wait for me!~  Go!~~

* Slow walk with dramatic music: 1 (don't make this a drinking game You Will Expire) this time with bonus almost looking back

* I've seen a similar shot on Hawaii Five O

* Don't explain what's happening, just knock everything over with a jump kick in some absolutely spotless white tennies

* Running with dramatic music with bonus looking back: Does it count?  We have yet to hear back from the judges

* They leap into the water with an explosion behind them, we are less than 2 minutes in and I love that for them

* At first I thought the boats were making a big heart before I remembered that I am very silly and they are not doing that

* This one is going to be long

* I can see his pockets through his trousers, why are his trousers so thin?

* It's not kissing to dramatic music in the surf if it's CPR

* Each story line has its own intro and that's very sexy of them

* Slow walk/dramatic music: 2-6

* These people are totally goofy and and yet the Seriousness

* Two Weeks Ago!

* The police school bus has arrived to shoo away the crows circling around Dr. Zhan staring (dramatically) at the body

* Sport scar policeman dresses even more unprofessionally than Zhao Yunlan who at least looks like a detective who was jumped by so many criminals he just gave up wearing a suit and went for jeans. Chief Bai's clothes are so thin, I'm under constant anxiety someone is going to tear them off.

* Also several of the cast pictures on MyDramaList look like the pictures your auntie insists taking to send to your other aunties and I love that for them

* Triple axil spin from the victim, the judges are loving it - this is the camp I'm here for

* The dramatic slo mo and music budget for this show was so big, just as it should be

* He's mad because he's angy

*  Master Psychiatrist can tell all about the killer from crouching by the body, it's a trope and this is one of the few places I like it because it serves the show instead of the show serving it

* When you're almost boyfriend is going away for reasons and it's not your decision but you can't go with him because of your job so you're just low key bitter about it

*  "You can't control me"

* The pettiness between these two

* Professional women who worked hard to get where they are still are constantly obsessed with boys according to most cdramas

*The male posturing in those three second has accidentally circled back around to being gay in the way those bro shows accidentally do and I love that

* I live for this 80s-90s police chief perm

* The Pettiness

* I always tend to like doctor characters, I don't know why.  Even when they aren't my favourites I like them.

* She's kind of adorable, I like her (I've seen a lot of this show and every time I say I like someone it ends badly ;-; )

* "the victems"

* If you love Creative English, this is the show for you!

* Chief Bai's crew is trying so hard to get them back together

* Dr. Zhan is so good at psychology he can tell what someone looks like from some tire tracks - this trope is used all the time in crime shows, but they push it a little farther in SCI and it really helps the viewer know what the rules for the show are

* The scene in the psychiatrist's office hearkens back to queer coded villains and the way they're treated in old black and white horror cinema - but done so artfully it's almost invisible.  It's incredibly well done, and the awareness of tropes and types all throughout the series is tremendously successful as much as it's campy fun.

* There's also the trope of someone who manipulates someone into feeling like they've been "purified" and then weaponises them against the "filthy". And of course the fact that the killer's blade is a mirror - that he's killing in others what he sees in himself. This trope hasn't just been queer-coded but has been applied to any sort of physical or mental disorder. Thesis have been written about this trope and the anxiety attached to it. I can't write them better and this is long enough, it's just a small part of the excellent handling of the themes showing up in this genre and I wanted to point it out because it deserves appreciation for the skill and knowledge in the writing.  

* The whole you need evidence vs you're saying psychoanalysis isn't trustworthy feels very much like a coded angry exes discussion

* I love the establishing shots, so good

* He kind of deserved that door to the face, what was he even doing

* Police violence in crime shows is supposed to be a release for the viewer, but many countries have issues with police violence so it hits wrong.  Here it's far more performative in a way that at least has some awareness

* The weirdest phone call, you call someone to tell them something important and they say two things to you and hang up

* The tongue thing, why always the tongue thing?

* When a serial killer tries to compliment you by calling you a carnivore and you shut down the whole alpha male supposition by calling yourself a vegetarian

* At this point I've written almost fifteen hundred words and taken almost two hours to watch 23 minutes

* This is my life, these are my choices

* Dutch Angles

* You could make this conversation about being gay, I have had this conversation about homosexuality before

* Unfortunately while I had it I was on the bus trapped in a window seat

* The conversation didn't end with me saying something cool and everyone clapping

* They just got off the bus to go to work

* The banality of evil, yo

* Her shorts are Incredibly Short, good for her

* "arrest the perp behind my back" that's his job, broheim

* He doesn't ask why she checked behind their ears

* DUN dun dun!

* Slo mo file drop, and of course the file is blood stained and aged

* Chalk Art of Doom

* Chinese word play!

* Caught almost putting his coat over his crush, embarrassing XD

* Backstory!

*  I love all the little character details, I could quote lines I think are funny all day but that would start getting silly

* Bai Yu Tong is marked as clean and having OCD but we don't see what's apparently a huge character trait at all other than the all white, do love that he's good at cooking

* Dr. Zhan: Brilliant!  Genius!  Cannot feed himself.

* Dr. Gong has indifference level 100% which is true and also I love that for him

* I love that Wang Shao part of the team because he's good at making friends, I love that for him

* Poor Zhao Fu: scared of ghosts and dumb and sweet?  At least he has an 8 pack

* Jiang Lin is very tropey except the mention of her nearsightedness

* Ma Han's height 1.7m and legs 1.8m is hilarious and I love it

* I stopped recording the slo mo walks, but if you were drinking along with them you might be dead so I really appreciate you taking time out of your afterlife to continue reading.  We appreciate all our ghost readers

* And that's the first episode!  Thanks for making it to the end!

[aurora-daily]

WHEN ASKJELL HEARD ABOUT THE EIGHT-YEAR-OLD WITH CANCER, HE GOT AURORA TO JOIN HIM FOR A SPECIAL GIFT

An article from bt.no by Frank Johnsen, translated by Amroth (May 20th, 2021)

Askjell Solstrand is the invisible sound man behind stars like Aurora and Sigrid. At Festspillene, it is he himself that is going to shine. Askjell Solstrand (27) from Askøy has always thought that being a music producer is enough. – I have never imagined that I had anything more to contribute than that I am good and hardworking. It’s easy to see yourself in the mirror and just see a nerd without a story – at least compared to the artists I usually work with, Solstrand says and smiles.

AN INCREDIBLY SAD STORY

The respected producer sits in the legendary studio Lydriket by Dikkedokken. With the hoodie placed over his cap, he is working on the sound on the artist Iris’ upcoming album.

Now he himself is going to be on stage. During a concert in Håkonshallen on May 31, Askjell Solstrand and a number of “special guests” will perform music from his upcoming solo album “Everything will be ok”. The first single, “Sofia”, is a song that means a lot to him. The idea originated in a chat community on Discord for people who like Askjell’s music. – I met an Australian fan who had an eight-year-old cousin, Sofia, who had cancer. An incredibly sad story that inspired me to write a piano piece that I was going to send to the cousins, says Solstrand.

GOT TO HEAR THE SONG BEFORE SHE DIED

He knew that the girls liked both Aurora and iris – and both vocalists were happy to perform when Askjell decided to make it a proper song.

– Sofia got to hear the first version of the song before she died. Unfortunately, I never met her myself, Askjell says.

The eight-year-old girl [Sofia] had a big dream: to become an artist. Now her family has sent over her paintings and drawings to Bergen. – I’m going to make a video to promote the song internationally. There we are using Sofia’s pictures in an exhibition at Gyldenpris art gallery, Solstrand says. In the same video, there are scenes where one of her paintings is hung up in the art museum Louvre in Paris. This is organized by another member on Discord – one who liked the idea and has good contacts at the museum. – So Sofia gets her place among the biggest [artists], if only for a short while.

ABSOLUTELY EXCEPTIONAL

The 27-year-old has for the last seven years worked for Made Management both as a producer and artist, and has more or less been at stand-by at the mixing desk in Lydriket to produce everything from Aurora, Sigrid, Emilie Nicolas to dePresno and Kjartan Lauritzen.

– There have been few holidays, to put it that way. I work all hours of the day, and there is little social life. But something must be sacrificed, Solstrand says while drinking strong coffee.

He remembers when a young and unknown Sigrid Raabe came into the studio in 2015 to make a demo. That became the piano ballad “Dynamite”, which was on Sigrid’s first EP in 2017.

– Could you immediately see that Sigrid would be the next big thing?

– I think she was absolutely exceptional, but I do not know if I could have said it with certainty. Because that is a muscle that must be trained, to understand what is good, Solstrand says.

WAS DISCOVERED AT VERFTET

Solstrand’s job as a producer is to bring out visions and ideas – and then use his musical expertise to make the songs sound as good as possible.

– I have been happy with my life as a behind-the-scenes guy. It was never important to be known to the outside world. It has all been about the music, I have been more concerned with gaining recognition and acceptance within the industry, Solstrand says.

A songwriting camp at USF Verftet in 2017 got him on a new track. Francisca Gonçalve, who then worked in Universal Music’s creative department, Globe, in London, also took part.

The two had met earlier in connection with Aurora’s release of Oasis’ “Half the World Away”.

– She asked if I wanted to try to make some neoclassical music. So I pitched an idea, Solstrand says.

This was, surprisingly for him, sent around to many in the record company Decca, who also releases Aurora’s music.

This set a number of processes in motion. Every night, after having worked as a producer, he sat down at the piano and made music. The songs were put together into an EP.

The record contract was quickly signed. And on the single “To Be Loved” he got Aurora onboard as vocalist.

– I have been good friends with her since 2014. When I told her that I had started writing my own music, she supported me one hundred percent, and we agreed to do a song together, Solstrand says.

A POWERFUL EXPERIENCE

The good friendship led to Askjell warming up for Aurora on her tour in the autumn of 2018.

– I got a very good response from the audience. We were a good match, I think. So I’ve got a lot of Aurora fans listening to my music. They are incredibly dedicated. If she breathes on something, they are there, Solstrand says and smiles.

In the last “pandemic year”, he has produced a lot of music, including songs on Sigrid’s and Aurora’s upcoming albums, Kobe’s solo album, dePresno, SKAAR and iris’ new albums. Solstrand has also had time to write music and lyrics for the upcoming solo album, which will be performed for the very first time in Håkonshallen.

– It’s going to be a powerful experience. Many of those I usually play with are joining the band. This will, in a way, be my first real concert, where people come to experience just me, Solstrand says.

Several secret guests will be joining him on stage. But he does not want reveal their names.

– There will be a lot of crying, guaranteed. It is special to have a concert like this with those I have worked most closely with.