#in my defense they’re very different situations set at very different times

[life-love-geekculture]

Okay, let’s talk Lucanis’s mind prison (Warning: Spoilers):

I honestly haven’t seen much discourse yet on how the “prison guards” reflect aspects of our favorite assassin’s personality. So, I figured I throw my two cents into the ring.

Let’s start with Caterina. Honestly, the most surface level of our four candidates, especially with Spite spelling it out for us. Caterina is Lucanis’ fear. Specifically, his fear of failing. Failing and disappointing Caterina. Failing the expectations set for him and by him. Failing Rook. Not killing Ghiln’nain at Weisshaupt was the cherry on top of an absolute shit sunday of what Lucanis would see as a year’s worth of failure. He’s been captured, tortured, and turned into an abomination by the very people he’s supposed to put the fear of the Maker into. It all just confirms those secret fears of not being good enough he’s been carrying for most of his life. And now he’s being confronted with a similar situation but with stakes on a personal level. Either decision he makes, he (at this point) loses.

Next up, Harding. Harding is his fear of Spite. Of what he could become, and who he could hurt, if he ever loses a modicum of control over the demon. It’s no accident Harding’s is the face he summons to project this. She might be the most sympathetic to his plight and still be willing to kill him if he ever loses control. Harding tells him in the real world that she would know it wouldn’t be his fault, but she wouldn’t let him hurt their friends. And Lucanis encourages her with this! Harding also seems to be the only other person besides Rook to ask if he would like a different room and to show concern with his isolating patterns. The fact she cares in spite of her fear (which he shares) makes her a perfect representative. Because he might literally kill himself then risk hurting her.

Neve. Ah Neve, a potential love interest or Lucanis’s best friend if you romance him as Rook. By this point in the quest, Rook has bulldozed their way past Lucanis’s fears and insecurities. Now it’s time to lash out. If you listen to his & Neve’s banter with each other and in general, they are the driest pair of a-holes you will ever meet. It’s great! So, naturally, when it comes to throwing that cynicism and sarcasm up like a freaking shield, Neve is who he thinks about. I also love the insight this section gives into how Lucanis groups people in his head (family, enemy, and contract). That’s not Spite. Spite, we’ve seen, tends to build the framework of his interactions from his host. That is all Lucanis, baby! We also get a little more insight into how Lucanis views Neve herself. I like to think Spite’s description is kind of the gut instinct, first impression our boy had meeting Neve in the Ossuary or later at the Lighthouse. On paper, she’s a Tevinter mage like the ones who held him for a year. His head knows she’s not the same, but I’ll bet she set off all his defensive instincts and now there’s guilt associated with that. Because he likes Neve. He gets along with Neve. He really needs to teach Neve how to appreciate coffee. But he can’t shake how he felt first meeting her and, like everything else, he carries it with him.

Fucking Illario. It tracks that Lucanis at his most self-hating would dredge up this dumbass. This is the crux of his current dilemma. He loves his cousin. They’re the last person the other & Caterina has. But if he’s going to do this the Crow way, Illario has to die & Caterina will likely fall in the crossfire. Or, worse, she will never forgive him. It is the surest confirmation he is the monster everyone thinks he is. After all, only an abomination would kill all the family he has left. And because it’s Lucanis and it’s Rook, who just keeps sidestepping every excuse he can come up with, his last card is to show the monster behind the man. To show Rook the demon of Vyrantium.

In case you couldn’t tell, I love this mission!

[luffyvace]

Obanai x chubby gn reader!!

This won third place in the poll so here you go<3 enjoy kny/obanai stans!! I actually like obanai very much he’s one of my favs from kny i just don’t talk abt him often

also just for the record let’s say this is a au where obanai and mitsuri are close friends :)

In this you’ll be a hashira as well

I don’t think Obanai is one to judge

especially when he wears bandages since people do

if anything he’s worrying about his looks

so in this case it’s not that he dislikes it, it’s just that he saw through your physical appearance and went for personality

and if you have a crappy one?

well then he doesn’t know what draws him to you but somethin’ does!

he tolerates no disrespect from anyone.

like we all know how sharp tongued he is- 😜

and just because he’s one of the “weaker” hashira’s doesn’t mean he’s not one!

he is DEFINITELY above average and CAN do damage

so somebody would be a FOOL to see you with him and decide to screw around and find out

as well as you!!

your strong too!

and they’d better have respect for you!

getting one tapped by two hashiras don’t sound very fun to me..

🤷‍♀️

but yeah if someone is like drunk off they’re end and tries to insult or harass you?!

obanai steps in before you can even do something yourself

depending on the level of what they said or did,

he either flames them so bad they can’t recover

or straight up punches them

maybe even beating them up

who’s going to stop him? The police? 😂

he calls it self defense

tbh it was like, that person was harassing you????

🤨

bro thought he was gon let that slide

this why you can’t pull up on everybody 🤦‍♀️

anyway if your feeling sad bc of what someone says

obanai gets you a gift to make you feel better

He’s really thoughtful and pays attention/remembers everything you tell him you like

which makes perfect gifts for situations like these

ngl this is like idk the year 1500?? IDK BUT ITS THE TAISHO ERA SO THIS WAS A WHILE AGO

which means beauty standards were 📈📈

but for obanai? You ARE his beauty standard 😍😍

everyone should strive to look like our majestic (name)!!

as far as the hashira’s opinions☝️

they don’t mind at all and are completely nonjudgmental

gyomei can’t see so when y’all described how you look it doesn’t necessarily make a difference 😅 although, again he doesn’t mind :)

mitsuri is literally the love hashira she adores you just as much as obanai does <3

shinobu is more mature than to make fun of someone over they’re appearance

now tokito will either

1) be rude at first (the hashira’s have to set him straight)

2) won’t care

3) likes you from jump so he doesn’t mind

sanemi would never judge a women like that (if you know what he did for mitsuri and shinobu and they’re uniforms yk what I mean)

Giyuu is completely unfazed

Rengoku loves you all the same

now uzui…….bc of his standards and 3 wives….it can either go one of two ways

1) him and obanai are now mortal enemies and he keeps you away from him

2) he thinks your THICC and FINE 💖 (dis one better fr)

Ngl it’s even worse if a demon insults you

bc now he gets to KILL them

He goin all out too

who are they to talk anyway demons be the most horrendous looking BEASTS-

fluff time~ 💕💗💖♥︎♡

obanai loves to cuddle!

he’s shy but once you get sometime into the relationship he likes gentle and intimate affections such as cuddling, hugging & hand holding

he holds you in his arms before falling asleep

and he makes sure you sleep first

If you have a nightmare he’s on it!

he’s got water, blankets, comfort food…what else you need??

on it! 🏃💨

That’s literally him

he’s always prioritizing your comfort and happiness in your relationship ★

Get this to the obanai stans, tumblr!! Go go go!!

;3 - Brook

[twoa-plus]

ok adding this to my extensive list of ford defense points: finally rewatching atots and like. another big thing i see people get mad at ford for is being so upset with stan over the science fair incident, which like in theory is valid, but we as the audience know a lot more about what happened than ford does and stan is really not doing himself any favors here

like. they have this conversation where ford is talking about going to wct if the people are impressed with his project, stan is like “what if they’re not impressed,” to which ford is like “well ig we’re going sailing then.” ford gets there the next day and his project is broken. he confronts stan about it and stan is like “it was an accident!! anyways, sailing? :)”

yes, it was legitimately an accident. no, stan didn’t deserve to get kicked out of the house for that. but i really can’t blame ford for having a hard time believing the first part, and i don’t think it was his job to handle the second. stan got kicked out immediately after this argument, when ford would have been absolutely pissed with him - and like idc how good of a person you are, anger is blinding and i don’t think it’s as easy as this fandom makes it out to be to just set that aside and fight someone like filbrick pines over the fate of the person you think just sabotaged your entire future, especially as a teenager. like “oh ford should ha-“ ford was a pissed off teenager sulking in his room, where the fuck was their mother?

the part where ford loses me is when he stays mad at stan for years afterwards, i think he should have at least tried to track him down and make sure he was ok, but even then i can kind of get it. again, as far as ford was concerned it wasn’t an accident, which would add a lot to the resentment there, and he probably did think stan was fine considering all the infomercials. still think he should’ve reached out, “teenager living on the street” usually doesn’t end well, but it’s not like he knew stan got involved in organized crime or anything

idk i just. like i said people always point to this as like petty anger over an accident, but as far as ford is concerned it was entirely intentional. i really can’t blame him for believing that, and staying mad over an accident vs an intentional act of sabotage are two very different situations. was the second situation what actually happened? no, but ford doesn’t know that.

the more i dig in to this stuff the more it seems like this fandom’s biggest issues with ford pretty much boil down to

1. he’s not omniscient

and

2. he’s a person with emotions

there are very real reasons to criticize this man, i’m not going to deny that. but this is not one of them imo

because i know (some of) this fandom can’t read: this is not an anti-stan post. we love stan. again, it was a legit accident and he didn’t deserve to get kicked out. but liking one twin doesn’t mean the other has to be the villain in their life story.

[lover-of-mine]

I truly feel like the fandom post 7x04 could be psychologically studied. Like I’ve never seen anything like it. Like it could’ve been a normal “obvious plot device couple no ones really invested in before the will they won’t they couple get together” time like in The Rookie when Tim and Lucy were dating different people before they got together. But because they’re both mlm ships everything typical went out the window. It’s like all the typical fandom stuff is flipped. Typically it’s fans of the fanon ship that are begging for crumbs and making up headcanons desperate to create depth and content that the show won’t give them. Somehow we’ve found ourselves in a spot where the canon ship is being treated like a fanon ship BY THE SHOW and the fans of said canon ship are livid because they feel entitled to more. And because the fanon ship is getting treated like the canon ship by the show fans of said ship are getting targeted more than I think I’ve ever seen (most canon ship fans just ignore the fanon shippers or roll their eyes at them but not much else from my experience)

It's like another anon told me the other day, people expect us to give Tommy a bonus just because he's a man when the show isn't giving us anything. It is very clear that this is just a device to make Buck bisexual, to get us to the endgame that is buddie, yk? They have been setting up buddie for over 6 seasons now, and now that Buck is queer there is no reason for them not to go there but since it since Tommy is a man, they expect the relationship between to go differently when the show isn't giving them anything. It is just a narrative device to get Buck from from point A to point B. And people kind of lost their minds about it. I think even the show itself didn't realize that people would like Tommy, because no one ever liked anyone they paired Buck or Eddie with and now they ended up with this situation. They clearly do not want to develop Tommy in any way and since he is just there, everyone that ships that wants the relationship to be more just because they build their relationship to be more in their heads. 5he show didn't really give them anything beyond the fact that he's a man. But in the end of the day they do have the defense of saying my ship is canon because as of right now, Eddie is not queer and Buck is dating Tommy. So I don't understand why they are this aggressive about the situation (I mean, I do, they got played by Lou and are fuming because they invested on something expecting it to be developed just for it to just be there). Because like the fanin couple has always been a thing, every show, every piece of media has that one fanon couple that people are obsessed with. And, yes there's a lot of talk about buddie right now because buddie is actually possible, and like it or not it's the ship that has 6 seasons of buildup. They don't seem to understand that the ship they created in their heads with the help of paid headcanons isn't what exists on the show. I would seriously ready a psychological experiment in fandom based on the past 6 months, because it is some fascinating shit. Just because he's a man, suddenly nothing else mattered. Is crazy.

[wander-wren]

Are You There, God? It’s Me, Matthew

Time for the promised defense of our favorite asshole, with analysis of my favorite song from the show, “Are You There?”

Brief disclaimers: I haven’t seen a staging of the show in YEARS, so there may be some missing context, but I have done my best. I am also coming at it as a complete outsider, being both an agnostic raised “non-denominational” Christian and someone firmly removed from most of the drama in my own high school.

I want to make this post accessible to non-Bare fans, mostly so I can foist it on my unsuspecting friends, so I will begin with a synopsis and do my best to explain everything.

Bare: A Pop Opera is a coming of age story about two boys, Peter and Jason (secretly dating) at a Catholic boarding school. The central conflict is that Peter is tired of being closeted and wants to come out, but Jason is terrified and refuses. Orbiting them are their friend group, Nadia (Jason’s sister), Ivy, and Matthew, who each have their own set of problems that gets tangled with the boys.

“Are You There?” takes place at the point where all of the setup begins to coalesce into conflict. Our situation is thus: Jason and Peter have had multiple fights over whether or not to come out. Some of this was instigated by a rave they both went to, where they danced together and no one batted an eye; Peter uses this to argue that the world isn’t so harsh, while Jason thinks Peter is naive and a rave is very different from the whole world. We’ve also been introduced to Jason’s father (from Jason’s perspective, at least), who appears to be very hard on his kids and emotionally absent. Jason is also popular and has a reputation as a “ladies man,” whereas Peter seems more reserved, awkward, and unnoticed, which gives Jason more to lose socially by coming out.

In the background, we have Ivy, who has a reputation for sleeping around and seems to be generally regarded as a bit spoiled and vain. We’ve seen her and Nadia trade a lot of insults, but outside of that she seems to be grounded and sweet, and sings a song called “Portrait of a Girl” where she struggles with how people view her.

Nadia isn’t too relevant here, unfortunately, but she’s awesome so everyone say hi Nadia, we appreciate you.

Matt has yet to have too much characterization. He deals drugs to the student population and acts as the ringleader for the rave adventure, but otherwise doesn’t do much. He does have a song called “Wonderland” where he tells the group about some new drug he wants them to try. He also sees Jason and Peter dancing at the rave, but I’m not sure if we know this when “Are You There?” occurs; he reveals it later in another song, but without seeing the whole production I can’t say if we’re meant to know before that. We also know he has a huge crush on Ivy that she doesn’t reciprocate, but she hasn’t outright turned him down.

“Are You There?” takes place during Ivy’s birthday party, a week after the rave. Matt and Peter both escape the party separately; Matt because Ivy rebuffed him and went to dance with Jason, and Peter because Jason is dancing with Ivy. They pray about their issues, then discover they’re not alone outside and talk. Peter comes out to Matt and reveals he and Jason are dating, which Matt at the time accepts.

Later in the show, Matt will start a fistfight with Jason and call him a faggot, and a bit later out him and Peter to their entire class. Based on the fact that Matt only targets Jason, this is less out of homophobia and more out of petty jealousy that Ivy likes Jason instead of him. The outing, among other problems not relevant here (and institutional homophobia, which is relevant), leads Jason to suicide.

So, uh, Matt’s an asshole. But! I like him anyway, and we’re gonna talk about why. Rewind to Ivy’s party, this song, and this pivotal conversation between Peter and Matt.

Matt begins the song by asking God, “Do you know—well of course you do— / What it’s like to stand outside? / To watch the world and wish / you didn’t hurt so much you cried? / I know I’m not the only one / and I know I shouldn’t care / but I feel these things are real / I wish I felt you there / And if I did, I’d ask you / How come life is so unfair?”

I believe this is the one time in the show we see Matt’s real feelings. The rest of the song I think is also probably very genuine, but Matt is the type to put up a front even around his friends, so it’s hard to be sure.

So this gives us a lot of new information about Matthew right away: he feels alone and like an outsider, he’s depressed, he’s conditioned to dismiss his own feelings but doesn’t want to, and he’s struggling with his faith.

I’ve already made a post about the theory that Matt had a relative who died during the school year. You can read that, or, TLDR: A dead girl named Megan Lloyd is referenced in a throwaway line in a song that comes after “Are You There?” Since Matthew’s last name is also Lloyd, it seems like they are probably related, and this could contribute to his behavior/attitude, especially since her death is treated as a joke and never brought up again.

It’s possible that Megan’s death (and its dismissal) contributes to Matt feeling apart and to him wrestling with faith.

(An aside: I do love this song because of it’s opening verses. Something about the interjection of “of course you do” is very humanizing of God and very sweetly telling of the boys’ view/relationship to him. I also think “of course” is one of the best phrases in the English language, generally. Of course.)

Peter sings a verse with similar themes, and the boys sing together: “Are you there? Are you there? / Do you watch me when I cry? / And if it’s in your power / how can you sit idly by? / I try so hard to please you / but you never seem to see / Is it my fate to sit and wait? / Wonder what my struggle means? / I wish I knew that someone out there cared / Cared for me.”

I’ve italicized the lines that Matt sings alone (with Peter singing the lines following each one alone). Overall the chorus doesn’t do too much except nail home how lost and somewhat bitter both boys feel. Matt wishing that someone cared about him serves to highlight his loneliness, even though he has friends and seems popular.

At this point the boys briefly stop singing and just speak. Matt calls, “Who’s out there?” and when Peter responds, “Matt?” he says, “Yeah, are you alright?”

The way Matt says this line in the official cast recording, at least, has always stuck out to me. He sounds so gentle and genuine, and you remember that they’re friends. We see that Matt isn’t oblivious or self-centered, even though on the surface he just seems like he’s being dramatic that his crush doesn’t like him back.

Anyway, the boys sit together and Matt offers Peter some wine. They commiserate vaguely about the party and life, and then Peter admits, “It sucks to be ignored,” to which Matt says (beginning to sing properly again), “Ugh, I know! I always fight to do what’s right / and this is my reward.”

It’s very odd to me that Matt says this. It does make him seem kind of childish and entitled; which, he’s a seventeen year old boy, they can be that way. But I wonder if it’s a hint to some inner world that we’re never properly shown, some moral struggle Matt has. Or he’s just being dramatic. Who knows!

The boys sing together again: “Are you there? Are you there? / Can you make some time for me? / They tell me that you’re out there / And they tell me that you see / I try to find the meaning, God / You know how hard I’ve tried / But I don’t know where I’m going / and I don’t have any guide.”

This verse doesn’t really give us too much that’s new. Wanting more from God and feeling lost are very very common feelings.

Matt then sings, alone, “They said things would get better / but I guess they lied.” This line always makes me want to cry a little bit, this hint at Matt’s utter hopelessness and sort of resignation to it.

Peter then sings, “Are you there? / He needs to give me more,” and Matt agrees, “I’ll drink to that.”

Peter is referring both to God and to Jason, but Matt of course only thinks he’s talking about God. Probably. It is kind of funny to read it as Matt agreeing Jason owes Peter more. But what I’m more interested in is the fact that Peter’s line is diegetic, since Matt responds to it, but Matt’s line right before doesn’t get a response, at least not in this recording. Did Peter hear him say things won’t get better? What would he think about that? Peter seems a pretty hopeful person in spite of it all.

At any rate, Peter continues by saying, “Who cares what people think? / We’re fine, we’ve been through this before / One day he’ll wake up / and realize all he needs is me / Until then, God, I wish I knew / I need a guarantee.”

So here is where the relationship is confirmed to Matthew. Matthew says nothing to him, instead directing his next line back to God: “I need to know for sure that you’ll be there.”

Peter echoes that sentiment and the song proper ends, fading into a soft piano. At this point Matt and Peter begin to dance together, with Matt asking “Who’s leading?” and Peter answering, “I don’t know.” Matt asks “Who usually leads?” thereby acknowledging Peter and Jason’s relationship (and subtly asking who tops, lmao).

Peter whispers into Matt’s ear, which we can assume is him properly coming out, then says goodnight and leaves.

Now. It is absolutely possible to read Matt as deceiving in this song and a so-closeted-he’s-homophobic type of guy, between the dance and his treatment of Jason, but as I said before I don’t believe his behavior is rooted in homophobia. I also don’t believe he was lying about his feelings to earn Peter’s trust and gain information from him. There’s nothing to suggest that is Matt’s goal.

I think Matt is straight and starts the dance as a genuine show of support for Peter. Remember, this show was written and takes place in ~2000. Matt is touching Peter, doing an intimate activity with him, right after Peter has come out. It is extremely significant and sweet. Asking who leads is an even more overt gesture of acceptance; Matt wants to hear about them and what their relationship is like. This moment is unbelievably special and I believe that’s why Peter decides to come out rather than play damage control.

Okay, so, that’s all well and good, but what about the part where Matt’s a total dickhead later on? Well.

Matt fights Jason and calls him a faggot the very next day, but he does so during their rehearsal for the school play, where a fight is already scripted; he just takes it too far and adds the slur, whispered for only Jason. I think that this was a response to Jason dancing with Ivy and Matt wanted to let Jason know he held something over him; I believe that if Jason and Ivy had gone no further, Matt wouldn’t have either.

But instead, when Peter arrives and tries to convince Jason, again, to come out, Jason breaks up with him.

Shortly after (it’s unclear how long; possibly the same day), Ivy approaches Jason to apologize for being so forward at her party. Jason says it’s okay and pretends to reciprocate his feelings, clearly in an attempt to be “normal” and distance himself from his queerness/relationship to Peter. He and Ivy end up having sex, and then everyone splits for spring break.

When they return from break, Ivy asks to meet with Jason before a play rehearsal, where she reveals that she’s pregnant. Jason loses it and they begin to argue. Matt appears, as well as other students ready for rehearsal, and tells Ivy that Jason is gay and will never treat her the way she deserves (like he would, if she would date him).

Peter runs in and asks what’s going on. This is the only time Matt is even a bit mean to him, asking “Ivy’s pregnant and your boyfriend’s the dad / So what does that make you?” Peter tries to deny it, and Matt tells him not to play dumb.

Jason shouts at Matt to shut up and Matt taunts him about seeing them dance at the rave. Jason shouts at him some more, trying to salvage the situation, before Peter reveals that Matt does know what he’s talking about, because Peter told him.

Jason storms out, has a crisis, etc, and ultimately ends up getting drugs from Matt and overdosing on the night of the school play. It’s not clear whether this drug deal was already arranged or not, or why Matt lets an obviously unstable classmate have pills. We don’t get to see his thought process.

I think that Matt genuinely didn’t grasp the severity of what he was doing. He knew it would hurt Jason, but he didn’t expect it to destroy him. As Jason takes the pills, Matt even says, “You know we’re still cool, right?” in a sort of clumsy, teen-guy attempt to smooth things over. It seems to cross his mind what Jason could do with the drugs, but he’s too nervous to confront him about it directly. Maybe he assumes he’ll have more time, to talk to Jason again or warn someone closer to him.

Matt apologizes better to Peter later in the same scene, saying, “Peter, what I did…that was messed up. I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.” (Peter only replies “It’s done,” for the curious.)

It is interesting how Matt responds differently to each of them, and implies he’s closer and more comfortable with Peter (makes sense, given his animosity/rivalry with Jason). I read this both as a real apology to Peter and an attempt to soothe his guilt over Jason; maybe he’s hoping Peter will put in a good word for him, though Peter and Jason are barely speaking at this point either.

The next we see Matt is in the final song, which takes place during the graduation ceremony. He begins his valedictorian speech, stammering, “I’d like to start with just a— / If we could take a moment— / If maybe we were silent / Or we had spoken / I tried to find the words to— / Just the right quotation / But I must confess I came up empty.”

Matt never seems unsure of himself before now. While metaphorically, yes, he sings a song about uncertainty, he doesn’t stumble over his words or have nothing to say. I would say Matt is acutely aware of his position, and that while he is referencing his speech when he talks about coming up empty, he’s also referring to that last moment of contact. That brief second where he could have said or done anything, could have made a difference, and only let Jason go.

That’s all we have of Matt. A conflicted, lonely, potentially-grieving kid who made a stupid, fucked-up choice in a fit of envy and has to deal with the consequences.

I’m unsure, at the end of all this, whether I have the dominant opinion. I’ve never really interacted with Bare’s fandom. I hope I have the dominant opinion. Matt’s pretty easy to hate and narratives are pretty easy to twist.

But I keep coming back to a dance outside a party. And I don’t believe Bare is a story in black and white.

[alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody]

kinktober #23

Bonfire Bash 🔥 / Rotten Core 🪱

“Oh, you’re gonna do it like that?” says Hardison, widening his eyes at Parker. “That’s just nasty, woman. That’s, like, a four-thousand-percent sugar to anything else ratio. S’mores are about the balance.”

Parker licks around the edges of her s’more, which is a carefully assembled tower of six marshmallows, three Hershey bars broken in half so that three halves bracket each side of the marshmallows, and then the usual amount of graham crackers because this is the only way she can stand them. Otherwise they get all weird and gummy in her mouth and it unlocks some weird memory she thinks might be from when she was a baby, and she definitely doesn’t want that. 

“Excuse me,” she says, poking Hardison’s pudgy side with one finger. “My methods are superior. Tested by time!”

Hardison looks to Eliot for help, but Eliot shrugs. “Can’t be that different from that orange soda you’re always drinking, man.”

“HaHA!” cackles Parker, chomping a bite out of her s’more. “See? This was a great idea, you guys. Why don’t we have more s’mores nights?”

“Fire,” Hardison and Eliot say in unison.

“Oh, right.” In her defense, Parker has been really good about the fire. This is a nice way to enjoy it: sandwiched between her favorite boys, eating what’s objectively one of the best foods ever invented, all with a giant roaring flame to keep her warm and stimulated. Earlier in the evening, Hardison presented her with a whole set of fireplace tools, including an extendable blow poke and a long metal grabber to move wood around with, and told her that they were the condition on which she was allowed to play with the fire.

“Did you steal the tools?” she’d whispered, and he’d nodded.

“You know I did. Only the best for my baby.”

They’re burning, like literally burning, a bunch of old identities from the last city. Hardison’s got backups under layers and layers of encryption and firewalls and all his other digital safety measures that sound like word salad to Parker, but she wanted to have a ceremonial bonfire to commemorate starting over again, so Hardison humored her and printed out some copies. 

She likes the new house so far. It’s colder here than Portland, but it doesn’t rain as much, and there are enough trees on the multi-acre property that she’s already starting to bug Hardison about a zip line. So far he’s much more open to the idea of putting one out in the trees here than he was to putting one inside the New Orleans house, even though the high ceilings would have been perfect. 

She takes another bite of s’more and adjusts a few logs with the grabber. The fire sends up a shower of embers and ash, and she flicks them off where they land on her clothes. She’ll have to shower right away when they get inside, because as much as she loves the smell of wood smoke when it is outside, in the fresh air where it belongs, she hates smells that linger, and wood smoke is definitely a lingerer. She’ll pull the boys in too. Eliot’ll hate it because he just washed his hair this morning and he doesn’t like to do it twice in one day, says it’s bad for the hair or something, but oh well. That’s why she bought him the shower cap. It’s not her fault he refuses to wear it. 

She’d kind of thought that Eliot would have had some fancy high-end way to make a s’more, like dark chocolate and brown sugar marshmallows or something, but he’s chowing down on a normal one next to her, hair pulled back into a loose bun and shoved under a beanie to keep it out of the goop. That’s the other thing Parker likes about s’mores, the one Hardison really can’t abide: the goop. Parker can endure any number of boring activities, lectures, and/or social situations if she has something sticky on her fingers to keep her entertained. Lately she’s been really into those sticky little hands, but the s’more is a nice change of pace. 

(The new house also came with pine trees, which she’s very excited for. Eliot said they won’t start dripping a lot of sap for a while still, but she can wait. She’s got time. And a bulk order of sticky hands to get through.)

Next to her, Hardison wipes some marshmallow from his hands with an antibacterial wipe. His face is a bit fuller than it used to be, and while he’s retained some muscle tone in his arms, he’s also got enough extra arm for Parker to jiggle a little when they cuddle. His belly bows out in a soft curve beneath his t-shirt, and 

“Hi,” she says, tipping her head onto Hardison’s shoulder. Now that he’s back from his stint of globetrotting and saving the world, he hasn’t been working out as much, and his orange soda consumption is back up to normal levels. He’s softening up; they all are, thanks to Eliot’s determination to get them to eat three meals a day and their enthusiasm at being his taste testers for the new menus he’s been working on. Parker likes her new, softer shape a lot, even if she’s had to work to figure out a new center of gravity, a new sense of balance. It’s a good challenge. Without even realizing it, she’d gotten kind of bored of knowing how to do everything she does without having to work for it.

“Hey, mama,” says Hardison, bumping his head gently against hers. “Want me to start another marshmallow for you?”

Parker nods, mouth full. Hardison is the best at roasting marshmallows. He’s proven himself over campfires, barbecue grills, fireplaces, gas burners, blowtorches, and the tiny tabletop electric grill Eliot gave in and bought after he realized the one Parker had her eye on could double as a fondue pot. The man’s got it down to a science. Probably he has an algorithm for exactly how much heat and exposure time each square inch of the marshmallow needs to be perfectly golden.

Hardison plucks another couple of marshmallows out of the bag and threads them onto his stick. On her other side, Eliot takes a slug of the new porter he’s trying out for the new restaurant space he’s been cooking up. Eliot’s softer than both of them, but they’re doing their best to catch up. A little bonus padding has made him stronger, more powerful, harder to hurt, and Parker loves that that softness makes her feel both comforted and reassured in his arms. He’s still the most dangerous person in any given situation, but she likes knowing that there’s some extra fat between him and whatever he’s up against.

Eliot built the fire pit out here with his own two hands and a bunch of rocks he dug up from the chunk of the yard he’s taken over for his garden. If Parker looks hard enough, she can see them in its construction: Eliot the protective perimeter of stones, Hardison the gravel inside it, laying the groundwork and keeping everyone even, and herself, reaching up for the sky in bright fingers of flame. 

“Who do you think could eat the most s’mores?” she muses, watching Hardison twirl his marshmallow stick amid the flames.

“You,” Eliot and Hardison in unison.

“Come on!” she groans. “That’s not fun!”

“But it’s true,” says Hardison, shrugging. “You could eat us under the table as far as sugar’s concerned.”

“Okay, fine,” she says, skimming the gooey marshmallow innards off the tip of her own stick, where the outer shell of the marshmallow went up in flames shortly after she plunged it into the fire. “What do you think you could eat the most of?”

Hardison purses his lips, gaze lost somewhere above the fire. “Probably like — we talking, like, one specific food, or a whole genre of food?”

Parker shrugs. “I’ll allow a genre, since mine is sugar.”

“Maybe chips,” says Hardison. “Or, like, the extended family of chips and chip-adjacent snacks. If we include, like Cheetos, Takis, all them, I think I could do it. Give me something to hack and I can clear out bags without even realizing.”

“That’s true,” says Parker, considering. “I’ve seen you go through chips like that. It’s impressive.”

“Thank you,” says Hardison, bowing as much as he can while sitting on a log, roasting marshmallows. “It’s a carefully honed talent.”

They both glance at Eliot, who’s squinting into the flames. 

“Potatoes,” says Eliot finally. “Variation in texture’s key to being able to eat a lot of something. More important than taste, even, but that ain’t even really an issue with potatoes. You can dress ’em up all sorts of ways and they’ll feel like different foods.”

Hardison nods solemnly. “Okay, okay. I think Parker and I will have to verify, though. Like the Guiness Book of World Records. Let’s put that on the calendar.”

“As long as I get to cook the potatoes,” says Eliot, and Parker and Hardison nod vehemently.

“All you, man,” says Hardison. “We ain’t touching that.”

He pulls his marshmallows out of the fire and examines it. “Almost done,” he tells Parker, and she begins preparing her chocolate bars and graham crackers.

“Okay, but Eliot,” she says, tapping his knee with the corner of a wrapped chocolate bar. “If you had to make your own version of s’mores, what would you do?”

“Like how would I make ’em better, or how would I make ’em high-end?”

“Either,” says Parker, sliding the marshmallows Hardison passes her off the stick and squashing them between the graham crackers and chocolate so that they ooze out the sides.

Eliot thinks, turning his beer in his hands. “Pound cake,” he says after a long moment. “With crushed graham crackers in the batter. Grill it beforehand to warm it up, get it a little crispy, there you go.”

“I want that,” Parker agrees. “I want that a lot.”

“And elevated,” he goes on, rubbing his chin, “I think Earl Grey shortbreads and lavender dark chocolate. Marshmallow’s got to be the sweetest thing there or it won’t work.”

Parker wrinkles her nose. Hardison doesn’t mind lavender, even goes in for some floral beers or ice creams sometimes, but she’s not a fan. “Okay, you guys can have those. Will you make me the pound cake ones sometime?”

“Yeah,” says Eliot, reaching over for a bite of her s’more. “Maybe next weekend. We got this fire pit now, we might as well use it.”

“Now hold up,” says Hardison from Parker’s other side. “I could get in on some pound cake. Throw some strawberries in there, I’m in.”

“Strawberries’d be good,” Eliot agrees through a mouthful. “I’ll pick some up this week. Can’t have you two starving.”

Parker lays a hand on her belly over the blanket where it’s starting to round out a bit. “Aw, we know you’d never let us starve.”

“Never,” says Eliot, passing her s’more back to her. “Not on my watch.”

[ryosei-hime]

Moxxie’s Abused Body Language

Obligatory disclaimer: This is my interpretation of the subject at hand. Nothing I say within should be taken as an attempt to state what is and is not canon. If your views or interpretation differ, this is not an attack on you personally or those who interpret things differently from me.  

So, with that out of the way, this post’s focus is primarily on Moxxie’s character and how the Spindlehorse crew managed to convey a lot about his childhood abuse through the use of body language in season 2, episode 3.

It’s very easy to see that Moxxie begins to show signs of fear from the moment he realizes where they are. He becomes physically and vocally distressed to the point that he actively fights getting out of the helicopter before Blitz pushes him out. He’s literally shaking here.

Even Millie’s presence isn’t comforting him. In fact, he becomes even more nervous when Crimson takes her hand and watches them very carefully. He knows what Crim is capable of and he knows he won’t hesitate to hurt Millie. Neither being a woman nor technically family is enough to stop him.

A lot of Moxxie’s body language during the introduction of Crim is very obvious. He hunches a lot. He has a lot of darting eyes and fiddling motions. He becomes quieter and more withdrawn than usual. He’s noticeably uncomfortable the entire time.

Even Blitz picks up on it. Once they’re inside, he’s much more subdued than usual throughout the rest of the night and seems to be focusing on assessing the situation. 

And, of course, you can see that Millie knows something is wrong from all this as well. She’s in tune with her husband’s feelings. In the scene where Blitz and Crim are talking, Millie’s eyes follow Moxxie’s as they dart, looking where he’s looking to track the source of his distress.

Anyone who has been raised in an abusive home recognizes certain tones when used by their abusers. We can hear that tone when Crim says “Moxxie, I raised you better than that.” This is a warning tone. This is a threat to get back in line and know your place before they put you in it. Moxxie obeys this underlying command quickly, habitually falling back into appeasing his abuser to avoid his wrath.

I believe he does this not only due to his own trauma reaction but also in an attempt to keep Millie and Blitz safe. If he sets off his father, he knows both of them would come to his defense and that could lead to them facing the same fate as his mother. I personally believe Moxxie is well aware that her attempts to help him as a child resulted in her murder, and he would do anything to avoid the same fate for Millie. 

However, we all have our limits, things we can’t help but stand up for even in the face of abuse. You can see that Moxxie cares a lot about his identity as a bisexual because he actually speaks up against his father’s past treatment of his relationship with Chaz despite the potential costs. He’s indignant that Crim would spend so long making him miserable for who he is only to turn around and pretend to accept queerness just for the sake of money when he wouldn’t make that effort for the sake of Moxxie himself. It’s clearly a very sore spot for him.

But the minute things turn to guilt tripping about abandoning the family, Moxxie sinks down into his seat in shame. Familial duty and obligation like this is something that’s hard to shake as a child of abuse. No matter how much you understand on a logical level that you don’t owe the people who hurt you just because they gave you life, it sticks with you. And when you add the mafia and its sense of duty on top of this, it’s gotta be staggering.

So, Moxxie is immediately obedient when Crim decides everyone will be sleeping there that night. He’s been successfully put back in his place with fear and guilt. Hoping that if he can just get through this ceremony without causing a stir, he can leave in peace and never be bothered again as he’s been promised. He’s so convinced he can give his father what he wants and make him go away, that he’s a little caught off guard when called back to continue the altercation. 

And then Crim hits him.

I want to take a moment to talk about the surprise on his face here. One might think this means that Moxxie wasn’t heavily physically abused as a child, because the blow surprised him. But I don’t believe that’s true. Even when you’ve become used to being hit, you still react to sudden strikes this way. Especially if your abuser is one that’s hard to read. Crim strikes me as the quiet until he’s not kind and it’s hard to predict when that kind of abuser will strike. It’s also likely been years since Moxxie has had to deal with anyone hitting him in a domestic situation. So, of course he’s shocked by the sudden blow. But we’ll come back to that.

Panic begins to set in as Moxxie realizes, as far as he’s concerned, he can’t possibly concede to his father’s demands to marry Chaz. An instinct to do whatever needs to be done to appease the abuser has kicked in. He wants to give Crim what he’s asking for but can’t. And he knows being his son doesn’t mean he’s safe from his wrath.

Again, even in this moment, he speaks up for his bisexuality. And this is obviously an old argument that’s just become tiring at this point for the both of them. They slog through it like a well worn groove. But Crim doesn’t have the patience to run that track for long right now because money’s on the line.

He’s not playing this game with Moxxie anymore and Moxxie will be made to know it. Crim reminds him what he’s capable of.

The first thing shown in the flashback sets up how Crim feels about Moxxie’s relationship with his mother. He thinks she’s making him weak by seeing to his needs (cutting his food) and not demanding he do things for himself. She’s actively standing in the way of him preparing Moxxie for the life he’s chosen for him.

In my opinion, he does think he’s doing what is best for Moxxie considering the world he’s growing up in and the path Crim has chosen for him. Abusive parents often do in these situations. Each time his mother stands in the way of preparing Moxxie for that life, Crim sees it as both a disobedience towards him (which is already unacceptable) and a hindrance to his progeny, a source of pride in his world. He can’t have a weak son or it’ll reflect poorly on him with his associates.

So, of course the only thing to be done to save his own pride and his son’s life as Crim has planned it, is to remove this obstacle and get back to teaching his son to man up and become what’s expected of him - which is, of course, to become a carbon copy of Crim. And I feel like their designs being so similar really helps to underscore this desire of Crim’s whether or not that was done intentionally. 

We see evidence of physical abuse toward his mother during the flashback. In my opinion, she’s likely protecting Moxxie from suffering it himself as mother’s can sometimes manage to do in these situations by taking on even more abuse of their own. So, it’s possible there was very little to no physical abuse for Moxxie until his mother was gone.

But it’s shown onscreen that Crim has no problem hitting Moxxie even as a child. As far as I’m concerned, this is when Moxxie’s physical abuse from his father likely starts in earnest. But Moxxie probably learns that as long as he obeys him, he can avoid this abuse. So, I believe he would have been able to decrease the amount of abuse he received in time by being more obedient. 

I wanna take an aside for a moment to back up - or maybe better to say go forward - to his past with Chaz. In that flashback, Moxxie is shown being painted nude and his body has no white marks. One might question whether or not he actually received physical abuse based on this fact but to me it has no bearing on the issue. 

For one, smart abusers often try to find ways to do so that don’t leave marks. And Crim is the head of a mafia family. If he were to go around openly beating his kid, it would reflect poorly on him. Not because anyone in the organization would care about the actual abuse. But because it would make him look brutish and stupid for allowing it to be seen by everyone. That sort of leader just doesn’t last long and can be a danger to the longevity of the organization itself.

For two, imps get white marks from more extreme injuries such as gunshot wounds and broken arms. It seems that the skin has to be broken or theoretically burned to leave an actual mark. At least from the evidence we’ve seen so far. 

Given these two points, whether or not Moxxie was physically abused doesn’t really hinge on how many white marks he has on his body as far as I’m concerned. We’ve seen plenty of imps take blunt force trauma that didn’t leave them covered in white. 

If I were to speculate on the trajectory of his experience with abuse overall, he likely received none to very little as a child before his mother’s death, a lot after her death with it decreasing as he learned to obey and avoid triggering his father, and barely any as a young adult. 

I believe that reaching that time of almost no instances of abuse once he’d become what his father wanted possibly left him a little more comfortable than he could have otherwise been during the first part of this episode.

And yes even with all the fear and nervousness that I’ve pointed out, I do think there was a sense of security in the possibility that he could appease Crim in the end. Now Crim is telling him in no uncertain terms that he will kill them all if he doesn’t get what he wants. 

He knows this isn’t an empty threat. Those who suffer abuse at the hands of their family know the difference between warnings and promises.

I don’t think I really need to go over this scene. Moxxie is disgusted as he should be.

But this whole circus clown of a come on, definitely leaves him worse off once Chaz is ejected. The terrible price he has to pay to protect his loved ones has been thrust into his face, as it were, immediately, giving him no time to process first. 

Once he does get some time alone to think about his situation, he has something of a breakthrough. I really appreciate the growl in this scene because I don’t think we very often hear Moxxie growl. We usually get hisses from him instead it seems. And I think it helps portray the depth of his anger over what his father is demanding of him.

As far as Moxxie knows, his father has promised that all he has to do is marry Chaz. He wasn’t told he had to stay. So it would be easy to just comply and leave. That’s the safe route. But doing so would, presumably, violate vows he’s made to Millie. It would compromise the integrity of his relationship with and devotion to her.

This is important enough to Moxxie to fight for. Scrolling through his pictures of Millie not only made this clear to him, but I think it also helped to remind him that he left once before. He can leave again. He doesn’t have to be pulled back into the life that he worked so hard to escape. He doesn’t have to compromise what he wants from life to appease his abuser anymore. 

This is a very brief moment but it’s also a very important and powerful one if you know what you’re looking at. It’s so, so easy for abusive family to cause regression when they manage to wiggle back into your life for one reason or another. Family reunions, funerals, weddings. They will take those moments to grab you by the ankles and start pulling you under again. 

And that’s when the consequences and stakes aren’t even this high. But Moxxie won’t let himself be dragged back down and I really appreciate they gave him that moment no matter how brief. 

And even though they don’t go through his thought process for you to see that, you hear it in his speech the next day when he stands up to his father. I honestly appreciate that Moxxie threatens Crim the way he does here. It not only shows he’s regained confidence in himself and his skills, but he’s also speaking Crim’s language now. He’s putting himself on equal footing with him, insinuating he’s as much of a threat as Crim is to Moxxie.

I’ve seen a lot of criticism of this moment: that having Moxxie zapped and forced into the wedding regardless makes his standing up to his father fall flat. And I would agree with that a little but for the fact that there’s still time to bring that confrontation back around to completion. As season two and Helluva Boss as a show is still ongoing, there are plenty of episodes left for Moxxie to follow through with his threats and support this breakthrough with actions. Crim is clearly coming back, after all.

I also think, however, that having that moment at all is still very important to character development. Simply because there was no physicality to back it up, doesn’t mean the emotional journey that led to it was entirely worthless. Moxxie still had very important character development here. When he left the first time, he simply disappeared and did not confront his father. But now he has. And that makes a big difference. 

When he returns to his life, it’ll be with a different mindset and a different kind of confidence. He’s no longer running from his father, hiding from his duties, or obscuring parts of himself from his loved ones. He’s truly stood up and taken his life fully into his hands. And now there are parts of himself he can share with Millie that he couldn’t before. This can only bring them closer and make their marriage more intimate.

In the same way, he now has a point of connection with Blitz over their daddy issues, which brings them closer to fulfilling that true friendship Truth Seekers hinted at. One step at a time, Moxxie and Blitz come closer to understanding one another.  

All in all, I loved this episode. It does a good job of handling the subject of abuse and associated tragic backstory without sensationalizing or downplaying it, both of which are extremely easy to do in a comedy-drama mash-up. But I personally feel like they managed to hit the sweet spot between the two.

[qulizalfos]

[runs in after abandoning my blog all week and throws this on the table] HAPPY BIRTHDAY WAYLI @wayward-sherlock PLEASE ACCEPT THIS FICLET AS A SYMBOL OF MY GRATITUDE TOWARDS HOW FUCKINF AWESOME U ARE ALWAYS <3 I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU BTW!!! anyways i hope u enjoy 2k of college byler shenanigans :) mwah

home (is wherever you are tonight)

“Oh, my God,” Will says, sitting forward, face alight in ways that terrify Mike. “There’s another reason, there’s a huge reason you're here, you—” “It’s Valentine’s Day, right?” The shift in Will’s expression is instantaneous. It might’ve qualified as comical, too, if Mike’s heart wasn’t about to explode.

You’d think Mike would have scrounged together a better sense of how to backpedal when he’s about to do something incredibly stupid. 

He’s trying not to think too hard about how quickly they rattle off in his head, the world’s most inconvenient list of reminders. What is wrong with you? We’re just… not in the mood right now. You’ve been on the bench all year. Not for the first time he’s gritting his teeth and wondering if it would have been entirely too much to ask for him to have acquired, by now, some intricate sixth sense for recklessness. He’s well aware that there’s no cosmic cure against the potency of his own mistakes, but he’d take anything to help him generally steer clear of these specific situations.

Encounters with murderous, eldritch entities ought to do that to a person. In his —for the record, totally impartial— opinion.

No goddamn dice, he thinks as he raises a fist to knock.

Maybe it is different, he supposes, because he’s less consumed by a wave of defensive volatility and less likely to bury the truth at the first sign of scrutiny, recoil at any chance of being left behind, and more willing to stop before he gains too dangerous an amount of momentum. It still happens, obviously— (case in point: now, loitering in an empty corridor, bland wallpaper finding a way to make it look like it’s laughing down at him, shifting his weight as he waits) he’d just convinced himself he had it more under control.

It’s ridiculous anyway. This whole thing is clearly careening towards a setup for a copious amount of slip ups on his part. But, it’s whatever.

Will’s probably out, anyway, he considers, belatedly.

It’s Valentine’s Day, —granted, a Wednesday evening dragging by with a sluggish, hazy quality— but a significant date all the same. Will is, Mike hedges, almost definitely out, maybe with the mystery guy in their joint history lecture, whose name Mike neglected to wheedle out of him last week. Maybe they’re both walking home from some fucking café, and Will would be getting cold like he does when the threat of snow looms at every waking moment, and to make matters worse, the other guy might do something sickeningly romantic like wind his scarf around Will’s neck, all while Mike’s standing at his dorm door like an idiot.

It’s possible he’s not very committed to the whole “breathe” thing El suggested, the day before the sky turned blue again, the day he was most convinced it never would again.

He threads a nervous hand through the disaster-prone section of his hair, hoping to smoothen it out, as he lifts his clenched hand, setting his face in concentration and aiming to knock one more time, and—

He has to flinch back to avoid accidentally punching Will in the face with his knock. Needless to say, that would be pretty counterproductive.

Will. Standing in front of him, soft furrow between his brows, loose sweater, lips parted.

He’s beautiful.

He shoves the thought to the side. It’s not the safest one to have when Will is less than two feet in front of him.

“Mike?”

It hits him about an hour too late: Maybe it’s ironic, how this holiday, composed entirely of spontaneous lovesick bullshit and cordiform chocolate boxes, doesn’t warrant him showing up at someone’s door unannounced. Not when it’s already 7pm.

It isn’t that he hadn’t brought that into consideration, just that now it’s not just an inkling in the back of his mind he has to ignore if he has any hope of getting ready with minimal distraction, but a real, pressing concern, and—

Will’s face splits into a grin, and the thought vanishes as quick as it came.

“Hey,” Mike tries, too hastily. The longer Will stands, just blinking at him, the further Mike burrows his hands into the pockets of his jackets.

He snaps out of it fairly quickly, and the expression has melted into something pleasantly surprised. Mike can work with that. He’s done much more with much less. “Uh— hi.”

“Are you busy?” Mike cranes a neck to peer around Will’s shoulder, unsure of what he’s looking for but appreciating the lack of anything all the same. “If you’re busy, I’ll totally come back, to— fuck, maybe not tomorrow, you have that—”

“Mike.”

“Yep.”

“I’m not busy,” he says with bright eyes, stepping back from the door to accommodate him. “I— don’t just stand there, come in, of course I’m not busy. Why, what’s up?”

“Thought maybe you were off at a candlelit dinner,” Mike remarks, because it’s easier to get out than the other thing, kicking off his shoes and trying not to think too hard about Will, the same Will in the same shadowy alcove as him, whose expression is tinged with fondness, at dinner; with warm lighting and a muted hum of chatter and someone else sitting across from him. “With the fancy napkins.”

“I think I would’ve mentioned the horrors of scraping together enough money for anything like that,” he says, and Mike’s efforts at miming cradling the aforementioned, hypothetical napkin receive a raised eyebrow. “Seriously, is something going on? If Max—”

“Nothing’s happening,” Mike tells him, passing him out and swiveling around to keep walking backwards, reversing into the couch and pretending he didn’t whack his knee as he drops onto it, picking at the edge of the nearest cushion, sprawling out as much as he can manage to. “Which is precisely why I’m here. Well, one of the reasons.”

Will hums, folding his arms and leaning on the back of the couch, contemplative. It has no right to be as endearing as it is. “Are there a lot of reasons?”

“I’m not allowed to visit you anymore?” Mike jokes. “Should I have called and given you a week’s notice?” He sits up, relishing the back and forth. “Should I—”

“No, you’re just… I dunno.” Will pokes his shoulder and skirts the couch, settling in the space Mike makes for him. “You seem nervous. Like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Shit.

Mike lets out what may be considered as the fakest laugh he’s ever mustered, darting his eyes away and plastering on a frown. He gives a half-hearted attempt at an unconvinced, hopefully somewhat assuring scoff, tugging free the crease that’s formed at the ankle of his jeans. “What makes you say that?” he asks. He’d like to describe it as nonchalant. Maybe he’s not as good at hiding as the boy in front of him, but he’s been sidestepping the obvious for what feels like his whole life. He’s had more than enough practice.

“Oh, my God,” Will says, sitting forward, face alight in ways that terrify Mike. “There’s another reason, there’s a huge reason you’re here, you—”

“It’s Valentine’s Day, right?”

The shift in Will’s expression is instantaneous. It might’ve qualified as comical, too, if Mike’s heart wasn’t trying its damndest not to explode. Again, counterproductive.

Will’s mouth drops open a little, the line of his body stock still, and just hovers there, close enough that the warmth of his breath brushes Mike’s face, and the room slips into little more than a backdrop. Mike searches his eyes for a sign that’s not there. He lifts a hand from where it’s resting on a dark green cushion, weighing the implications and consequences of reaching out against the part of him that doesn’t want to consider technicalities until far, far later. The moment stretches, engraving itself into Mike’s memory. 

And then it shatters.

Will slumps back, clearing his throat twice in rapid succession, and the corners of his mouth quirk up in diplomacy. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

Mike’s throat feels unreasonably dry. “Nope,” he says, omitting any mention of the crisis he’d had marching down the hall, questioning whether he’d gotten the date wrong and everything would blow up in his face tenfold, and just drumming his fingers against his thigh.

“So—” Will frowns, “what are you trying to say?”

This was all going much smoother during the numerous rehearsals in his head. “It’s Valentine’s Day,” he parrots, trying not to think about Will’s sharp inhale too much, “and I haven’t done something on Valentine’s Day for years, and you’re free, and I’m free, and…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “I don’t know, I thought we could hang out.” 

Silence.

It’s about to backfire, he can sense it, so he rushes to add: “In solidarity.”

“Right,” Will says, faraway. Mike sort of needs to run outside and scream for an untold amount of time.

“Doesn’t have to be super special,” he says, sensing the need for a prompt change in subject. “Unless you want it to be special, but I just figured— like, what were you gonna do before I came?”

Will glances at him once, quizzical, but drops it. 

—

It’s a short walk from the dorm to the closest Circle K, and one spent wrapped up in pleasant, amicable conversation, catching up on the various aspects of each other’s lives that aren’t entwined already, and about halfway there Will stoops to tie his shoelace. As Mike waits he considers how scary it could be if he dwells too long on how noteworthy the most mundane tasks become in Will Byers’ company.

They wander inside, Mike leaning on the door to open it for Will in what he hopes is a courteous manner, and trails down an aisle beside Will, the faint beat of a trashy pop song barely covering the echo of their footsteps on the tiles.

“Just the sodas?” Mike checks, swerving to avoid a display stacked high.

“Yeah,” Will says, nabbing a coke and gesturing to the fridge. “Take your pick.”

Mike reaches for a 7Up.

“Knew it,” Will says, something indecipherable in his tone. And then he’s extending a hand, covering Mike’s for a split second — long enough for an odd sensation to bloom in his ribs, but short enough for him to want to say, fuck it, and tangle their fingers, but Will teases the can out of his grip, leaving Mike with a cool smear of condensation on his palm.

“We can pool our resources,” Mike quips as Will deposits the cans on the counter. The cashier flicks a lazy glance at them and tells them the price. “I have a quarter.”

“Generous of you,” Will observes, producing a crumpled dollar note from his back pocket.

They settle on a wall outside, and Mike kicks the solid stone intermittently with his dangling heels, sipping away as Will starts to talk. The sky runs like spilled ink above them, perforated with only a smattering of stars and a few dark clouds, but Will is bathed in the gold ring of a streetlamp. There’s a lull in conversation, but it’s fine. Mike’s content to stay here all night.

“This was nice,” he says, in lieu of everything else.

Will bumps against his shoulder. “Yeah?”

A tiny droplet of rain lands on Mike’s nose, and three more freckle more of his exposed skin. A low fizz kicks up, drilling into the gray landscape surrounding them, and more dots pepper on the wall.

“Yeah.”  Will turns away. Mike scans the area around them, but they’re alone save for a few empty chip packets strewn across the concrete. Will’s gorgeous. Mike can’t explain it, but he knows when warmth floods your veins it’s a sign that merits extra morosis, and his intentions are in the right place, and it’s so hard to steer himself in any direction other than pitching forward and propping up a hand on the other side of Will’s jaw. Mike doesn’t let himself think too much of it as he presses a kiss to Will’s cheek.

It’s as short-lived as it is sweet: Will’s answering gasp, all wide eyes and questions in every line of his face, the beads of rain on his skin, near lucent in the orange lighting, the tickle of his bangs getting in Mike’s eyes a little when he turns.

And then Will’s breaking away to set down his Coke, and closing the gap between them.

Truthfully, Mike didn’t know that kissing could feel like this. It seems like something so untouchable, so far from what’s in his own comprehension of the world, that finding this kind of warmth could happen, but Will’s slinging an arm around his back and all coherent thoughts promptly dissolve in the now steadily falling rain. 

[imagionationstation]

Hi! I read your TMNT 2012 separated au that you made with ellestrade and it really gave me brainworms so I wrote a small one-shot for it! The characters kinda ended up writing themselves haha.

anyways, wanted to share it with you and also make sure that you're okay with it. Not sure how you feel about other people taking inspiration from you ideas, so if you would like me to take it down, just let me know!

Thanks for sharing such fun ideas. Here's the post (I've also tagged you in it but sometimes tags are weird and don't always show. Also its on my fandom specific sideblog, but I am the same person haha)

Gotta love those brain worms! (Ironic statement from a 2012 viewpoint, actually-) HOLY CHALUPA, BRAIN WORMS IN THIS AU UNIVERSE, WAIT WAIT ACTUALLY WAIT-

*background rambles and spazzing*

Okay, I’m back.

I’m always a-okay with whatever fan things anyone wants to create with inspiration from something I made or helped make. As long as it isn’t containing some stamp that says “this I deem canon” when neither me (nor my partner) deemed it canon, no one ever has to worry with me getting upset over some story/comic/art.

I’m going to give some thoughts and I want to disclaimer.

When I discuss my thoughts on your POV of events in the AU, I will never, in any way, intend to diss or attack the story. I think the flow was excellent and Raph’s analysis of the events occurring was intriguing. I loved it! And nothing I say will be a statement otherwise.

But, since I have a distinct inability to keep my mouth shut when it comes to turtles and you asked, I have thoughts 🧐

My brain is now turning and ya’ll have to deal.

Characterization:

Donnie: Much distrust. Much sass. A strong sense of duty to defend his brethren turtles who don’t deserve it but he’s doing it anyway.

Very on point. Much approval 👌

Mikey: Could not be more perfect. I love him. Sweet soul ✨

Leo: He’s a bit less… Forceful. Cold and calculating. Than I envision.

I’d imagine that he had to learn to shut feelings down in order to survive. Fidgeting/smiling/visibly hesitating is out of the question. Staying in Shredder’s graces meant learning to play the game. His silence is what earns Raph the ability to be loud. The only times that he’s himself is when him and Raph are alone, outside of the sight of cameras, or when someone in is danger and fear/fury overwhelms all else. He seems bland to outsiders and it takes the Hamato brothers a while to see that that he’s just a scared little boi at heart that’s just trying his best in a cruel world.

He’s also set in his beliefs, so he’s going to assume that they’re being tormented mentally, if not physically. There’s no place in his mind that wonders if they were actually safer elsewhere.

I do like your POV, though. Plenty for me to play with.

Raph:

He’s ABSOLUTELY the first to question the differences between how Shredder treats them and how Splinter treats their brothers. He doesn’t jump the gun, but as devoted as he is, he’s never really liked Shredder. I love the implications that he’s been filing away concerns subconsciously and his brain keeps poking him like “HELLO?!”

He’s very deep. I can’t decide how I feel about that 🤔

Shredder would have wanted to fan that temper into something unforgiving and vile. Or course, that doesn’t mean he stops being a sensitive soul. It could… Have something to do with Shredder manipulating him into being angry when he wills it (basically all the time) and solemn and still when he doesn’t (such as during lectures, punishments, etc).

His brain registers this situation as one where he’s not meant to be loud and angry, and so he’s kinda… Shut down. Sassy, but mellow. Processing. Adapting. Letting what happens happen because he’s not meant to stop it.

It’s a reason that Leo gets so defensive when punishments come into play. It forces Raph to feel small. It make him vulnerable.

HOLY MOTHER OF MUTATIONS- I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS NEW TAKE ON THE AU @ellestrade TELL ME IF I’M ONTO SOMETHING

Anyway, commentary:

“in one of Takeō's strategy books he couldn't care less about”

It’s like Space Heroes. He claims so and YET he read, recalls, AND clearly has DEBATED the passage so I call sus vibes.

I get giddy when I think of Takeō discovering Space Heroes-

“Junkō and Kōta— or Donnie and Mikey, whatever false name they’d been given—”

My brain made connections. I don’t know if it was intended, but I always believe that they knew them by Shredder’s names through the beginning of season one, end of season one/beginning of season two they were associating them as both, and then by the time that the City is under attack, they’ve adapted to using their real names. (But the Saki brothers still keep their Foot names.)

So, now I assume this is somewhere in that middle plot.

Fun little Easter egg~

“Takeō and Akihitō were the offense, and Donnie and Mikey were the defense” “They held their own. In fact, they dominated.”

I’m in love with Raph’s simple acknowledgment of their roles in battle. It’s a very practical outline of exactly how their dynamic on the field plays out and he's so certain of his place.

On the other hand, I’m a bit uncertain about whether they’d dominate. I do believe that they are trained and can hold their own, but I don’t know about them being as impressive as Raph&Leo, simply because Splinter trained them to defend and Shredder trained them to kill. The Hamato brothers haven’t had much time to practice in the offensive, especially since that’s Leo&Raph’s job. (In non-AU canon, they are all offensive/defensive.)

I think Mikey might learn that kinda strength at the farmhouse after being taught by Leo&Raph, and Donnie will step back from that, finally finding his place not as a fighter/leader, but as a scientist.

Definitely an interesting take, tho 🤔

“Only now does he think that, perhaps, there was a reason their master made their primary weapons blunts and not blades.”

I am chewing on this line so hard. It’s so powerful.

I can’t even tell you why. It just is.

“Akihitō knows that Takeō isn’t lying. He’d already tried to take tonight's blame all on his own shoulders, spare Akihitō of the punishment. But Akihitō knows all his tricks and he won’t let his brother suffer alone. Again.”

100% behind Raph learning to butt in when Leo tries to take the fall as they get older and punishments get worse.

“Seeing the situation, the evidence glaring at him, Akihitō cannot deny that this wasn’t exactly a great sell. Takeō and him are tied to the ground, trying to convince these two strangers that they would be safe with them. That their clan would not hurt them while that same clan was just about ready to beat them to a pulp.”

I was thinking the same thing 🤣

Leo, dude, seriously. Look around. Think for a second. You are not selling your point. You are doing the opposite.

In the end, it doesn’t even matter. Sensei will always find them no matter where they run. It was better to follow than be chased.

SOMEONE NEEDS TO TEACH THESE KIDS THAT THIS IS A TOXIC RELATIONSHIP. YOU SHOULD NOT FEEL MOTIVATED TO STAY WITH DAD BECAUSE HE WILL FORCED YOU TO REMAIN OTHERWISE. BRUH. RED FLAG.

These were Foot Ninja binds made specifically to hold them. Mutant strength and all.

It makes sense that Shredder would make these. But.

But man. He made those. For them.

Takeō tries to take control of the situation again, the bossy oldest sibling coming out in him.

HA. Got him. Leo is Leo in any universe.

“His name is Mikey.” Donnie glares. “The rat is lying and he has—” “Donnie, its fine.”

Absolutely how they view things. Mikey doesn’t care what they think or do as long as no one he cares about is paying the price. Donnie feels it is a manner of principle that they accept logic and truth.

Leo talking over both of them is valid. This kid, I swear.

“Then tell your older brother to shut up about—”

LEO IS IT OFFICIAL YOU HAVE BEEN DISOWNED

“Sounds like a you-problem.” Donnie stands. “Mikey, we saved them. It's time to go.”

Donnie would die for them <3

A hand lands on his shoulder, and he recognizes it. Takeō always knows when to give support. He’s a good brother. He hopes Donnie and Mikey will know that one day too.

OH. OKAY. WELL. 🥺

THOSE FEELS CAME OUT OF NOWHERE-

He loved his big bro sm hjkhkjhkjhjkkjhkjhkjhku

If Akihitō didn’t know any better, he’d say it was longing.

Oh, don’t worry, he is dying to have other people in his life who genuinely care for him, but as long as you guys are with the enemy, you’re a threat to his baby brother and daddy and not to be trusted

And, just maybe, it could be their world too. 

Oh, so that’s what pain feels like. Glad to be reminded.

[berylcups]

Heres my first stand design! 😫 man did it take FOREVER! I hope it looks good enough. Especially since its an object based stand, but I made the portals with liminal/weirdcore elements to add to the bizarre jojo factor... They are technically invisible UNTIL you make eye contact with it...and it will reveal itself to suck you in. 😨 I hope I didn't make it OP, but either way everyone dies because of plot armor lol.

*the evil eye 🧿 at the very middle point of the bow blinks and focuses its gaze on the area the arrow is pointing at.

Stand acquired by: Black Sabbaths Arrow; not taking the lighter test seriously

Stand type(humanoid, object, drone, etc.): Object

Stand Name: Black Celebration (Album by Depeche Mode)

Stand Range: 15 meters , 30 meters (how far stand can shoot max) 

Destructive power:  D(calamari must rely on gravity and their surroundings to use to their advantage. Their stand technically isn’t meant to be used in combat but their creativity has helped them and their teammates out of life or death situations) 

Speed: A(variable, Calamari learns to have more control over [lower/strengthen] the suction and ejection the black holes)

Range: A(variable, how far Calamari arrows shoot)

Stamina/persistence: D (can stay inactive for an extended period of time up to 3-4 hours before activating.)

Precision: C

Development potential: A

Stand Abilities: 

Black Celebrations intended role was for contingency plans and escape routes. Calamari and their stand is bursting with potential. They're full of creativity and are always thinking of ways to be several steps ahead of their enemy. 

Black Hole traps: like real black holes, they are invisible to the naked eye and aren’t really black. BC can be shot to set up a booby trap for a target to unknowingly get in its range to be swallowed up and spat out another hole wherever Calamari pleases. It can stay dormant for roughly 3 to 4 hours so they don’t need to chase down their target but they can’t stray too far away from the town/city they’re in. To distinguish the difference between their target and civilians is to periodically check through the hole. Which isn’t too difficult when working on investigating targets beforehand. But these traps are basically useless if they don’t have this information, unless they stay nearby. With that, it will activate with the snap of their fingers

Chaining: This is the ability everyone relies on calamari the most . Calamaris 1st learned ability, they can take up to 8 shots at once  roughly about 7-30 meters in between each hole max to get  themself and her teammates out of a location. The more arrows they shoot the less they will go. It’s better to go one at a time. If they only shoot 1 it simply just takes them through the other side of something, like the other side of walls, into other rooms, vehicles, etc.

 Effect beacon/ redirection: With slowing down the way BC inhales/exhales matter, it can expand the effects of certain other stand abilities or redirect them (ex Grateful Dead aging fog) 

Redirecting projectiles work well with their stand too (Aerosmith’s shots) though; it works well with Sex Pistols, the sudden change in surroundings disorientates them losing control of the bullet. There’s limits to how much weight BC manipulates. It can handle roughly double their own body weight (300-350 lbs) when in the most dire situation they can transport a full sized sedan through a wall with the help of another pulling back the bow. 

Remote vision: Calamari can see into any black hole at any time but only one at a time. They are limited to 7 seconds of looking in and have some time before they can do it again or else they get severe headaches.

Stand weaknesses:

No defense or ability to fight back: BC has no ability to defend itself in close ranged fights due to being an object based stand. It requires a few seconds to set up 2 portals to send their attacker away or for them to escape and sometimes they might not have that precious time. 

Loss of senses: when looking into their black holes they can only sense what’s going on in the hole. This leaves them vulnerable for an easy ambush so they need someone nearby when they do this. 

Low endurance: BC  is fueled by Calamari’s adrenaline. Their anxiety and fight or flight response is what helps make their arrows manifest. After a long arduous fight it saps their energy and makes them incredibly exhausted and drowsy. They usually sleep on the ride after a mission, resting their head on whoever is next to them.

Battle Cry:  N/A

[dailyanarchistposts]

Outro

This is a book that does not have an ending. It is a definition that negates itself in the same breath. It is a question, an invitation to discuss.[174]

—John Holloway

It can be difficult to talk about the ways that radical milieus can be stifling and rigid: how we don’t always treat each other well, how we hurt each other, and how shame, rigidity, and competition can creep into the very movements and spaces that are trying to undo all this. Of course there are tangles of despair, resentment, pleasure, and pain. Of course shitty encounters provoke anxieties and frustrations. Of course people bring their scars and fears. In his interview, Glen Coulthard put his finger on something we have carried with us throughout this process, about the way that sadness and anger often stem from love:

I think that for the somber, melancholic militant, I get it. I understand it. How could you not be? And this is my point—the only way you respond to the world like that is because of some base sort of individual and collective self-respect. Some love for oneself and others, or the land, that you see being violated in a profound way. This produces melancholy, anger, whatever. They’re not separable. So when we’re leveling our critiques, you just have to understand that yeah, it’s a rational response to an irrational, violent, unthinking machinery. So how do we direct that in ways that are able to topple these power relationships? And that’s when the kind of navel-gazing, defensive, puritanical radical becomes an obstacle, even though they may rightfully be that way, because of the position that they occupy. And the process of redirection comes from community, a community that we aspire towards and is always already there. So that’s the question: What do we do with that situation? How do we make that community stronger? I don’t know what the answer is, but the question is there, or else we wouldn’t be having this conversation. We need it to be there more, with more people.[175]

We have attempted to approach rigid radicalism with care, so that we wouldn’t just be finding movements lacking in a whole new way. We have tried to convey a conversation, a set of questions rather than a set of answers. How do we talk about rigid radicalism in a way that doesn’t just heap more shit at the feet of those who are already fighting? What can support conversations that provide space to think and feel through all this in milieus and movements? How can we pull each other into other ways of being together?

We have suggested that rigid radicalism is not a solid thing outside of us, but an affective tendency we are amidst. It circulates, constricts, suffocates, recirculates. It brings its own pleasures and rewards. Maybe it is driven in part by a desire to heal.

The real enemy is Empire itself, and rigid radicalism is a poisonous reaction that presents itself as the cure. As such, rigid radicalism is one of the ways that Empire calls forth some desires and attachments and conjures away others, keeping its subjects stuck in a desolate form of life. In the twilight of Empire’s legitimacy, it has become more and more difficult to sustain the fantasy that capitalism is good for us, or that elected leaders represent us. Governments announce sustainability initiatives alongside new forms of resource extraction, multiculturalism alongside militarized policing. But Empire doesn’t need our faith, only our compliance. As Empire’s subjects, we are increasingly fastened to an automated, industrialized infrastructure that consumes and poisons the living world. Through the glow of our screens, we are induced to express ourselves in perpetual performance and collective surveillance. The crisis is not coming: it is already here. It has been here for a long time, and Empire is administering the wreckage. We are permitted to be as cynical and pessimistic as we want, as long as we remain detached from capacities to live and relate differently.

In this sense, Empire cannot be confronted only by inculcating others with the right set of anticapitalist and antistate beliefs. People do not need some special training or education to be capable of transformation. On the contrary, we are constantly trained away from aliveness to change. It is not a question of being right, but of assembling enabling ways of thinking, doing, and feeling in the present. This is most palpable in exceptional situations of disaster and insurrection, when everyday people have a little space from Empire’s exhausting anxieties and routines. Amidst a lot of suffering and scarcity, there are upwellings of mutual aid and connection. This is not evidence of some innate altruism. For us, it is evidence that everyone is capable of joyful transformation, and the ongoing disaster is the brutal isolation and exploitation of life organized by Empire. An increase in the capacity to affect and be affected—joy—means being more in touch with a world that is bleeding, burning, screaming.

Transformation might begin with rage, hatred, or sorrow. Refusing to “get over” some things can cut against the grain of obligatory productivity and optimism structuring capitalist life. Shared power might arise from accepting, refusing, hanging on, or letting go. This is the wiggle-room of freedom: not the absence of constraint, or a do-what-you-like individualism, but an emergent capacity to work on relationships, shift desires, and undo ingrained habits.

We believe that close ties of friendship and kinship, far from isolating us into cliques or enclaves, actually enable people to better extend themselves to others and participate in transformative encounters. Close friends and loved ones are what enable us to gripe and vent so that we can be more compassionate and patient with those who don’t know us as well. They help us process fears and anxieties so that we are better able to trust people up front and move towards trouble and discomfort. They sit with us when we inevitably fuck up and flail. In turn, transformative struggle can deepen these bonds and generate new ones.

We have suggested that the challenge is not to build a unified consciousness or position, but to find ways of coming together, collaborating, fighting, and discovering shared affinities. This is not about everyone getting along and becoming friends. Vulnerability is important, but also risky, and needs to be selective. As Coulthard said, “Some relationships are just bullshit and we shouldn’t be in them. We should actually draw lines in the sand more willingly.” Joy needs sharp edges to thrive. How to create spaces, then, where vulnerability can happen and joyful encounters can take place? When to be open, and to what, and how to create and maintain boundaries? What can we do together? How can we support each other? How to create space for consensus and dissensus and difference? How to ward off imperatives to centralize and control things, without creating new divisions and sectarian conflicts? How to ward off rigid radicalism and its attachments to purity and paranoia?

These are all ethical questions that people are exploring rather than answering once and for all. We have suggested that in the space between abstract morality and vapid individualism, common notions can help us remain open and responsive.

In a world of crushing monopolies, where so much is done to us or for us, some people are recovering the capacity to do things for themselves. From barricades to kitchen tables, they are generating collective forms of trust and responsibility. If such forms make people feel alive, if they deepen bonds of trust and love, militancy tends to grow along with them because people are willing to defend these emergent powers. Every moment that people find trust in each other and in their own capacities is precious. Through these messy struggles, people are becoming powerful and dangerous together.

To be militant about joy means forging common notions that can enable, sustain, and deepen transformation here and now, starting from wherever people find themselves. Common notions are not a means to a revolution in the future, but the recovery of people’s capacities for autonomy and struggle here and now. This tends towards breaking down old divides between organizing and everyday existence, and opening the question of collective life itself in all its expansiveness. Nurturing common notions means refusing to separate the effectiveness of any tactic or strategy from its affectiveness: how it makes people feel, how it nurtures autonomy or dependence, what it opens up and what it closes down.[176] It means letting go of practices or ideas when they stagnate, and generating new ones together. Rather than fixed values or positions, in common notions we find ways of doing, thinking, and feeling that sustain the growth of shared power.

With the concept of joyful militancy, we have tried to affirm these other ways of being without pretending that we have discovered the answer to undoing Empire, warding off rigid radicalism, or ushering in some world revolution. There is no single answer. We have tried to avoid setting up joyful militancy as a new ideal to embody, or a set of duties. It would be disappointing if the notion of joyful militancy ever became a handbook for transformation because it lives in questions, experiments, and openings—not answers, blueprints, or necessities.

[bunmellos]

Hi!! Huge fan of your artwork and I’ve been following you for a while now!

I was wondering if you had any advice for people wanting to become music majors/professional musicians? I’m currently a senior in high school and I want to play saxophone professionally, but the thought of entering the “music world” (which many people have said is unstable and hard to make money in) scares me a little. If there’s any advice you can give on college and life as a musician I’d love to hear it!

aah thank you!! music is definitely a difficult field to get started in. the culture around our instruments and repertoire are pretty different but here’s a couple tips that are universal:

1. whether they’re required or not, try to fit some pedagogy(teaching) classes into your curriculum. teaching is one of the best ways to ensure you have a steady income, which is really hard to come by as a freelance musician and/or someone fresh out of college. teaching privately allows you to set your own schedule, rates, and policies, and personally i think it’s very rewarding to watch your students grow and get to know all sorts of people :> middle schoolers are really fun to interact with LOL

2. try to build relationships with your peers, instructors, and community members. this one is really important in my opinion! iirc pretty much all the gigs ive booked came about because i was recommended/invited by a friend or mentor, and my good relationship with local orchestra teachers led them to recommend me to their students for private lessons. how you play is definitely important, but networking is one of the most vital skills for a musician to have

3. in a similar vein, try to jump on opportunities even if they’re daunting! usually they aren’t as bad as you think they’ll be (i get crazy anxious when i go into a new situation or even when preparing for first rehearsals of a concert cycle, so i’m still working on this one lol)

4. don’t limit yourself to /just/ performance. i’ve known lots of fantastic musicians who manage different aspects of a professional ensemble, do instrument maintenance, etc., while still playing on the side. one of the most rewarding jobs i’ve ever had was when i worked in a music store as a string specialist. i learned what makes a quality instrument, differences in materials, basic string repair, even a little bit about winds and brass (as a violinist i still can’t believe brass players bathe their instruments O_O)

as for school itself, i think the most important thing is that you get along with your private teacher, since they’ll be your closest collaborator. take lots of auditions and take advantage of the built in rehearsal+practice time! i rushed through school as fast as possible because despite its wonderful music program i Hated my university and where it was located and i’m still kicking myself for graduating asap instead of taking my time.

currently i definitely take a defensive approach to being a musician. as you’ve probably noticed, most of my advice leans on leaving yourself other options in case playing professionally full-time doesn’t work out. obviously i don’t know the full extent of your situation but most people don’t get the performance job they hope for straight out of school- music programs are notoriously bad for failing to set their graduates on a steady career path, which unfortunately is just how it goes with the arts. i’m still trying to figure out what i want to do and i constantly have to remind myself that my life isn’t over just because i’m not soloing with orchestras around the world or whatever at 23 years old; im still growing as a musician even after graduating with a degree and i have my whole life to improve !! which i think is one of the most important things to remember

i think that’s about it for now but let me know if you have any other questions :] good luck!!

[woodsdyke]

in a shot, i'd swap my body for a body of water worry the cliff side top as a wave crashing over i'd lower the world in a flood, or better yet i'd cause a drought if I was a rip tide, i wouldn't take you out

been slowly picking at this throughout the month, took forever because i was in the process of moving. had a lot of fun with it tho. aveline and johan, really awful as fiancés but great vengeful gay besties. make them regret everything they did to hurt you. go girlies. fuck up their day

(white wasn't customary for weddings in the 18th century but consider: it was for the vibe. ty)

some additional info about these two under the cut because i think about them sooooo much

(tl;dr what if u were two traumatized gay people who had to get married but instead you did crimes that would get you executed by the state, found each other again, now gayer and happier, and became besties who bond over how fucked up your life was and how cool it’d be if the people who hurt you got what they deserved. Wouldn’t that be neat?)

TW discussions of abuse (inc. of children)

.

.

.

Aveline Montclair and Johan Groeneveld both grew up as aristocrats, and have always been godawful at it in new, exciting ways. Aveline is aggressive, stubborn, and prone to lashing out, and her family is unable to find a suitor for her because she’s now stabbed two of them in the hand with a fork (deserved, maybe overkill). Johan is an incredibly reluctant admiral of the dutch royal navy, a kind-hearted, captivatingly anxious man who would much rather be doing a nice artist residency in the countryside right about now.

Their families have a very long history, so ultimately they decide to just marry the two of them off to each other and be done with it. ‘won’t this be an absolute disaster and cause inevitable chaos’ probably. they don’t care.

Their engagement is short-lived but miserable; Aveline despises Johan for taking away the last scrap of freedom she had and trapping her in a life she hates (despite knowing that Johan really didn’t have a say in any of this). Johan resents her because he’s just trying to make the best of a bad situation, while she’s hellbent in making them both miserable.

(we won’t unpack how they both expected unhappiness from the start because the thought of marrying each other made them both feel sick – besties, you are gay. You’ll get there. It’s ok)

To skim over a Lot of things, Aveline runs off with pirates, Johan makes a series of mistakes that lead to him defecting from the navy and going on the run because he knows what will happen if the royal navy finds him. Despite all odds, they run into each other again. It’s a disaster, at first, until they realize some time apart has made a difference, and most importantly helped them realize they’re more alike than they thought. They’re a couple of scared, hurt kids, forced to grow up too fast, who want someone, something to pay for what was done to them. they spent years of their lives at each other’s throats and never stopped to think that maybe there was a bigger enemy to challenge that wasn’t each other.

Turns out when your every move isn’t controlled by your abusers, you can actually make decisions for yourself, and can decide not to ruin your own and someone else’s life over misplaced blame and defensive anger.

turns out if both of you are so intensely repulsed by the thought of being in a heterosexual marriage with anyone, let alone each other, maybe you are gay

and during all of it, they knew. The last thing anyone in the Montclair or Groeneveld families wanted was for Johan and Aveline to realize they’re better friends than enemies. Aveline’s mean, she wants blood on her hands, and Johan has the quiet, relaxed cunning that’s frightening in an angrier man and straight up dangerous in him. They’re a threat as a pair, ironically enough for the people who set them up to tear each other apart so they wouldn’t have to deal with them or acknowledge how badly they fucked up their kids.

Aveline wants to tear into her problems with her teeth. Johan is tired of being fearfully obedient and wants everyone to know it.

things aren’t fully right between them, not really, and won’t be for a very long time – too much history, too much of a lifetime of abuse at the hands of the same people – but things are good between them. one of those once-in-a-lifetime kinds of friendships. Regardless of the outcome, having someone to get angry with, to mourn the loss of a childhood with, to voice those thoughts kept close to their chest on the ways they hope those who hurt them will pay, it’s healing, and right now, they need each other (they always did).

And no matter what happens, if Aveline ever gets the revenge she dreams of, if Johan can have a life well-lived, in spite of being told he was always destined to fail, there’s one thing that won’t change:

Aveline is an only child, Johan is the only surviving Groeneveld son. There’s power in knowing the Montclair and Groeneveld bloodlines end with them.

[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

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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.

[lozriftsintime]

Ok. I wasn’t going to start posting here until the end of the month, but since Mel made, and posted, fanart for my Ravio I felt he needed to be posted here. I’m slowly working on fanart for my other heroes and will post all that I have done at the end of the month, as well as some of the art I’ve had commissioned for them. But for now, onto Ravio info!

Name: Ravio Ravenloft Hyrule

Alias(es): N/A

Nickname(s): Ravi and Bunny (Mural), Merchant, Bunny Boy

Birthday: (I am currently working on a calendar system for this AU, so this will come later.)

Age When Introduced: 25

Pronouns: He/him

Height: 5′3

Source/Game(s): A Link Between Worlds and Hyrule Warriors

Sexuality: Bisexual, Demiromantic, and Polyamorous

Favorite Color(s): Ravio has a passion for reds, greens, and a certain shade of brown. Red reminds him of Link’s favorite tunic as well as the great fairies back in Lorule. Green is the color of Link’s under-tunic as well as the green, growing plant life all through Hyrule. Brown. Well. He’s rather fond of the color of Link’ eyes. They’re like warm chocolate.

Disliked Color(s): Ravio doesn’t have any colors he really dislikes per say. Though he’s less fond of the brown that typically indicates dying plants.

Skills: Ravio is very sensitive to sensing magic and is able to weave the magic he can sense into items to enchant them. He can enchant mundane things, like pots that won’t break, as well as more specific things, like clothes that up defense. 

He’s also pretty good when fighting with his various items, though he’d disagree. He’s quick on his feet and can shift items in an instant to better deal with the current situation.

Outfit Notes: Ravio’s outfit is a a compilation of different things. To help Link recover from the various losses in their life Ravio and Zelda helped them pick out things that would remind them of the people who meant the most to them. And Ravio decided to do the same thing with his own outfit. His sword is the blade that Link made for him as their wedding exchange. His earrings are copies of the earrings that both Zelda and Hilda wear (he wears the Hyrulian Triforce Earring on his left side, which is the side he typically has facing Link when they walk together. To keep Link’s sword arm free). His bag has a little pink bunny, for Link. He had boots made with Fairy Lilies on them for the Great Fairies in his time. And he embroidered the two different Triforces onto the ends of his scarf to mark his two homes.

The tunic itself is still the tunic he wore when he first met Link, but he had to make some...changes. He realized that the long tunic was a liability during fights. It kept tripping him up. And that just wasn’t safe. So he cut it shorter and cut slits in the side before hemming it properly. Then he put on pants. Just because Link likes to show off their legs doesn’t mean Ravio does. The black gloves are useful to prevent callouses, but they’re mostly to cover up the Triforce on his hand.

Other: Ravio is the bearer of the Triforce of Integrity, one of the three parts of Lorule’s Triforce.

After helping Link save both of their worlds (ok. He mostly rented and sold gear to Link. And gave them a bit of advice. And patched up their wounds. And cooked them food. You know. Nothing too important) Ravio did his best to help Hilda rebuild Lorule from the ruin it had fallen into. Eventually though, his sister realized that he was miserable in Lorule, mostly because he was missing Link something fierce. So she spoke with Zelda (via letters through one of the few remaining cracks) and worked with the great fairies to get another bracelet built for him with enough to get him there and sent him on his way.

Upon arriving back in Hyrule, Ravio was immediately welcomed by both Zelda and a completely shocked and overwhelmed Link, who hadn’t expected to see him again. He moved back in with Link and set his shop back up (with far more reasonable prices). After a time the two of them fell in love and, eventually, married.

Shortly after their honeymoon ended Link went through a strange rift that appeared outside their home, going off to start a new adventure. Ravio intended to wait there for them, but a day or so later a strange portal appeared inside their home, and he could feel it pulling him in. So he gathered up the gear that he knew how to use (the ones he once sold to Link) and made his way through.

On the other side he found himself involved in an all-out war that spanned across time. He did his best to help out, especially after meeting three other Links fully absorbed in the whole mess. After the war Lana was unable to send him home due to his magical signature not leading to anywhere she could find. So, for now, he’s stuck in that time. Waiting for her to figure something out.

Note-I have noticed that I accidentally drew his his sword on the wrong side. Ravio is left handed, so the sword should be coming up from behind his left shoulder, not his right.

[canarymemories]

endless dream

rating: general audiences archive warning: no archive warnings apply category: gen fandom: paradox live characters: kureha aoi, visty mentioned, kei is also mentioned additional tags: introspection, written before showdown, pre-canon, visty my beloved, flower language, he/they pronouns for kureha aoi, a bit of an introspective on visty's whole situation pre road to legend date published: 2023-09-08 words: 1700

summary: how foolish to try and reach for a dream again.

written for when this flower blooms

here on ao3

the day visty debuts, their agency gifts them each a small bouquet of roses in their assigned colors. they can surely pay for something more extravagant, but aoi doesn’t think about that, instead happy to be given anything at all. the past few weeks had been a whirlwind, so he’s glad to have something physical as a reminder that all their hard work hadn’t been for nothing.

he wonders if the others feel the same.

once the five of them return to their shared apartment, aoi takes his flowers to his room and carefully cuts the stems, avoiding the few small thorns that remain not having been snipped before being packaged. they place the flowers in a tall, skinny vase that he slides to the side of his desk, not wanting to accidentally knock it over. 

aoi isn’t sure what the others do with their roses, but they find themself admiring his flowers for maybe longer than he should. in his defense, though, the thrill of successfully debuting with the people he looks up to — maybe even views as family — hasn’t completely worn off.

however, no matter how well aoi tends to the flowers, it doesn’t take long for some of the roses to wilt, their petals drooping and changing from a soft lavender color to something closer to brown, losing their vibrancy as they fall onto his desk. 

it’s nothing more than a sign of passing time. it probably sounds a little silly, but aoi feels a spike of fear in his stomach when he walks into his room after school, not even two whole weeks since their debut, to see nearly all the roses are wilted. he could very well throw them out, but they feel attached to the flowers. maybe it’s the memory of their first real live — the distant cheering rings in aoi’s head at the memory; the lights had drowned out the crowd from where he was on stage, but he could still hear them nonetheless — or something equally as sentimental.

in the end, they decide to press the flowers to keep a few as a little memento before they all wither away.

aoi sorts through the remaining flowers, the ones that have yet to fully die, only to find that there’s one rose that’s still the same purple hue it was the night he’d received them. he sets that one aside for three more to join it, though they’ve already begun to unfold as their petals turn lighter.

after searching for the easiest way there is to press a flower and then waiting the next few weeks for his heaviest books to do their jobs, aoi finds themself with a permanent reminder of the home they’ve found.

the apartment is quiet after kei announces his leave. aoi doesn’t expect anything different.

shogo is withdrawn as he attempts to tie up all the loose ends so that the four of them remain afloat all while sacrificing his own sleep for it if the bags under his eyes mean anything. toma, as always, tries his best to carry conversation over dinner or whenever he happens to run into one of them in their shared space, but all his effort falls short from truly lightening the atmosphere further than a forced smile. and kantaro… well, aoi isn’t sure how many days it’s been now since any of them have seen him out of his room.

to say they’re a mess is a bit of an understatement.

the pressed rose, the one that had yet to lose its color, sits on aoi’s desk. the others he’d slipped into plastic and now remain in books half read. instead of the pleasant reminder they’d started as, the flowers feel like a cruel joke.

aoi stares at the flower sometimes. it catches his eye while studying and distracts him from his homework.

 he isn’t sure how to feel about it.

about the flower.

about kei.

they’ve always looked up to the people around them. aoi yearned to be like those people, so bright and confident and strong. to define a place for himself among those types had always seemed so far out of reach, but he had done it in the end, hadn’t he?

but now, with those steady pillars they’d grown used to crumbling before their eyes, all of them being thrown off by kei’s sudden departure, aoi isn’t sure what to do. he wants to be angry, that the five of them came so far as a group, as friends, only for it to be tossed away so easily. it’s not fair that kei gets to walk away from it all like he did while the four of them are stuck scrambling to try and make everything right again in his absence.

aoi knows that being the youngest of the group doesn’t help him any; they know that toma and shogo keep things from him and kantaro, so maybe aoi should feel some kind of anger towards them too. but, same as kei, he can’t be angry at them either. he can’t feel much of anything than a muted sense of sadness about everything.

after all, debuting and reaching the level of popularity they managed in such a short amount of time truly felt like a dream. and aoi would be dumb not to realize a dream always has an ending, and this awakening was about as abrupt as it could’ve been.

(aoi can only imagine how the stellas who showed up to every live and every stream feel. maybe they can be outraged enough for the four of them.) 

mind distant from the words he’d written in class, even further from the concept of studying, aoi shifts his notebook further up his desk. they rest their cheek on their outstretched arm, staring at the flower.

the flower stares back.

their fingers inch closer to it, fingertips brushing against the surface of the desk as they near the flower. aoi feels the edge of its plastic covering, a sharp little corner, before pulling his hand away. 

crossing his arms on top of the desk, aoi rests his forehead on them and closes his eyes.

how foolish to try and reach for a dream again.

the rose moves up to aoi’s bookshelf where it’s easier to ignore. his eyes are no longer drawn to it when he walks into the room and as odd as it is, he does feel a bit better with it gone from view.

or maybe that sense of relief is from the four of them having found a solution in the form of paradox live. hip hop isn’t exactly visty’s style, but aoi knows they’re desperate enough to try any way they can to claw their way up from the edge of the cliff they’d been stranded on. that and they’re accustomed to phantometals already, having been using them in their performances since their debut.

(aoi hasn’t missed the nightmares that came with using the metal, reliving the same words over and over and over until he feared he’d still hear them echoing around in his head even when awake. but still, they can deal with them as long as it means they can stick together. shogo seems sure of visty’s ability to stick it out through this tournament. or maybe it’s the desperation taking hold of him as he too realizes with startling clarity that this really is their last chance.)

even so, aoi finds themself feeling a bit more calm knowing that shogo has faith in the four of them, no matter how many comments on social media or late night specials have nothing better to do than to talk about visty’s sudden fall from grace. with that confidence, aoi feels his own growing, although more tentatively.

with the flower out of his view, aoi feels he can breathe a little easier. they have a way to get out of this mess and if they’re to get anywhere in this competition, he knows they have to prepare.

the chill of early morning air does wonders to block out the thoughts racing through aoi’s mind as they do their daily jog. the date for visty’s appearance in paradox live grows nearer and nearer and even with all the practicing the four of them have been doing, both as a group and individually, aoi can’t help but wonder if it’s enough. 

he knows it doesn’t do any good to be pessimistic about a performance and it’s not like they don’t have confidence in their ability as a group, but there’s just this nagging dread at the back of aoi’s mind. no matter how hard they try to ignore it, will it away, it remains annoyingly persistent through every waking moment to the point of losing sleep.

aoi knows that visty isn’t exactly in a good position — not that they have been in a while, if he’s being honest — but he’s stuck with the others long enough to know that whatever may happen, even with however strong their fellow competitors may be, they have a fighting chance. they won’t let this chance slip between their fingers.

they need this win to survive.

his breath comes in puffs, throat stinging slightly from the cold air.

aoi slows to a walk, looking over the nearby buildings they idly pass. there’s a cat or two in a few windows, blinds still drawn on a few, customers entering and exiting a nearby coffee shop. but then he pauses, spotting a small gathering of white flowers, their little petals facing downwards in an apartment window.

he’s not sure what they are, but there’s something about them that stirs a feeling in their chest that they can’t quite put a name to.

aoi exhales, breath turning into a faint cloud before disappearing. he shakes out his hands and begins jogging once more. they’re almost back to the shared apartment now. as nervous as aoi is about performing on a new stage as big as paradox live, about this being their one and only chance to stay as visty — to continue their dream as four instead of five — he feels a sliver of hope that whatever the outcome may be, visty will remain.

end notes:

hi everyone, check out the zine! it was so fun working on it and everyone else's pieces are so good too!

flower meanings: purple rose - looking up to someone, in admiration of (not hanaktotoba based, but i did think this meaning was interesting), snowdrop - hope, consolation (hanakotoba based)