#it's like he has a protective streak towards everyone in the group

[mauannacreates]

Braedon.

Tag the OC that’s the most protective of their loved ones

[bunnysbrainrot]

Too Sweet

A series inspired by Hozier’s ‘Too Sweet’.

Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Content: No sexually explicit content, at least not yet. Some slight fluff? Slow burn vibes? Joel is kind of a dick (for once in my writings), but a protective dick.

Summary: You’re one of the newest arrivals in Jackson after a long trip to seek refuge. Now that you’re settling in, one of Jackson’s most integral men is the head of your first patrol. Will Joel be able to set aside that gruff demeanor for the sake of meeting someone new?

A/N: I’m so sorry about my recent hiatus, everyone. I’ve thought of this series for a while, to get me inspired again and to work towards something bigger. I’ve also thought about having some sections/chapters be from Joel’s perspective. Thoughts on that? Sorry it’s nothing spicy yet, but we’ll work up to it. Tensionnnn

The sound of birds echoed outside your bedroom window. By some miracle, you’d found a community, after so many months wandering either alone, or with the occasional group, but never for long. The mattress beneath you squeaks as you shift in your bed. Normally an irksome noise, but it reminded you that you were finally safe.

A faint light of dawn trickles through the gaps in the curtains, streaking around the room in a periwinkle hue. Your sluggish grog was slowly wearing off, while you processed your plans for that day. It was a Thursday, according to your new watch. God, you hadn’t realized how much you missed being able to tell the time. Who knows truly how long you’d been out there. Days blurring together, the minutes excruciatingly drawn out without company.

It was nice to be a part of something again.

Finally, you sat up in bed, rolling your head to stretch your neck. How long had it been since you had a proper pillow?

A smile crept onto your face. You’re better rested than ever, but an anxiety still ate away at you. Today was your first patrol outside of Jackson. You weren’t alone, of course, but the expectations you held for yourself could be your downfall.

“Okay, let’s do this,” you whispered to yourself.

Walking over to your dresser, you eyed yourself in a dusty mirror above the chest of drawers. A kind woman named Maria had provided you with a few new outfits when you’d first arrived a week ago. In the meantime until today, she’d given you those days to process and settle, and you were grateful for her patience.

When Maria had asked you what role you’d like in the community, she could see the steely glint in your eyes. Well seasoned from years of fighting and running, yet still a kernel of a protective rage.

You had expressed to her of your journey before finding Jackson. On that day she asked you how many of the dead you had taken out thus far.

“In total, by myself, well over three hundred, I would say. I don’t know, I think I lost track at some point.”

Her expression shifted to one of assurance, like they’d just gotten a worthy addition to their town. Someone who could protect what they’d all built.

She explained the basics of patrols, the routes laid out on an old map, with hand drawn trails and indicators of the area. You made an attempt to remember as much as you could, but surely you’d get good practice being out there, actually doing it.

————

You check yourself before heading out the front door. This time of year, the weather has started to warm up, so your opted for a t-shirt, jeans, a light jacket, and a ‘new’ pair of hand-me-down boots.

The air outside was cleaner than you’d imagined. The scent of early morning breakfasts wafted through the breeze, bringing a pang to your stomach. Maria hadn’t mentioned how long patrols would take; you debated if you had time to grab something from a stall in the heart of town. Other residents had been given spaces to cook for the community, giving out easy meals for these hardworking people.

Turns out you did have time, to your relief. In a matter of minutes, you held a piping hot breakfast sandwich in your hands, its heat seeping into your chilled fingers.

A few folks wave a friendly ‘hello’ as you trek to the Southern side of Jackson, to its border wall to meet up with your patrol group. There was a huddle of both peiple and horses, you noticed, as you got closer. One of the people turned to you, giving a wave in recognition.

“Hi, am I late? I thought I’d have time to get breakfast,” you explained.

There was a woman with kind eyes who spoke next, “Not at all, these bastards just insist on getting up at 5:30.”

“That sure is an early start.”

“It gets them cranky like you wouldn’t believe,” she replied, quickly cut off by a new voice.

It was a gentleman who called to the group, “We all here?”

His voice wasn’t commanding, but it did put people into gear to check themselves. Clearly he was the one in charge of this patrol. The look in his eyes told you all you needed to know.

He might be someone to watch.

You turn to the woman, “I’m sorry to ask, but I don’t know anyone here yet. Is there any way you could give me a run-down of who everyone is?”

With a smile, she listed off the names of your group members, pointing them out. Some of them noticed and waved, others gave a slight smile, and others asked for your name. All were introduced until it was down to the man who’d rounded the group.

“And, that’s Joel. He’s head of the patrol.”

Your eyes shot to Joel now that you could put a name to the face. There was a moment of pause when you met his gaze, a moment frozen in time from his stare. He scanned over your face, down to your shoddy boots, and back to your eyes.

His expression doesn’t soften as he says, “Glad to have ya with us. Should be a horse on the way for you.”

Joel turns to face the gate as he rummages through his pockets for a folded map. He unfolds the paper until it spans across his horse’s shoulders.

The rhythmic clonk of a horse’s hooves came from behind. A familiar face approached with a stunning mare, it’s Maria.

“Mornin’ everyone, that should be it,” Maria traded off with you, handing you the mare’s lead. She spoke louder, announcing to the group. “Y’all stay safe out there. Shouldn’t be too bad, but it is getting warmer. Keep an eye out for groups.”

Members of your party nodded before Maria walked off, giving greetings to other folks who’d just begun to bustle around.

Your attention shifted back, specifically to Joel. It seemed that whatever he says, goes, so that’s what you’d follow.

Two men at the top of the wall made their way to the edges of the gate, hauling it open. Golden sunlight peeked above the mountains ahead, casting the world in a yellow glow.

Joel nodded, then a gruff, “Be smart. Stay close.”

————

The sun was overhead now. You’d been out here for hours, keeping an eye out for any infected that roamed too close to camp. A while ago, you spotted one trapped in an abandoned cabin. Which was quickly dispatched by one of the men in your party.

That cycle repeated almost wordlessly amongst you all. Hardly a single word had been uttered aside from Joel’s occasional command or redirection.

For the most part, things were going smoothly. And after a few minutes of some peace and quiet, you realized you’d strayed away from your spot in the formation. Your horse had fallen in pace with a beautiful brown stallion, riding on top, was none other than the leader.

Joel.

You’d turned to see who it was, but were quickly met with another intense stare. Your gaze darts to the side as you issue an apology, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to get so ahead of everyone.”

For the first time his expression does soften. A slight hint or kindness in his eyes. The corners of his eyes crinkle with his slight smile.

“It happens. Just… keep a lil’ distance. You’re new, can’t have you rushing ahead without someone else with you.”

The words would form a lecture if it weren’t for his tone. It wasn’t scrutinizing, but rather soft and protective.

His advice brings a smile out of you. A genuine one, for the first time in a while. Perhaps he wasn’t as much of a hard-ass as you’d assumed. You tug your horse’s reins to slow her pace, creating a few feet of space between you and Joel.

Yet even still, that smile he gave you kept your heart racing.

It would be a horrible idea, to fawn after him.

Right?

That thought had no effect on the tightness in your chest, or the fluttering in your stomach. Perhaps it was simply happiness that someone so hardened could be so easily friendly. A hard exhale later, you told yourself that it was the camaraderie that flustered you.

—

The group had made their journey back to town. Aside from the occasional runner, there wasn’t much defense needed this morning. Once your group returned, you’d have lunch and trade off with the next group, and share your findings before they venture out.

You had let your mind wander as you rode with the group.

In a split second, your mare bucks in fright. There was no time to assess what scared her before you were shooting ahead, flying past your patrol group.

“Nonononono- NO! It’s alright, it’s alright-“ you cry, but it falls on deaf ears of a scared animal. Tugging on the reins made no difference. You still shot ahead of the others, directionless without someone to guide you.

“It’s alright, baby, you’re safe! You’re okay. It’s gone!” You plead to the horse to slow down. The reassurances don’t seem to be enough.

A thundering set of footsteps is heard behind you. In a swift move, Joel jabbed his horse with his heel, pushing himself to race ahead of you.

With the rush of the air and galloping hooves, you could hardly make out his instructions.

“What?!” You shouted.

“Pull the reins! And I mean pull!”

You gripped the leather of the reins, drawing them to your chest, tugging your horse’s head back and away. Her pace slowed, but she kept running, now to the left. You could make out a curse from Joel as he redirected.

In a stroke of luck, he made some headway. Joel’s horse zoomed forward, and merged directly in front of yours, and the interruption slowed the mare’s pace just enough.

Another tug of the reins helps her into a steady beat. Joel was directly ahead, now turned to the side to block more of the path. Your horse huffed and threw her head frustratedly. In that short time you had no clue just how far you’d strayed away - looking backwards told you that it was at least a few hundred meters.

Embarrassment showed in your flushed cheeks and wild expression, looking to Joel for some sort of scolding.

“I think something scared her. I.. I didn’t get a chance to see, it all happened so fast-“

Joel raised a hand to stop you mid-sentence. He didn’t wear a smile like before, but his expression wasn’t angry. If anything, he had that protective look once again.

“I know. They’re skittish, ‘specially her. She needs a little more control than the others.”

It’s a reassurance, truthfully. You breathed a sigh of relief knowing you weren’t on the shit list on the first day. Your breathing had slowed down now, though your heart still raced wildly in your chest.

He scanned your face thoroughly before he asked, “You alright?”

A nod is what you could muster. It’s enough for Joel to give a nod back before waving to the folks behind you, the rest of the group, to call them over.

“Maybe next time I’ll have a more confident horse. No offense….” you paused, “what’s her name?”

Joel’s lips tugged into a smile, “That’s Belle you’re ridin’. Poor girl hasn’t been out in a while, so she’s not as warmed up to this. But you did good with her, all things considered. Handled it well.”

You reached down to pat Belle on the side of her cheek, caressing her carefully.

“It’s okay, Belle. We’re with you. You’re alright now.”

A smile vanished from Joel’s face when you look back up at him. He cleared his throat, his eyes skirting away until your party began to join up with you two.

“It’s all good. Belle got the jitters. Let’s head home.”

With that explanation out of the way, the team could finally resume their return home. Along the way, Joel didn’t have much else to say, much to anyone actually. His silence was solemn - definitely not any invitation to strike up conversation.

Perhaps that’s how he’d always be - resigned, reserved, and off limits to everyone. A part of you ached at the thought of it.

For Joel, that loneliness could be his downfall.

Hi guys! Thanks for reading, I’m sorry if it seems a little boring, but it’s for the sake of the story building. TRUST it will get nasty soon. 🥰

[tesalicious2]

I feel like we need to appreciate Thire more, so this is for you buddy (other commanders are mentioned bc they have to be)

Thire is 9 at the start of the clone wars and quickly rises the ranks

He is very temperamental but has developed a certain patience that makes him seem calm

He is fact not calm and has a short fuse; he just bottles it up and will make your life a living hell through mild annoyances

Think of a robber who steals your tv remotes batteries, except he steals all the batteries in the house and makes buying any more batteries horrible and trying experience

Many GAR commanders are afraid of him and those that aren’t should be

Of the commanders group he is the ‘angry asshole’

Fox is ‘tired/bitch/rude asshole’, thorn is the ‘nice asshole’, hound is ‘obnoxious asshole’, and stone is ‘quiet/creepy (he stares a lot to convey his displeasure) asshole’

Thire is in charge of Senator escorts, specializing with off world missions. He works closest to Thorn who oversees the senate and the least with Stone (oversees the prison)

He has the most contact with the Jedi and somehow became Yoda’s favorite, getting specific requests for him

He has mixed feelings bc Yoda’s not bad company but he’s used as a sort of chair the whole time?

Since he’s the youngest, the others are very protective of him and this does annoy him but he loves with it

Make no mistake, Thire will easily commit murder

Stones face is all kinds of messed up, he’s missing a cheek on his left side exposing the teeth from a mad Trandosian during a riot turned mass escape attempt (they failed)

He keeps his head shaved because of the patchy growth around scars

He’s got so many scratch marks and chunks missing from things like that

This also applies to the rest of the Prison Guard, they are the most scarred group of corries

The prison has ARC troopers on staff constantly to discourage (they have taken down many a prisoner and use unconvential weapons to do it) riots and escapes

Though they rotate, ARC Trooper Whip is the only ARC who is a permanent fixture

Like his name suggests, he uses whips and is *incredibly* skilled with them, they are also electro whips (he can control whether they use electricity or not)

Hound is very bad with people and is the kind of person who can like perfectly understand animals

Thire has a mean streak and finds scaring newbies and visitors incredibly hilarious

His favorite massif is Runt (an exotic breed that’s twice the size of a normal massif (about 6’ standing on his hind legs)) and twwith the handler Trigger (has a height defect, being 2.5 in smaller than standard)

Both are pretty chill and Runt is especially lazy so they are free to get his victims the most

Runt looks scary as his spines are much longer and sharper, with an extra row of teeth and darker skin

This includes using sleeping ARF and massiffs to do so. He did this by getting his victim to wake up an ARF trooper. However, they often sleep with massifs. Often with their spines toward outside for defense and the person against the wall to watch for enemies. If they smell you first, they will bite your hand. So, Thire watches as deep and angry growl comes from the darkness and the shriek that comes from his victim.

Thire has a problem with the CSF often coming in on MP matters or dumping non MP matters onto them

Once a bomb went off incredibly close to 79s, a hole was put in the wall and several were injured. A Guard Clone duo was blasted through the wall and the medics who had been drinking were pulled away into keeping them alive

CSF shows up and is like ‘not important, blah blah’. Everyone is obvi pissed and eventually Thire arrives to deal with it

He just straight up says ‘you’re impeding an military investigation of a terrorist bombing. Move or you will be arrested and criminal charges will be pressed.’

[msilwrites]

Papa and Mama Bear's Dinner (Short, not so short, but funny maybe I'll make a part 2, where they pack leftovers?!!!) - (Captain Price Fic)

(A/N): Hi guys! For those enjoying Papa Bear content, here's a fun peek into the future! This short story is set after Captain Price has already won you (Y/N!) over, and the two of you are now engaged after a few years of dating. This idea popped into my head during lunch, and I just had to share it. Hope you enjoy this playful little story of domestic chaos with Price and the team! 😄

@darkangel4121 @teenagellamaangel @madzzz0797 @callsignferal (To the other's who want to me tagged when there's an update, just tell me at the comments) (I think you folks might like this one, so I also tagged you, lol!)

Warning: Don't read when you're hungry.

😄😄😄😄😄

Summary: In this story set after Captain Price’s retirement, the team initially plans to watch the Rugby Finals at an overcrowded pub. The drinks would be great, but the food? Not so much—the pub’s kitchen struggles with the game-day crowd. Seeing an opportunity, you (Y/N) offer to host everyone at your flat instead, promising good company, warm food, and a much more relaxed atmosphere -- the idea quickly wins everyone over.

As the evening unfolds, Price notices something that sets his teeth on edge: Gaz seems far too familiar with your kitchen. From finding spices in seconds to recommending a snack from your pantry to Simon and Roach, Gaz navigates the space like he owns it. Gaz’s familiarity with your pantry brings a weight to his chest. It’s not just the casual remarks or the ease with which Gaz knows where everything is—it’s the memories behind them, ones Price wasn’t part of. Whilst Price raises an eyebrow, his jaw tightening and Simon, who’s been quietly observing, nervously whispers to Gaz when they were out of the Captains earshot.

Simon mutters, “You’re brave, Gaz. You sure the Captain won’t throw you out for knowing more about her pantry than he does?”

Oblivious to the drama, you continue cooking while the tension builds. Eventually, Price intervenes, banishing Gaz, Simon and Roach from your kitchen with a quiet but firm command. The lads settle in to watch the game, but Price’s protective streak stays strong—he may be retired from active duty, but when it comes to you, he’s still the Captain.

-----------

Price pushed the door open, holding it wide for the rest of the team as the rich aroma of cooking food wafted through the air. The comforting scent of spices and baked dishes immediately drew approving murmurs from Simon and Roach.

“Smells like a proper feast,” Simon remarked, glancing around the space.

The flat itself was as inviting as the meal promised to be—warm lighting, carefully arranged decor, and an undeniable sense of personality in every detail. It was unmistakably your space, filled with charm and practicality.

“Nice place,” Roach commented, running a hand over the back of a sleek armchair.

Gaz, however, wasted no time pointing down the hall toward your studio. “Kitchen’s this way, lads,” he said, already moving. “Trust me, I’ve been here plenty. Back when our circle used to do dinner rotations.”

Price, following closely behind, narrowed his eyes at Gaz’s casual familiarity. “I’m not so possessive, Gaz, that I’d stop your lot from having dinner here,” he said, his voice laced with amusement but edged with something sharper.

Gaz only smirked but said nothing, though Simon and Roach exchanged knowing glances behind him. They knew better than to comment, and all knew the truth—Price was more than a little protective when it came to you.

The group reached the kitchen, where the sight of you bustling between pots and trays greeted them. You had a towel slung over your shoulder, your movements efficient but relaxed as you checked the oven and stirred something on the stove.

“Simon! Roach!” you called out with a bright grin, pausing long enough to give them a wave before turning your attention to Gaz. “And you,” you teased, smacking Gaz on the chest with your dish towel as he laughed.

“Good to see you too,” Gaz laughed, leaning in for a quick hug. “Anything I can help with?”

You gestured toward the stove. “You know the drill. Two pots, two trays—one set of hands isn’t enough.”

Without hesitation, Gaz rolled up his sleeves, already grabbing the spatula by the stove. Price stood at the doorway, watching as you and Gaz fell into an easy rhythm. His jaw tightened slightly as Gaz pointed out where to find something in the pantry, like it was second nature to him.

Simon leaned closer to Roach, murmuring under his breath. “Think the Captain’s regretting that open-door policy now?”

Roach stifled a laugh. “He’ll be fine… probably.”

But the flicker of irritation in Price’s eyes suggested otherwise. He leaned against the doorframe, watching closely as Gaz moved with a little too much familiarity for his liking.

“You’re out of the hosting rotation now,” Gaz mentioned casually to Simon and Roach as he stirred the pot, a relaxed grin on his face. “But back in the day, this place was the spot. She’s got the best pantry setup—you wouldn’t believe the preserves she’s got stashed. There’s a jar of spiced pears over there, and those chili flakes? She dries and crushes them herself.”

As he pointed toward various items in the kitchen, Simon leaned toward Roach, keeping his voice low. “Think the Captain’s gonna be thrilled hearing all that?”

Roach glanced at Price, whose jaw was set a little tighter than before. The Captain’s eyes tracked every move Gaz made as he spoke, as if weighing the words against some unspoken tally.

“Not a chance,” Roach muttered, sharing a knowing glance with Simon.

“Pickle jars, jams, chutneys,” Gaz continued, completely oblivious to the quiet tension building in the kitchen. “Remember that pear and ginger one, Simon? The one the Captain brought? That was amazing. Oh, and the—”

“Gaz,” Price interrupted, his voice calm but carrying a subtle edge. “Why don’t you let her tell ‘em herself instead of narrating her entire pantry?”

“Oh, hehehe…” Gaz laughed awkwardly, a little embarrassed, but clearly unbothered. He then turned to you, grinning. “Right, sorry, forgot where I was for a second.”

“Ah yes, speaking of which, can I offer you lot an appetizer while the main food is cooking?” you asked, setting down your knife and wiping your hands on a towel. The boys nodded eagerly. They’d heard from Gaz about how good your cooking was, and they weren’t about to pass up a taste.

“Gaz, you know where my fruit candy preserves and chips are, right?” you asked, turning toward him as you began chopping ingredients for the sauce. “Help me get the jar and share with the lot.”

Without missing a beat, Gaz led Simon and Roach to the pantry, where the shelves were meticulously arranged, filled with jars of all sizes, some labeled neatly, others just waiting for the right moment to be cracked open. Spices, jams, chutneys, preserves—everything was neatly organized, just as he had described.

“Mate, this place is amazing,” Simon remarked, taking in the neatly organized shelves and rows of different jars filled with a variety of preserved food. “Gaz wasn’t hyping it up, was he? This is a setup!!”

“You weren’t exaggerating, huh?” Roach added, his eyes wide as he scanned the stocked shelves. “I thought you were just being dramatic, but this is something else.”

Gaz grinned, puffing out his chest in mock pride. “I told you so!!” he said, before turning back to the shelf containing an array of different chips, clearly delighted to see everyone impressed by your pantry, and now they know that he wasn't hyping it up.

“Simon, can you reach the higher shelf?” Gaz asked, looking at his friend with a smirk. “I need that candied fruit, the one in the glass jar at the back.”

Simon obligingly reached up and grabbed the jar, while Gaz pulled down another one from a lower shelf—this one containing your homemade lentil spiced chips. He handed one jar to Roach, took the other for himself, knowing full well that it would probably be gone in 15 minutes or less with how good it was.

As they made their way back to the kitchen, Simon gave Gaz a sideways glance, still holding the jar of candied fruit. “You’re brave, Gaz,” he said with a chuckle, knowing exactly how the Captain was likely reacting. “You sure the Captain won’t throw you out for knowing more about her pantry than he does?”

Gaz’s grin faltered for a second as he looked over at Price, who had his arms crossed and was watching the entire exchange with narrowed eyes.

The Captain's expression was somewhere between a smile and something more dangerous, a look that had all three of them feeling like they might’ve overstepped.

Suddenly, a voice rang out from the kitchen, breaking the tension.

“Gaz, Simon? Roach?!! Did you guys find it?!!”

It was Y/N’s voice, calling them back. Without missing a beat, the three of them hurried toward the kitchen, eager to escape Price’s now-not-so-friendly glare. They all knew that look too well—the one that could only mean trouble. As they filed into the kitchen, they couldn’t help but chuckle under their breath, but the Captain’s gaze followed them like a hawk, and the smile on his face only seemed to sharpen.

Y/N moved quickly, pulling out a jar of preserved tomatoes from one of her neatly organized shelves. She took the flat side of the knife and crushed the boiled softened tomatoes in a bowl. “You guys fine with salsa for the chips?” she called out, as she set the jar back and grabbed a jar of chilli.

“Oh yes! Of course, salsa is perfect!” Roach said with enthusiasm.

“I know, right? Those lentil chips go perfectly with it,” Gaz added, eyeing the jar of chips he’d just pulled out.

Y/N then reached for an onion and said, “Gaz, help me crush the tomatoes, and add some paste. Also, dice the onion for the salsa.” She set a jar candle on the counter and lit it, the flickering flame casting a soft light on the kitchen.

Simon and Roach both stopped in their tracks and looked at each other with puzzled expressions. “What’s with the candle?” Simon asked.

Gaz, who had seen this trick many times before, grinned and quickly explained, “Oh! She lights the candle so we won’t cry when chopping the onions.”

Roach raised an eyebrow. “Really? Is that actually a thing?”

Gaz nodded. “Yep, it’s all about the science of it. The flame absorbs the sulfuric compounds that get released when you cut onions. They’re what make you tear up. The candle helps trap those gases before they can reach your eyes.”

Y/N gave a small smile as she turned her attention back to the oven, where the mac and cheese was now giving off an irresistible aroma. “It works every time,” she said.

“Oh my gosh, that smells amazing!!” Simon exclaimed, his attention now completely on the food.

Gaz and Roach, following the plan, got busy chopping the lime to add zest to the salsa, just as Gaz had recommended earlier. Simon was busy crushing the tomatoes, and together, they finished making the salsa.

Gaz quickly cleaned up, putting the chopping board and knife into the dishwasher while Y/N took the tray of mac and cheese from the oven. The golden-brown crust bubbled slightly, and the whole room was filled with the savory, mouth-watering aroma of the dish. Everyone paused for a moment, letting the scent wash over them before Y/N placed the tray on the counter.

"Okay, Gaz and you lot, help me slice this," Y/N said, eyeing the mac and cheese tray. She mentally calculated how many squares it could have. "I say eight even slices?!"

"Oh, of course!" Simon eagerly agreed, reaching for the tray and passing it to Gaz, who was already holding the knife.

"The garlic bread and the pumpkin tomato soup should be ready soon, yeah?!" Y/N added, checking the pot of soup and giving it a quick stir to taste, wondering if it needed any more spices.

"You lot like beer?!" she asked, her attention split between stirring the soup and deciding on the seasoning.

"Oh, hell yeah!!" Roach replied, giving a quick grin.

"Don't mind if I do!" Simon chimed in playfully, his deep voice carrying the usual hint of humor.

"Oooooh!!! She has the best beer selection!" Gaz grinned, eyeing the fridge. "But what do you have in stock now, Y/N?!"

"I’ve got Erdinger, Paulaner, Kirin, some craft beer, Hitachino, Brewlander, Young Master, a bunch of IPAs... Oh! I have Hazy IPA!!!" Y/N listed off, knowing the group loved that particular brew.

"OOOOHHH!! Quick, Roach, that’s her liquor fridge!" Gaz pointed dramatically across the room. "Take the bottles that say HAZY!!"

Roach eagerly made his way to the fridge, his eyes widening at the selection of drinks. Meanwhile, Simon got to work, setting out plates and utensils, readying them for the group.

"Which one? There are too many Hazys!!" Roach exclaimed, his mouth hanging agape as he scanned the liquor closet and fridge attached to it, which was stocked with everything from wine and rare whiskey to rare bourbon and a wide variety of beers.

"Read to me what’s there!" Y/N called out from the stove as she dropped broccoli into the fryer for an additional snack, the noise of oil crackling was too loud. The chips were now all gone, just as Gaz had predicted, and Simon had been snacking steadily while helping in the kitchen.

"Beezer," Roach began reading aloud from the fridge. "'Hazy Little Thing,' 'Black Hops,' 'Behemoth'..."

"Beezer!!" Gaz and Y/N said in unison, both recognizing it as a top-tier choice. They exchanged a quick, eager look.

"But there’s only three left," Roach added, glancing at the remaining bottles.

"That’s fine, you lot can have the Beezer," Y/N said with a wave of her hand. "Pass me a Hitachino, the one with the blue label, Roach, thank you!" She then pulled the deep-fried broccoli from the fryer, placing them on a tissue-lined bowl to drain the excess oil.

Roach grabbed the bottles, turning to Simon for help opening them. Gaz, meanwhile, kept his focus on the mac and cheese, carefully slicing the tray into even pieces.

Simon popped the cap off the Hitachino and handed it to Y/N with a grin. "For the lady boss first," he said, offering the chilled bottle.

"Thanks, Simon," Y/N replied with a smile. As she took the bottle, he caught a glimpse of Price. His sharp gaze was enough to make Simon feel like he'd just made a grave mistake, and he quickly retreated back to the group, taking a sip of his beer to avoid further confrontation.

Roach had finished setting the chips in a bowl and placed the freshly made salsa beside it, ready for everyone to dive in.

“Garlic bread is ready!! And the fried chicken has cooled down!” Y/N announced, the kitchen now filled with the mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked garlic bread. The men’s mouths watered, eyes widening as she placed the golden-brown bread on the table, followed by a bowl of crispy fried chicken, still steaming.

"There’s potato salad in the fridge, Roach. Can you grab the container?" she asked, her hands busy finishing the last touches.

Roach eagerly went to the fridge.

“Okay, Gaz, help me slice the garlic bread into… hmmm, eight slices, I think eight should be good!” she said, eyeing the loaf.

“Of course!!” Gaz responded, his eyes already on the food.

“And Simon, can you help me take this to the living room so you lot can eat while you watch the game? Who else is coming? I know some are running late.”

Before anyone could answer, Roach chimed in from the fridge, “Which one is the potato salad?”

Y/N smiled. “The one with the blue ceramic container, the large one! You guys don’t mind taking some home later, right? I made a lot.”

“Definitely!! Oh my gosh, I missed having that!” Gaz sighed, already excited.

The others nodded, knowing how much they loved her cooking.

“Alright, it’s settled then!” Y/N said, before she and Simon began hauling the dishes to the living room. Meanwhile, Kyle and Roach were trying to figure out how to slice the garlic bread.

Simon returned to the kitchen and looked at the bread. “Eh? You’re not done with that yet?”

“The surface is soft, so it won’t really slice evenly,” Roach explained, watching Kyle trying to figure out the best way to slice it.

“We need a bread knife!” Gaz said seriously, seeing the problem at hand.

“Do you know where the bread knife is, Gaz? I’ll grab it,” Simon offered.

Before Simon could move, the unmistakable presence of Captain Price filled the doorway. His trademark “evil ominous smile,” the one that always appeared during interrogations, was firmly in place.

Simon and Roach winced, stepping back as Price slowly advanced towards them. Gaz was still holding the knife, looking just a little too comfortable with it.

“Simon, the bread knife is—” Gaz started, but was immediately interrupted as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He looked up, meeting Price’s intense gaze, and instantly knew: this wasn’t going to end well.

Price’s smile tightened, eyes narrowing dangerously. The air grew thick with tension.

“Take a seat, mate… You’re my guests. You lot shouldn’t be doing the work,” Price said, his voice calm, but there was a steel edge to it that made everyone stiffen.

Simon and Roach exchanged a nervous glance, their faces pale. They both swallowed, unsure of what Price would do next.

“Alright, go on, get yourselves to the living room,” Price added, his tone now firm with unmistakable finality. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

Relieved to avoid further confrontation, Gaz, Simon, and Roach quickly retreated to the living room, muttering about needing a break from chopping and slicing. They stumbled over their words as they fled, grateful to be out of the line of fire—for now.

Y/N stepped into the living room, freshly returned from the washroom, where she’d rid herself of the lingering onion smell that had clung to her arms. Her eyes furrowed as she saw the three men sitting together in an unusually stiff and quiet manner. They looked like toddlers who had just been scolded. Her lips pursed with concern as she walked to the side of the couch. “You lot okay? Why are you not eating and drinking?” she asked, her voice laced with worry. They were all holding their beer bottles, sitting like soldiers on duty, clearly hungry but too stiff to touch the food on the coffee table. What was more, the TV was still off—this was not normal.

"Come on, lads! Relax!! Have your meal," she said with a playful but confused smile, giving them an obvious permission to dig in. It wasn’t like they needed it, but when she said it, they immediately jumped at the chance. Plates were filled with hearty portions: a slice of mac and cheese here, a handful of crispy fried chicken drumsticks there, fried broccoli, the last jar of lentil chips, and a bowl of pumpkin tomato soup for dipping their garlic bread, just as Gaz had recommended. They ate like hungry children, devouring everything in sight.

Y/N chuckled at the scene, but then her eyes narrowed slightly, noticing something wasn’t quite right. She fiddled with the remote and turned the volume of the game up. “I’m getting more beer. Is Paulaner okay? I’ve got more bottles of that.”

“Yes, boss! Thank you, boss!!” Simon said, the others echoing him in unison, their voices a little too eager.

Y/N tilted her head as she got a faint suspicion of what was going on. She noticed they had been unusually stiff earlier, like cadets waiting for their Commanding Officer to eat first. And now they were hungrily devouring everything in sight. Something wasn’t adding up, and she was getting a little suspicious. They had been so relaxed earlier, helping her in the kitchen—what happened?

Her eyes then landed on Price, who was now standing by the counter, wearing an apron that fit him just right. The dark brown apron, simple yet dashing, made him look like the kind of man who cooked for his partner with care. He was slicing the garlic bread, but one piece stood out—larger than the others, clearly reserved for himself. Y/N knew exactly what was going on in his head.

“John!! Darling!” Y/N called, walking over to him with a grin. Before she could say anything, he pulled her into a big, warm embrace. He leaned down to kiss her, peppering her face with quick, affectionate pecks, making her giggle uncontrollably.She bit her lip to stop herself from pointing out how uneven the slices were, but she knew it was pointless. Captain Price had that knack of getting away with things, always managing to charm his way out of any little slip-up. She knew she wouldn’t be able to say anything much or make an effective argument about it—he had already won Y/N over with that smile of his.

Y/N’s eyes fell on the large slice of garlic bread John had cut, clearly far bigger than the rest. She raised an eyebrow, smirking and couldn't help but finally remark, “Blimey, John, that slice’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

John’s grin widened as he gently took her hand. “Ah, love, that’s for both of us, don’t you worry,” he said, his voice smooth with affection. “The lads are big eaters, and I know you don’t want to go hungry. I’m just making sure my queen gets served first.”

Y/N rolled her eyes with a playful chuckle. “Mm, is that really true, or are you just trying to hogging portions for yourself?” she teased, nudging him lightly. “I know you’re a big eater, Captain.”

John’s grin didn’t falter. “I’m just looking out for you, love!!”

Y/N’s heart melted at his words, though she couldn’t resist teasing him a bit more. “Lucky you’re cute,” she said, “but next time, I’ll be the one cutting the bread.”

The three men in the background, now happily digging into their meal, glanced over at the scene. They couldn't help but be relieved, knowing the tension had shifted. They were back to eating in peace, no longer under the Captain's intense scrutiny.

Y/N grabbed John's hand and pulled him gently toward his favorite spot on the couch, making sure he was settled comfortably before adjusting the cushions with a satisfied pat. She couldn’t help but notice how the lads were acting a bit jumpy, exchanging uneasy glances and passing the plate of food to John with an odd sort of reverence, like they were handing over a sacred relic.

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorframe. “What’s with you lot?” she asked, eyeing them suspiciously. “You look like you’re about to confess something. It’s just mac and cheese, lads. Nothing to be nervous about.”

The three of them froze, like deer caught in headlights. Roach cleared his throat nervously and tried to act casual. “Uh, just making sure everything’s perfect, you know, boss?”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced, as she leaned against the doorframe. "Right… perfect, sure," she said dryly, watching as the lads passed John his plate. Their movements were stiff and overly careful, as though they were handling explosives rather than dinner. Her gaze lingered on the hefty portion they'd given him, one eyebrow arching slightly in suspicion.

John settled into the couch with a satisfied expression, immediately digging into his food. His lips quirked into a subtle, knowing smile as he glanced at her, but he said nothing. Y/N caught the look and narrowed her eyes further, her suspicions mounting. Something was definitely up.

She sighed, deciding to let it go for now. "Alright, alright," she said, her voice tinged with playful exasperation as she turned back toward the kitchen. "I'll grab the beers."

Her footsteps retreated, but her eyes lingered on the group, especially on John, for a moment longer. She filed away their behavior for later—she’d get the truth out of them eventually. For now, she grabbed the bottles of beer from the fridge, ready to join the group and keep an eye on the unfolding chaos.

The lads, visibly relieved as Y/N disappeared into the kitchen, finally let out the breaths they’d been holding. Plates were quickly reloaded with mac and cheese, fried chicken, and a handful of other treats as they dug in like starving recruits.

Their eyes, now safe from scrutiny, turned to the game on the telly. The opening minutes were underway, and a roar from the crowd on screen added to the room’s energy.

Kyle leaned forward, chewing on a piece of garlic bread as he muttered something about the team’s lineup. Roach nodded, pointing his fork at the screen in agreement, while Simon, still holding a drumstick, nodded approvingly at a tackle that got the commentators raving.

Not one of them dared glance back toward the kitchen door. The unspoken rule was clear: eat, and watch. Drawing the Captain’s attention or risking a summons back into Y/N’s kitchen wasn’t on the agenda tonight.

A/N: So… do you guys want a Part 2? Because I’ve been thinking: will the lads make it through the rest of the evening intact? Especially with John being all possessive about Y/N and her food. Let me know what you think—I’m excited to see where this chaotic, food-filled continuation goes! 😏 Edit: Part 2 is HERE!!!!!! -------->

[desultory-novice]

About Apologies au... I get that it's mainly about Noir and Adeleine's relationship. But, I have to ask. Since Adeleine likes to tease Noir about not having any friends (Aside from Raquelle), did she have any? I get there probably weren't many people on shiver star, and I know Adeleine got bullied. But... I assume she went to school and... Did she at least manage to make one friend of her own? That perhaps Noir didn't know about? Even if it was for a short time?

That is a good question! Time for Dess to actually get wordy (and surprisingly frank!) about the AU’s setting!

[CW: mention of grooming, abuse behind the read more]

...I think that, toward the end, as the environment became increasingly harsh, most kids (...what kids there even were...) tended to grow up under some form of home-schooling.

Now, that would be for people who still lived with some form of privilege in Shiver Stars troubled twilight years. Everyone else was probably bustled off into learning whatever tasks were necessary to keep up the planet's survival instead of math, literature, art...

Noir probably got a shockingly good education for the few year he and his parents still lived on the New World, and I'd like to think that Neichel and Rim continued to try and provide both their kids with an education after fleeing to Earth. (Thus why Noir has a penchant for storytelling and Adeleine for music...that, btw, only transformed into drawing AFTER the death of their parents, when a frightened young Noir, who had the distinct - and not incorrect - feeling they'd been murdered because of who they were - swore himself and Adeleine to silence about the lives they lived before...)

[CW starts here]

-

When the two fled their childhood home following a frightening home invasion that Noir barely fended off and were taken in by Roan (Raquelle’s wealthy and powerful and sadistic father) it LOOKED like they would still be able to maintain that quality of life…

Adeleine was included in the group study sessions the shelter community ran, which probably spanned a variety of ages, similar to pre-20th century schools. Noir might’ve been allowed to attend a FEW of these classes himself but was mostly busy "apprenticing" under Roan. (Which was Roan’s public-facing excuse to have all the time in the world to groom and abuse the boy in private, in-between dragging him to meetings like a collared pet......)

...But, yes, those horrors aside... I imagine the shy, sweet (and spectrum-y) Adeleine was still able to make a friend or two there that Noir would not have had the mind to notice. It was living in such close proximity to Raquelle that even allowed them to grow as close as they did! But the trio’s close bond was emblematic of the age gap friendships that were more common in that society! (Not that the trio has a particularly huge age gap between them, but as the idea of having kids in this wasteland got too depressing to think of, it grew especially rare for a kid to encounter someone their exact age.)

...Adeleine had to leave her schoolmates behind after getting “sick” and in the shelters they lived in after that, did struggle increasingly to make friends. That was the period where she was bullied, because she was considered painfully naive compared to her new "peers."

The guilt from realizing, belatedly, that even if he had little choice, Noir HAD taken his sister from friends (as well as feeling like he’d just done a bad job protecting her in general...) was why, immediately following, Noir endeavored to spend as much time as he was able with her, processing (escaping) his own trauma by mentally reconfiguring himself as an “entity” who existed FOR her. He also took to trying to scare off anyone he deemed a threat to his little sister, even if those people were not actually interested in Adeleine at all but were actually trying to make a connection WITH him. ^^;

Friendlessness Streak Continues ; w ;

At this stage in his life, with all he'd endured, the poor boy could only see others reaching out to him as an attempt to separate him from Adeleine (separate him from his only life-link…) and reacted with hostility. This is why Raquelle, who he knew from before they left, was the only one he would let get close/who could get back in to his heart. (Alas that it wasn’t -quite- close enough to keep her from getting killed. Blame her monster of a father for that…)

Now, Adeleine didn’t truly know what was wrong with her brother beneath the surface, but she kind of intrinsically understood that Noir looked much “...sicker...” when they were living with Roan and now her brother seemed better! (He was more active, at least) She was happy to spend more time with him finally too, so she had no complaints with the increased time together...even if they grew increasingly isolated from folks during this chunk of their lives...

While not to the level of “friends” friends, Adeleine did tend to get along well with the various kitchen staff crews she, as a young girl, would be teamed up with; inventing new (and sometimes frightening, depending on what ingredients they had the most of…) sandwich combinations together when the siblings were sent off to work. Though Noir, who was required to do more physical labor outside, being a boy who was mostly fully grown, would take Adeleine with him on his jobs as much as he possibly could.

...Phew!

A LOT of iceberg stuff (that you would probably have seen if Apologies was, like, a full-fledged novel instead of a series of short comics and asks) but I hope it was enlightening!

-

[Psst! Vote for Noir for even more lore!]

[gabessquishytum]

Ferdinand Kingsley in Reacher is doing very wrong things to my head. I swear to god I do not normally find arms smugglers appealing in any way & do not even like military/copaganda shows & am thoroughly ashamed. But I've been thinking like... what if Hob is a gun guy with a progressive club that trains/protects marginalized groups (like Trigger Warning Queer & Trans Club: https://www.facebook.com/triggerwarninggunclub/ or any of these here: https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2019/jul/22/if-others-have-rifles-well-have-rifles-why-leftist-groups-are-taking-up-arms )

And ok, he's totally not a SMUGGLER (hates that word) but he will SOMETIMES help someone get a weapon who needs to protect themselves but can't because of bullshit convictions — like sex workers or people who've gotten caught up in spurious War on Drugs(/Poverty) crap or honestly just the racist system, whatever. And his background checks are like 1000x more careful than any of the usual gun show loophole-riddled checks anyway, & everyone who gets a weapon knows they'll have to answer to him if they go bad with it.

But mostly he's a friendly face teaching new folks their way around a weapon when they've literally never held one before or have only ever been to ranges full of 'phobes where they felt even less safe.

And maybe one day he comes across this skinny wild-haired Murphy shooting cans in the woods because things have gotten bad & he feels even LESS safe than he has his whole life here & he knows he's on his own to defend himself — it's not like reporting it would do any good, the Burgesses are too powerful in this little town & even his own family isn't that helpful. And Hob is like "Woah, woah, woah, where is your ear protection and also how about moving this safely to a range, my friend!" But he has to do some convincing because Murphy only ever knew about the 'phobe-filled ranges and has a hard time believing that someone would actually want to help/protect him & not have shitty views. And honestly Hob is SCARY attractive — emphasis on scary because Murphy has only ever known the worst kind of open-carry gun guys & actually come to think of it maybe shifting to a more populated location is wise...

And anyway, Hob is fucking great actually, and makes Murphy feel safe & introduces him to everybody at the local group & personally sees to his training, which is how they start really getting to know each other & boning all the damn time. And when Murphy moves into Hob's apartment, he feels safer than he ever has in his life.

And the Burgesses back the fuck off because they are cowardly fuckers at heart & honestly it turns out there are more people willing to stand up to them than they thought.

Queer Hob who hunts down homophobes in the woods for sport... hmm yes im vibing with this!! The thing I love about a.m in Reacher is the ✨️eroticism✨️ of the way he kills people. It's so gorgeous and there's a definite queer spiciness about him.

So yes Hob is a queer guy who is absolutely sick and kind of jaded by the way he's been treated him whole life, and he's determined to spread his self defence skills as far and wide around the gays as possible. When he finds out about the Burgesses and all that bullshit he's actually quite excited to teach lil baby gay Murphy to shoot and stab (when necessary). Hob doesn't have any intentions towards the young man, because he definitely is young and Hob doesn't really do relationships these days... but once he sees Murphy all kitted out and getting into Hob’s little group of gun toting gays, mud streaked on his cheeks and stomping around in his big boots!! Hob’s heart melts!!

Meanwhile Murphy is going weak at the knees over the older, slightly grizzled, VERY sexy man who's hands are covering his, teaching him how to point and shoot the gun, how to be safe. If Murphy falls asleep thinking about those hands in other, more intimate places... who's gonna blame him?

And if he ends up planting himself right in Hob’s lap when they sit down after target practice, that's his business. The way Hob wraps an arm around his waist to keep him safe gives him a good feeling about the future, anyways <3

[ruutiii]

Poly!Flags x reader Hcs

Who would catch feelings first?

It would likely be Lippmann. He had always been the gentlest with you, and though he started as someone who acted almost like a caretaker, over time, the kindness he showed would begin to evolve into something more personal. His protective instincts would deepen, and you’d start to notice how he’d sometimes linger near you, his gaze softening when you weren’t looking. He would try to hide it, keeping up his calm demeanor, but it would be clear to you that his feelings had grown deeper than just wanting to control or protect you.

Albatross might be the next to catch feelings, though in a different way. Albatross is playful and energetic, and while he doesn’t seem the type to take things seriously, his affection would start to manifest as attempts to make you laugh or get your attention. His teasing would become more affectionate, and he’d start being protective in his own goofy way. His playful nature could mask deeper emotions, but over time, you’d see a more caring side of him that was rooted in something real.

Pianoman would likely be a bit more guarded, at first. He has the air of a leader, and he’s always trying to stay in control, so he might be the last to admit it, but his charm and cocky demeanor would eventually show cracks as his feelings for you grow. He’d find himself being more serious around you, less teasing and more attention, and his protective streak would start showing itself more than before. Pianoman’s feelings would likely come with a lot of pride, but they’d eventually surface in more subtle ways.

Iceman would be the hardest to read at first. He’s a stoic figure, always the silent observer, but there would be moments when you’d catch him looking at you a little too long, or when he’d try to help in a way that seemed out of character for him. Slowly, you’d realize that, despite his intimidating exterior, Iceman might develop a quiet, but intense protectiveness over you, showing affection in ways that weren’t as outwardly obvious as Lippmann’s or Albatross’s. He wouldn’t talk much about it, but his actions would speak louder than words.

Chuuya would be the last to admit his feelings. He’s stubborn and proud, and he absolutely refuses to acknowledge that he cares about anyone, let alone you. He might act dismissive and even irritable toward you, frustrated by the fact that you were “just some civilian girl” who had ended up in their mess. But deep down, he would notice the way you’ve changed, how you’ve adapted to this new life. Chuuya wouldn’t want to admit it, but he’d begin to have moments where his annoyance would shift into something more. He’d try to push it away, but the more he sees you with the others, the more jealous he might become—though he’d never show it. Chuuya’s feelings would be complicated, filled with a lot of inner conflict, but over time, he would soften, even if he’d never openly admit it.

Would they share you or fight over you?

If they all developed feelings for you, the idea of sharing you could be a tricky one, especially given the dynamics at play within the group. Each of them has their own sense of pride and desire to be the one in control, so it wouldn’t be an easy thing to navigate.

Lippmann would be the most likely to try and convince the others to share you, even though he’s more likely to take a softer approach. He would believe that you should have the freedom to choose, and he might push for a more understanding dynamic within the group, though he’d still want to be the one who comforts and takes care of you.

Pianoman might enjoy the idea of sharing you, seeing it as a way to assert dominance over the group. He’s charming and cocky, and he would see it as a way to make things more interesting, almost like a game of control and power between him and the others. He’d enjoy seeing how far he could push everyone to bend to his will when it came to you.

Albatross, being more innocent and carefree, might not care much about sharing you. His feelings would be more about companionship and affection, so he might be more open to the idea of all of them being involved with you in some way, so long as it meant you were happy or safe.

Iceman would probably be more protective of you, and if he ever grew possessive, he might not want to share you at all. He might even silently resent the idea of the others getting close to you. However, he wouldn’t outwardly say anything, instead choosing to remain quiet and vigilant about your interactions with the others.

Chuuya, being the most stubborn, would likely oppose the idea of sharing you. He’d be the one most likely to want you to himself, especially if he started developing deeper feelings for you. He wouldn’t be willing to openly admit it, but he’d get annoyed if the others spent too much time with you. His jealousy would be subtle, but it would be there.

[shadowqueenjude]

Part 3 of the Illyrian Princess @emerieweekofficial @christeareads

Part 1 Part 2

Over the past few days, over 100 Illyrian women had been rescued by the Valkyries and sent to Dawn, where the best healers in the land took care of their numerous injuries. Meanwhile Nuan had set up shop with Emerie, who had brought a few of the priestesses from the library to help the Dawn Court genius construct as many wings as possible. All measurements of the escaped Illyrian women were sent to Nuan, who had begun making custom wings for each refugee. Many of the Illyrian women planned to return to Night, but in Velaris, and a few had already arrived that morning. This shop was supposed to be a place for Illyrian women who escaped on their own as well (and therefore had no safe transport to Dawn); Emerie just hated that they needed such a place.

When they weren’t working, Emerie was relearning to fly with the help of Azriel. She didn’t like him much, but he would do anything for Gwyn, so Emerie allowed it.

Emerie’s new wings were slightly larger than they had been in youth, a magnificent purple color that matched Nuan’s metal arm.

“Now we can be matching,” Nuan had said quietly. Emerie could’ve sworn she was blushing.

“You know, purple is my favorite color,” Emerie had said. Nuan had giggled at that.

One day, while Emerie was hanging out with Gwyn, Nesta, and Nuan in her shop, the door slammed open. A huge shadow stood in the doorway. When it walked in closer, Emerie recognized them. The male had many silver streaks in his black hair. His eyes were the hazel that was common of Illyrians. His wingspan filled the shop. The man stomped towards Emerie. Nesta and Gwyn hovered in front of her protectively, pulling out their swords. Even Nuan raised a wrench in her good hand. Emerie just stared at Lord Devlon coolly, her demeanor not shifting a bit. “Can I help you?”

“You!” Devlon growled, pointing at Emerie. “Traitorous scum, kidnapping your own people. You’re breaking our High Lord’s sanctum to stay out of our business in exchange for not coming here.”

Nesta raised her sword in warning, her teeth bared. But Emerie merely raised a brow, cool as a cucumber. “He also has a law banning wing-cutting, but you don’t seem to care much about that one.”

Gwyn snickered behind her hand. Nesta smirked viciously. Nuan coughed to hide her own amusement. Emerie could’ve sworn Devlon’s face turned bright red in indigence, his nostrils twitching. “It seems you haven’t learned your lesson, Emerie. You are Illyrian, and ours to punish,” he growled.

Emerie didn’t even crack a smile. Instead, she arranged a group of spices for a meal she was preparing. “Was throwing me in the Blood Rite supposed to be punishment? Strange. You got it wrong, by the way. I’m not merely Illyrian. I’m a Carynthian, and you’re an Arktosian; therefore I outrank you.”

Devlon opened his mouth, then closed it. Then he walked towards the door. When he reached it, he turned back around and snarled, “I don’t give a shit if you’re a Carynthian or a Valkyrie or whatever fucking title you’re throwing around these days; if you continue to interfere in our affairs, I will kill you.”

Nesta began to run towards him, but Emerie grabbed her arm calmly. “Let him go.”

“He threatened to kill you,” Nesta hissed. Emerie smiled. “I know. But killing him this way will achieve nothing. I have a better way.”

Everyone stared at Emerie as she walked into the Windhaven camp. She had forgone her usual Valkyrie attire, opting for heavily traditional Illyrian clothing. She hated that she still had this, as it had once belonged to her father. It was surprisingly snug on her, particularly in the arms and legs, where her muscles had grown amply since becoming a Valkyrie.

Her hair was braided back in its usual style, and she had rimmed her eyes with kohl. When the sun landed on them, her dark brown eyes shone like gold. She sported a ruby choker Nesta had stolen from Amren, which looked majestic in the light. The blade of her sword shone silver. Standing there, with everyone staring at her, dressed as a true Illyrian, Emerie looked like a blessing from the Mother.

Those normally stoic, woman-hating men stared in awe as Emerie walked down the hill towards their camp. Devlon was seething so much Emerie could see it from a mile away. But though it was tempting, Emerie did not laugh. She did not even smile.

She had a job to do.

“My brethren!” Emerie said loudly, though there was no need; everyone was already looking at her. “Too long have you suffered under the poor and weak leadership of Devlon. I have come to offer you what we were always capable of under the right person: peace and prosperity!”

“Do not be ridiculous,” Devlon snarled. “Peace? War is the Illyrian business.”

“Once again, you are wrong!” Emerie responded calmly, in that same carrying voice. “Illyrians are fierce, and courageous, and yes, we are great warriors. Our history is full of noble Illyrians warriors. But those warriors were those who fought for those who cannot protect themselves. They fought for the oppressed, the abused, to ensure that everyone has that same chance for peace and prosperity. War was not our business; it was our way of granting freedom to all: of stopping the violence at its root. Our true business is farming, which we have forgotten. Our lands lay barren, overrun by weeds. We are forced to import from Velaris and the solar courts while greedy leaders like Devlon send our people to fight like mercenaries for petty nobles. Past Night Court leaders saw an opportunity for revenue by selling its people, and assholes like you took it. You are the reason Illyrian males began cutting their women’s wings, to protect them from war. But now it has become yet another form of oppression.”

Emerie blinked hard to keep the tears out of her eyes. Weakness would not be tolerated at this point; she had gotten their attention despite being a woman by her attitude and her attire; she could not afford to lose it.

“It seems that Illyrians have forgotten their history. We have become the very thing we swore to destroy. But it is not too late! I have come to restore Illyria to its former glory.”

Emerie raised her sword, pointing it at Devlon. The audience was spellbound. You could’ve heard a pin drop in the silence.

“Devlon!” Emerie roared. “I challenge you to a duel.”

(i know i said three parts but there’s gonna be one more, sorryyyy)

[rainbowdelicsunshine]

What kind of parents do you think PolyMercs would be? Any specific domestic headcanons?

OOOOOOOOOOO IMMA HAVE SO MUCH FUN WITH THIS YOU HAVE NO IDEA!!!!!!!!!!

I'll start off with listing the Mercs' HCs I have for this off individually starting with the kind of parent they are

After that will be HCs on how all eight of them are when it comes to parenting as a group

Here we go, it's gonna be a long one!

(Yep, Gonna Need a ReadMore for This Bitch)

Soldier

The Really Loud and Super Fun Military Dad that LOVES to play wrestle with his kids and will let the kids be around his Raccoon Squad (dw the kids are the only people the Raccoons seem to actually like for whatever reason)

Parental Title for Him is Dad

Was the One (Alongside Medic) that had the honor of cutting Leon's umbilical cord when he was born

Had taught/influenced Leon to be the Daddy's Little Helper that ALWAYS loved to help his Dads with any and everything they needed throughout his entire childhood

When Leon was an infant and had started to crawl, he would do it in a way that looked like an Army Crawl. Soldier would LITERALLY scream and smile like an idiot in sheer joy of his Little Soldier, everyone had to see it

Thanks to Soldier, LuluBelle EXCEEDED and loved Social Studies Class, esp when she was younger

Pyro

The One Parent, Though They May Not Say Much and Are Quiet, They're One of The Best Shoulders to Lean On and Almost Never Fails to Comfort Their Kids When the Time Calls for It.

They Also are a Child at Heart so They're VERY Fun and Will Love to Go to Disneyland with Their Family!

Parental Title for Them is Either Padre (Latino!Pyro Lives Here!) or Nopa

Absolutely LOVES Theme Parks, Circuses, Carnivals, Pretty Much Anything You Can Take a Child to Since Pyro Has a Draw to Childish Things/Activities

Helped A Lot with Teaching LuluBelle How to Draw and A Lot of the Techniques She Uses for Her Art She Had Learned From Pyro

Watching Fireworks (Esp During 4th of July) is One of Pyro's Favorite Ways to Bond with Their Kiddos

The Kids (LuluBelle and Leon) Have Been the Only Two People That Has Seen Pyro Unmasked on a Regular Basis (Pyro Only Unmasks with the Other Mercs on Very Spare Occasions) and The Kids Understand Them Perfectly When Masked

Demoman

The Other Super Loud and Fun (Alcoholic) Dad, Except This Time, He's Very Much a Snuggler with His Kids and LOVES to Make Up Stupid Games for Them to Play (Or Just Simply Set Fireworks Off Inside Alongside Soldier).

He Also Has a Very Strong Protective Streak for His Kids as Well

Parental Title for Him is Da/DaDa

Along with a Few Other Mercs, He's Very Openly Affectionate with His Kids, Often Giving Them Smooches on Their Cheeks, Holding Their Hands or Just Hugging on Them When Watching TV or Sitting Outside

Loved to Tell Stories or Sing Folk Songs from His Homeland as A Way To Put the Kids to Sleep (esp as babies, toddlers and very young)

If He Ever Sees Merasmus Even Try to Lay his Hands on his Children, He's Going to Just Shove a Sword into his Chest, No Warning

Was UNGODLY Nervous When He First Introduced LuluBelle to his Mom, Thankfully for Demo, She Took to LuluBelle Very Quickly and She (Along with Leon) are the only two people she ever acts warm towards (everyone else gets an old crotchety blind lady lol)

Heavy

The Certified Papa Bear. Big, Loving, Super (Sometimes Over) Protective of His Children.

He Also is the Worrywart that Tends to Overthink Social Situations and Sometimes Overcompensates for How He Grew Up

Is the Most Paternal Alongside Sniper and Spy

Parental Title for Him is Paposhka

Is the One That Checks If His Children Have Ate Enough Food and If Not, He'll Be Sure to Have Them Be Fed Good, Yummy, and Filling Meals

Was The One The Kids Went to If Either of Them Felt Like They Needed Someone "Big and Strong" to Protect Them from What Scared Them (for example, booming thunder and lighting music from a vinyl record)

His Mom and Sister Absolutely ADORE the Kids, Heavy's Mom loves to spoil them with sweets and fun stuff a Russian Grandma Would Get Up to with her Grandchildren, Heavy's Sister Just Take the Kids Under Their Wings as They're All Basically the Cool Fun Aunts You Wish You Had

Is Lowkey Not Ready for When Both Kids Find Their Special Someones (None of Them Are, But Heavy the Most) and Goes to Have Their Own Lives (and Even Get Married and Have Their Own Families). He's an Absolute Mess Whenever the Subject Comes Up, He'll Be in a More Messier State When It Actually Happens

Engineer

The Coolheaded, Calm, and Collected Dad That Just Tend Either to Lounge Around While Playing Their Guitar and/or Sipping a Beer or In his Workshop Building Sentries and Other Machinery.

One of the Mercs Whose the Sweetest and Has a Beautiful Way with Words (esp for verbal affection for his children). The Most Maternal Alongside Medic

His Parental Title is Either Paw, Pops, or Papa

Due to Being the One that Has Helped with Medic the Most with his Pregnancy (Being a Study Buddy for the Whole Thing) and LuluBelle's Birth, When Engie Gotten Pregnant with Leon it was Actually a Fairly Smooth and, Dare I Say, Easy Pregnancy Since He was Very Prepared for It. Being around Livestock and Farmlife in His Early Years Also Helps with That

One of the First Sounds that LuluBelle Had Heard in Her Life was the soft and melodic strums of Engineer's guitar, and She Loved It Almost Instantly. He Also Played His Guitar in Intervals During His Labor with Leon. Now Both Kids LOVE When He Plays Guitar and Think He's One of the Greatest

Leon LOVES helping Engineer with his projects and sentries, he even tries to tinker with his own little projects just to try his best to imitate his Paw. Everyone Thinks It's the Most Precious Thing in the World

He's a Big Reason Why LuluBelle Also Got into Music/Singing (Alongside Spy and Medic)

Medic

The Eccentric Maverick Who Has a Very Deep, Burning and Carnal Love and Maternal Possessiveness Over His Children (Especially LuluBelle Since First Baby and He Carried Her). With the Exception of The Mercs, Scout, and Pauling, He Does Not Trust Anyone But Himself with His Children and Feels He Knows Them the Best Inside and Out.

Is the Most Maternal of the Mercs Alongside Engineer

His Parental Title is Either Vati or Daddy

Despite his Quirks, He is the Most Affectionate (Physically and Verbally) out of All the Mercs (All of Them Are, but Most Esp Medic). He's Almost Always Seen Giving Some Sort of Loving Fatherly Gesture to Either of His Children

Medic Absolutely LOVED Being Pregnant with LuluBelle, Especially Since He Got to Study His Own Body, It's Changes and How His Baby Grew in Him. He Calls It One of His Most Interactive Study He's Conducted, Plus Having Engie as a Study Buddy Made It Even More Fun for Him (Even with the Symptoms that Sucked Ass)

Does Not Trust Other Doctors with his Children Besides Himself Since He Feels His Medical Skills Help Enough (and He's Not a Fan of Strange People Putting Their Hands on His Kids). The Most He Allows are Yearly Check Ups and Emergencies

Medic's Pigeons (Esp Archimedes) are Strangely VERY Loving and Protective Towards the Kids (Esp LuluBelle). If Anyone/Anything Ever Tries Anything Harmful with Them, the pigeons will turn on that danger like a Murder of Crows

Sniper

The Quiet and Stoic Hunting Dad, It May Not Seem Like He Shows A Lot of His Love Outwardly (With Words), But He Doesn't Hesitate to Show Small Ways of Affection like a Side Hug, Watching TV/Going Outside Together, A Small Peck on the Cheek/Forehead/Hand, and Holding Hands.

He's Very Animal Like in the Ways He'll Be Willing to Tear and Gut Apart Anything that Attempts to Hurt his Children and Likes to Huddle Close to His Kids Like an Animal as Well. Is the Most Paternal Alongside Spy and Heavy

His Parental Title is Dad or Daddy

He's the Reason and Catalyst to LuluBelle's Deep Love and Passion for Animals, since He Would Talk to Her About Them and Read Books About Them with Her

He Also LOVES it when Leon tries to help him with pretty much ANYTHING that the little fella could think of

The Kids LOVE Driving in Their Dad's Camper Van, and They Always Get Hyped Up and Excited Whenever They Go Camping in it

The Kids Also Love Visiting their Grandparents in Australia since they both love the animals and landscape there and their grandparents always spoil the hell outta them every visit (Constant Black Current Candies from Nana and Sneaking Off to Local Hangouts at Night with Grandpa) (Sniper Gets Pissed Every Time He Finds Out About Grandpa's Adventures with the Grandkids lolol)

Spy

The Dad That's Doing Everything In His Power to Do the Opposite of What He Did When He First Had Scout. He Overcompensates for Basically Everything Involving his Relationship with Scout. He Spoils Them in Every Way Possible, While Still Being Strict and Intending his Children to Be Good Additions to Society.

He is VERY proud of his children and their achievements and makes sure they're celebrated to their fullest extent, also Funding Most Trips and Most, if Not All the Kids' Extracurriculars (LuluBelle with His Art and Singing and Leon with his Snowboarding and Rock Music), Also loves to boast about his children in general

Is the Most Parental Alongside Sniper and Heavy

Parental Title for Him is Either Dad or Papa

Was the One That Jumpstarted and Encouraged LuluBelle to Perdue and Reign in Her Talents For Singing! Without Spy, LuluBelle Wouldn't Be Passionate in Singing Like She is Now

Was the One that Had the Honor of Cutting LuluBelle's Umbilical Cord After a Quick Toss Up of Who Wanted to Do So, His Butterfly Knife Skill Made the Process Go Lighting Fast and Easy. He Still Brags About Giving LuluBelle "The Perfect Belly Button"

LuluBelle and Leon are the ONLY ones who are allowed to be in Spy's Lounge Room for prolonged periods of time (It Slowly Stopped Being a Smoking Room After LuluBelle was Born). He Loves Having It as a Place to Have Quality Time with Just Him and the Children. He now even has a small version of the Super Soft Luxury Rug He has in front of his Fireplace that LuluBelle Loves to Lay Down on Ever Since She was Little (Being Autistic, Soft Surfaces Make Good Stim Spot)

He and Sniper Are the Main Two that Taught The Kids Manners and Politeness (Their Own Versions of It At Least). Strangely Enough, it's Worked Out Perfectly.... It Scares Them A Little

General Parenting/Polycule Headcanons for the Mercs

The Closest Thing to Describe Their Dynamic As A Polycule/Group Would Be Hollyhock's Dads from Bojack Horseman, Except Much More Chaotic and Explosive

Just Like in the Games, Every Merc Has a Goofy/Silly/Childish Side That They Happily and Openly Show to Their Kids, Which Just Makes The Kids Feel Even Closer to Them

They are All Vehemently Against Physical Punishment for the Kids, Especially Since a Decent Number of the Mercs Have Trauma Around Physical Violence Growing Up (examples being Soldier, Heavy, Medic, Sniper, Demo, and Engineer)

The Mercs are All Now Very Affectionate with Each Other in Various Degrees and Intensities since the Kids Being Around Has Oddly Brought The Team Much More Closer Than They Ever Were Before (I Mean, Polycule and All That)

They All Have Given LuluBelle the Nickname of the Mosaic Child/Girl, Since She Harbors Every Piece of Her Dad in Some Way, Shape, or Form (Even More than Just DNA)

------------------------------------------------------

OH DEAR GOD ITS FINALLY FINISHED, THE BEAST HAS BEEN SLAIN!!!!!!!!

I really, really hope this was well worth the wait since this took me FOREVER to write this all down! I also really hope that you'll be able to actually read through this Borderline Novella and give your feedback on it!

I would appreciate it so much with all the time I spent on this!

Please come by the inbox again soon and have a fantastic evening!!

[insideliascrazyhead]

OYA HIGH HEADCANONS

Fujio:

-Fujio force adopted them all into his found family and not even death will change that

-has a nickname for literally everybody even if he uses their normal names on occasion,you don´t have a nickname?then he doesn´t like you

-the most loving and caring out of all of them

-chaotic and clumsy as fuck

-bisexual,loves to flirt

-total playboy (not in any negative way,he´s totally open about it too)

-sings horribly in the shower and sounds like a dying hyiena on purpose because it´s fun to annoy others even tho he can sing

-extroverted as fuck

-chronical hugger

-Mommas boy and makes sure the all chug their respect woman juice

-overprotective mother hen

-loves to talk a lot

-probably listens to girly pop songs

-enthusiast of the group

Tsukasa

-heavily codependent on Fujio as we saw

-an antisocial creature

-don´t interact before coffee

-chronically sleepy because he´s night active

-Jamuo is his little brother by now and death to anyone who hurts him

-he and Cobra would get along great

-doesn´t see any kinda appeal in social media whatsoever

-sucker for romance

-loves to read

-when he´s bored he daydreams about punching Yasushi in the face.With a chair.

-nosy as fuck

-tried to spy on Todoroki and Odajima fishing once to see that with his own eyes

Jamuo

-drama/theater kid

-draws comics in his spare time like in is delinquent trivia

-always has the tea on everyone

-cinnamon roll

-sarcastic as fuck

-also very sassy and could roast the shit out of the others

-sees Tsukasa and meanwhile Fujio as older brothers

-regular gossip sessions with Sabakan are a must

Yasushi

-death metal is the one thing that can scream louder then him and Kiyoshi

-moral compass is a fucking roulette wheel

-everything that entertains him is crazy,loud,violent or borderlining on life threatening and illigal

-violence towards Kiyoshi is his love language

-there´s a story between him,Kiyoshi and Gandhi long before Amagai

-legends say Gandhi still runs from Yasushi´s revenge

-we all know he´s a little version of Hyuga at heart and it´s a miserable shame they never met

-punch on each others scar after a fight means dumbass I was worried sick about you

-probably not the brightest crayon in the box in school smarts,street smarts tho is a different story,he would beat them all in that

-no sense for danger whatsover (dark alley,great let´s go in there,yeah Yasushi great idea.Oh guys ganging up there great let´s stop?!)

-looves bloody and brutal horror movies

-seems like the friend who eats the craziest combos on food and them makes a suprised Pikachu face that he feels shitty

-probably a self destructive streak with his anger

-doesn´t give a shit about Kiyoshi´s woman issues because he fears he´s gonna leave him for a girl one day

-idk why but i got a feeling hes good at drawing or art in general it´s probably creepy and dark art but art    

-antention loving whore (in a affectionate way because damn I love this crazy feral raccoon.)

Kiyoshi

-protective and possesive,jealous kinda like a spoiled guard dog

-especially since Yasushi´s head injury,he would rather die sacrificing himself then let Yasushi get hurt like that again

-the violent mom friend at least in his faction in a very violent way to

-wants to be a beautician

-his soft voice is for Yasushi only

-prentends he doesn´t care,but does,a lot.

-secretly a romantic

-completly different person when he´s with Yasushi,he´s more vulnearble

-probably has a deadbeat loser dad,divorced from his mom and that´s why it´s so important to him to be loved by a woman to not end like his old man

Todoroki

-the thing that makes him the angriest after his friends getting hurt is bullying

-games at night

-he and Odajima do talk when they fish,ok mostly Odajima but he loves the calmness in the others voice

-I also think Odajima names the fishes he´s catching

-sometimes on the rooftop he pretends to read,just to easier eavesdrop on the others

-very intelligent and probably one of the not so many Oya High members that have a plan for the future

-meanwhile can easily ignore the others and interpret it as backround noise when they argue with each other

-meditates against his anger issues doesn´t work that great tho

Shibaman

-has all the tea about Sannoh because of his sister

-his sister pratically raised him so they´re very close

-he and Tsuji have a regular hair coloring session together

-you find him and Tsuji together nearly 24/7 anyways

-when he get´s scolded by his sister the whole gang chimes in just like Yamato

-probably had a buzzcut because a crazy hair experiment went wrong

Tsuji

-crisis?he´s gonna color his hair or change it

-doesn´t like to be told what to do (Todoroki is an exeption) otherwise he will do the opposite

-he and Shibaman have a little betting game going on about the other Oya High students,for example will Tsukasa strangle Yasushi or not and occasionally Todoroki joins in too

-loves to tease his friends

-chaotic good

Nakagoshi

-popular with girls

-loves a good party 

-also has no issues speaking to girls either

-has probably one or two sisters

-kinda feels bad about Kiyoshi´s stab wound even after all that time

-so after the stabbing he kicks out anyone fighting with a knife

-also has the tea around S.W.O.R.D

-not necessarily idolizes Cobra but is like mega impressed by him anyways

Nakaoka

-the two forgot that they wanna fight the Yasu-Kiyo faction meanwhile

-where he was the time when each one exept him started Oya High?

Nobody nows but he states it´s a crazy story no ones gonna believe anyways

-does kickboxxing

-loves to spray grafitti

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Headcanons | John, Simon Zee & Big James crying in front of you for the first time | Romantic

John (the Apostle)

John is very emotional but he doesn’t really want to admit that to his significant other.

Whenever he gets misty-eyed around you, he turns away with some kind of excuse, not wanting to show it.

Although he has never been taught by his father that a man needs to hide these emotions since Zebedee is a deeply feeling person as well, he still feels like he somehow needs to compete with James.

John is quite insecure when he compares himself to his older brother. James is a bit taller, his shoulders are broader, and he feels like he needs to compensate even though you never give him the impression that he must do so.

However, he cannot always hide his emotions from you. It is only a matter of time before you bear witness to it.

The first time you catch him weeping is when he is watching Jesus read a scroll in synagogue. A few tears streak down his face at the words Jesus reads out loud and you smile at him softly, although his gaze is not fixated upon you.

You just slip a hand around his waist and rest your head against his upper arm, stroking small circles over his back. 

He jumps at first but soon relaxes into you, reciprocating the side hug, despite his concerns of how your perception of him is now changing.

All worries leave him, however, when he catches your gaze as you look up at him with a soft and affectionate smile over your lips, no judgement behind your eyes.

Even more so, a few tears slip over your own cheeks as well.

Afterwards, you have a heart to heart about the importance of expressing these emotions and that they don’t make him any less of a man.

From then on, John isn’t afraid to cry around you anymore.

Simon the Zealot

Simon has harboured a certain set of emotions for a long time – rage, disgust, hatred – and being vulnerable was not part of this calibre.

His time at the Zealots has caused him to build up a wall around his heart.

The moment that cracks this thick layer is when he witnesses his brother Jesse skip from one leg to the other, claiming that he has been healed by the Messiah.

When Simon joins the group, you are already part of it and immediately act warmly towards him in spite of his grumpy nature.

It is only a matter of time before he finds himself falling for you, although he is confused at these feelings. After all, he had never even considered finding himself a wife, for he had always devoted himself to the Zealots.

He pushes them away at first despite your obvious reciprocation. 

For a while, your heart breaks every time you see him, hoping that one day he will let you in fully.

One day, however, you fall terribly ill with a fever whilst Jesus is away.

Everyone is worried about you, but Simon doesn’t leave your side for a single second, making sure you’re as comfortable as can be.

Your body is weakening yet you remain positive, and when you sweetly reach up for Simon’s face to cup it, meekly smiling as you whisper a soft ‘thank you’, he feels a few tears escape his eyes.

He practically breaks down then as all this pent up sorrow overwhelms him – the years of not being able to express fear, the confusion that he feels about you loving him so much, but most of all because he is afraid to lose you.

Once Jesus returns, He heals you, and you immediately turn to Simon with the message that you need to have a word with him.

Needless to say, your relationship takes a wonderful turn from then on.

Finally, you have managed to break down that wall around his heart in order to completely capture it.

Big James

This man is Tough Guy™ and wants to protect you at all costs.

Because of this, James has told himself he shouldn’t act too vulnerable around you.

Whereas you aren’t afraid to be yourself around him and seek comfort in his arms whenever you need it, James swallows the lump in his throat as soon as he feels it form. After all, he feels like he should be there for you and comfort you instead of the other way around.

This man puts a lot of pressure on himself in order to give you what he thinks you need from him. Since he plans on marrying you soon, he wants to prove himself in many ways, and he thinks that he cannot be a beacon for you if he allows himself to cry around you.

He does cry in secret though, whenever he’s in bed at night.

But things eventually catch up to him, as it does whenever you’ve been with someone for a long time.

It happens in a moment that one of Jesus’ teachings overwhelms him. The Rabbi tells a story about how being vulnerable and open about one’s emotions can be very freeing, and for God nothing remains in darkness. James is so touched by it and recognises himself in the story so much that he just cannot stop the tears from suddenly flowing down his face.

When James sees that you’ve noticed him, panic suddenly grows inside his chest, and he asks you if you now think that he’s weak.

Reassuring him that you don’t, you tell him quite the contrary, namely that showing real emotions takes more courage than keeping them inside.

James then learns to maintain a balance of holding onto his protective nature as well as daring to be more open about his emotions.

[endermen-impasta]

Rise's B¡Future v.s RUINs' B¡Future

(( An Explanation on What's Different ))

Spoilers: There is a bunch of reading... also trigger warning / cw: mentions of death, gambling, and some other stuff ig... ye... Read on to enjoy the info dump.

-- Character Run Through --

Leo || In the RUIN au, Leo was founded the position of leader after Rapheal died. He wasn't given any warning or heads up, Mikey told him. For a while Leo didn't know what to do and from that they lost a lot of survivors. After a while he took the role and his personality had a huge shift. Sometimes he could be calm and collected and other times he could easily lash out.

Donnie || Donnie was more known as the calmest one out of any of his brothers. He rarely went out into the field after Cassandra's death and stayed to take care of Casey Jr and Koine for the most part. He also helped out a lot inside the med bay and the technology side. Sometimes helping others train to be on the field. Though worry would catch up to him whenever someone he cared for came back beat up.

Mikey || After the big change with Raph and Cassandra's death, Mikey was a bit more like a sour lemon. He would isolate himself a lot and stop speaking after a while as well, though he was still known as the greatest mystic warrior. After a while, Mikey had become a mystery to people, until he disappeared forever.

Rapheal || Raph was a sweet and calm person, only if you didn't get on his bad side. No one would rarely try to get Raph mad, out of some unknown fear. After both Splinter and Cassandra died he didn't really have much to strive for, this led to Raph often being reckless and difficult to communicate with. After a few missions going horribly wrong, Raph had to be tagged along with someone so the group would stay safe.

April || April was protective and observant of most of the resistance, almost always watching over anyone new. More like Leo, April didn't want to have the title of commander but in a time of need April had to take the title. Besides her unwanted title commander, April was known for having an inside look to everyone. She was also a mysterious player inside the Bad Future as well.

Cassandra || Cassandra was known for her passion to destroy anyone who was against someone she cared for. Whether that meant physically hurting someone or verbally. She was quick on her feet and sneaky as well. Though she had morals with her streak of behavior. Cassandra was closest with Donnie and Rapheal, often found hanging around the two turtles. She was also considered a good luck charm for supply missions.

-------------------------------------

Splinter || The man was placed inside to stick with training newcomers, help some wounded people, and take care of children. Why he was placed to do that job was the basics of he was injured badly to be yeeted off the playing field. He would also help calm anyone with strong emotions and give some good wisdom.

Draxum || The head of the Medic Field. That was Draxum was known for to anyone who saw him inside the resistance. Leo had the chance to take it but chose not to due to his desire to always be on the field. If you were looking for Draxum, good luck. He would always be in the places you wouldn't think of. Draxum didn't go into the battlefield that much so he would wander around to find hidden areas inside the base (( a trait that was passed onto Koine ))

Casey Jones Jr. || More known as Cassandra Jones Jr. or Cassidy, Casey is about a year younger than Koine. He is an energetic soul and loves to make anything a game. Casey isn't stuck up but he does find more fun in stuff that has games placed in it. He developed his own mystic/ninpo which grew in time (( he can do some paranormal stuff )) Casey was raised souly by Donnie after Cassandra died and never looked towards anyone else as a parental figure.

Usagi Yuichi || A skilled katana ninja, aka rabbit yokai. Usagi was the lovely boyfriend of Leonardo, until Usagi died. Usagi was all round known as a person who could throw hands if he wanted to. He knew what he wanted and if he truly wanted to get it, he would. Usagi would hang out with the kids the most, training them in any free time he had. Though he was known to have more of an empathetic heart, which wasn't the best for the apocalypse.

========================

- What's Goin On --

+ Inside the apocalypse, the Kraang were practically more intelligent than needed and there weren't any technology resources around that were easy to find. Most of the tech was found by different groups or destroyed. Because of the lack of technology, the resistance group has to always be on the run and try to stay hidden the best they could. It would be about a weekly routine of running away from the Kraang.

+ Apart from living on the brink of panic, you had almost no free time. Which was understandable deeming that not only you had to run away and leave almost everything behind, but you had to gather new things if needed. There were constant chores, missions, or training needing to be done and all of it on a schedule. Training was easy to say the least, at least compared to missions they were. Missions were almost constantly going on, 24/7, all day.

+ Resources: The only thing common to find was canned foods, dried snacks, and seeds. Occasionally some REALLY GOOD food was found (( meats, veggies, etc. )) but it was mainly a canned food source. Like stated before: Tech was the hardest to stubble upon. This was the same as: note books, toys, pens, and furniture. Fabric could be found inside buildings or abandoned vehicles, and water was mostly found from a single river almost everyone knew about.

+ The Gambling Table: In the case of certain resources being hard to find, the resistance group would often gamble objects and sweetened foods with each other. The trades were fair enough to have the gambling streak become a whole tradition at one point.

=================================

-- Rules and Issues --

+ The resistance was small, it was around the population of a small village. In the RUINs' apocalypse there were many small groups; any large populated groups were quickly killed at the start. Sometimes there would be spies from other groups trying to join another group, to either throw the group off into danger or get information about good-resourced spots that their group didn't know about. After a while, this caused many people to have trust issues in anyone who wasn't originally a part of the group.

+ In any situation where the Kraang had found where the resistance was camping, everyone was on their own. If you didn't stick with the group, you were a goner in two seconds flat. Unless you were injured or a small kid, you were on your own until the situation was leveled down. No one was salty about it either, it was logical in their minds, mainly because they were trying to make it out alive and not dead, so....

=============================

-- The Ranking System--

+ The resistance had three main groups with a bunch of different rankings for each group. The three groups were: Medics, Fielders, and Spies. The medic group has three letter rankings: S, K, and I; along with a head leader. Fielder (( people who do constant missions and such )) have named rankings: Second + First Wings, Cover Feathers, Secondary Feathers, and Starter Feather along with two leaders. For the spy group, they have number rankings: 1-4 levels. Leveling up to another level is harder than it's thought out to be and it can take a long time.

============================

-- The Skull and Stripes Duo --

+ Casey Jr. and Koine, like stated in another post, were best friends but had more of a sibling relationship than anything. In technical terms: Casey and Koi were biological Uncle and Nephew (( but no one in the resistance thought of Koine like that )) On that note Casey and Koine were set to be in a sibling relationship. Being one year apart from each other, they quickly became chaotic and both equally as strong. Do NOT fight both of them in a battle... they know how to work together when they need to.

============================

-- The Death Logs --

< In order of first to die - last to die >

+ Cassandra: Died on a mission due to injuries

+ Splinter: Old Age

+ Draxum: Health Complications

+ Raph: Died from mistake in battle

+ Usagi: Died trying to recuse a person who fell behind during a Kraang Attack

+ Mikey: Possibly kidnapped? No one knows...

+ April: Bleed to Death

+ Leo: ???

+Donnie: ???

==============================

Hello! You've reached the end of the info dump! Congratulations, now hold tight because more content is sure to come!

RUINs Main Post

[usagirln12003]

Hooty: Hogwarts AU

Hooty is a Polstergeist that haunts the house of Edalyn Clawthorne.

Hooty is shown to be a jovial and very welcoming creature with a falsetto voice, often greeting visitors to Eda's and trying to be accepted as part of a group activity. He is rather talkative and claims to have many stories of his experiences to share, but he rarely, if ever, gets to share them since most people, including the inhabitants of the house, consider him to be annoying.

King refers to him as being desperate for attention, which he doesn't deny. He is easily annoyed by the neglect which Eda and King throw at him, but nevertheless offers help if needed. Hooty can also be passive-aggressive at times. Once when King refused to let him into his boot camp, causing Hooty to play "hard to get" when King comes to him for help later. Because of his station in life, being bound to the house, most of his activities and hobbies involve talking, telling riddles, listening to music, and rolling around in the mud.

Much like Eda and King, Hooty also has a cheeky and mischievous streak to his personality, occasionally being amused by seeing people getting hurt or poking fun at other people's bad luck. However, Eda also claims that despite his annoying tendencies, he still finds his way into her heart.

Like owls, Hooty is also aggressive and territorial. Once he mistakes Luz's painting of himself as an owl trying to take his territory, prompting him to freak out and tear up the drawing. Despite this, he usually won't make this mistake if he sees the person creating the art of himself. He later shows his aggressiveness again when he angrily told King not to interrupt him while demonstrating about ghosts and became furiously aggressive when he was offended by King's weird dance as he believed that he's making fun of his mother.

Hooty is known to be quite emotional at times. He often cries and pulls himself away every time he thinks he failed to help King, Eda, and Luz with any of their problems. After thinking he failed for a third time, Hooty has a nervous breakdown. He decides that everyone in the house will be better off without him and tries to leave, going so far as to rip himself out of the house in an attempt to get away from it, all while crying hysterically. It is only until Eda and King convince him that he did end up helping them and seeing Luz and Amity hold hands together that he finally calms down and cries happily, knowing that he did help everyone.

Even with all his goofiness, Hooty is shown to be a great and competent protector, having protected Eda and King for years. While he serves as the house's annoyance, he’s also shown to be the building’s protector as well and being very good at it, being able to single-handedly defeat Lilith and all the aurors when they came to arrest Eda, defeating everyone just seconds after waking up from slumber. Hooty also managed to protect Luz and King when they ventured to a nearby colony of Acromantulas, acting as a shield to them when they were escaping the place. He also managed to successfully protect Lilith while she was awaiting her new wand, earning her friendship in the process.

One thing that distinguished Hooty above everything is his willingness to be friendly to everyone he meets, even enemies. While beating up Lilith and the aurors, he continued to be friendly to them, (forcefully) having tea parties with them once he manages to capture them. While it could be just desperation in wanting to have friends, whether is friend or foe, Hooty will be amicable to them. He’s also unquestionably friendly with Luz, King and Eda, despite the trio often ignoring and even mistreating him when he’s being too annoying. Hooty is also shown to never hold any grudges against anyone, befriending Lilith despite her years of trying to catch her sister and bearing no ill will towards Amity despite her severely jinxing him shortly after meeting, being very welcoming to her when she comes back to the house the second time.

[byoldervine]

Character Info - Layni Warden

General Info

Name: Layni Warden

Nicknames:

• Snapdragon (by Kennedy)

• Dragon (by Kennedy)

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 24

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Lesbian

Species: Earth Elemental

Place Of Birth: Kettringham, Paracosm

Current Home: Kettringham, Paracosm

Appearance

Layni has short brown hair and warm, mid-toned skin. I’ve considered adding green streaks to her hair as well but obviously that can’t go into the Picrew too well. She has cyan eyes

Layni usually wears simple clothing under a thick apron to keep herself clean while working. She also wears gloves to protect her hands. She’ll often grow flowers in her hair for fun as well, and since they’re so well-enmeshed due to her power they’re not much of a hazard

Personality

Layni is a very resilient person who works hard for the people in her life. She likes to keep herself busy and is very much a giver rather than a taker, often finding herself as the mum friend of the group, acting as the responsible one or the voice of reason. She can talk everyone through their problems except herself, and is a good listener who everyone seems to gravitate towards when they need advice or a venting session. Her biggest struggle is remembering that the reliable friend also needs others to rely on themselves

Likes:

• Pranking Connor

• Giving handmade gifts

• Black coffee

Dislikes:

• Collaborative work

• Dealing with customers

• Accepting help

Known Abilities

• Geokinesis - As an earth elemental, Layni is able to manipulate earth at will

• Florakinesis - Layni’s skills as an earth elemental have been honed to the point of attunement to flora, allowing her to grow and manipulate plants at will

• Layni is also very skilled in woodworking and carpentry

• Layni also has a history of potion-making, though it’s been a long time since she did anything of the sort

Relationships

Family:

• Connor Warden (younger brother)

• Rose Warden (mother; deceased)

• James Warden (father; deceased)

Friends/Allies:

• Kennedy (coworker, close friend)

Enemies:

• The Guardians

Backstory

While Connor only really knew Rose Warden after her illness, Layni still remembers the times before then; their mother had been one of the most excitable and optimistic people she’d ever known. She still sees so much of her in Connor, especially in their matching smiles

The children would usually stay home to look after Rose, who gave them lessons in potions as the family tried to find a cure for her illness, but once Connor was big enough to do so alone and Rose began teaching him about his own abilities, Layni spent most of her time with her father, helping him in the carpentry when things got too tough for just one person to do alone. He taught her how to use her elemental abilities to make the craft easier, and helped her develop her attunement to florakinesis

Layni was sixteen when her mother passed away. She and her father grew a Remaligo tree over her grave, letting it stand in her memory. It was around this time that Connor began to struggle with his powers, and so Layni’s time was largely split between helping her father manage the house and the business as a newly widowed man and looking after Connor and doing what little she could to help him control his powers

A year later, when Layni was seventeen and Connor was twelve, she discovered that their father had given in to his grief. She managed to keep herself together long enough to send Connor elsewhere for the day without him knowing what had happened. By the time he returned, Layni had made arrangements and the situation had been appropriately dealt with. Others in the village were there to help her very delicately break the news to Connor without giving any actual details beyond what he needed to know. Layni braced herself to answer any questions he had, but there weren’t many, and he appeared mostly satisfied with her vague explanations

From that day on, Layni was the one to look after the family business. Connor saw how hard she was working, and how she really didn’t enjoy the customer service aspect of the job, and took it upon himself to man the front desk. Layni had initially objected since she didn’t want to make it the responsibility of a child, but Connor was stubborn about it, sneaking in to beat Layni to the customers when they entered. Layni had to admit that it was helpful, and he always knew to come to her if he didn’t know how to sort out something himself. With Connor also helping to clean up around the workshop, the workload on Layni became much lighter, and by the time the two siblings were eighteen and thirteen, Connor was able to work fully independently to help his sister

Several years passed, and Connor had another, albeit now much rarer, struggle with controlling his power. Layni was doing what she could to help him until a stranger came in and was able to help with her tephrakinesis abilities. The nomad introduced herself as Kennedy, and the siblings offered her a place to stay for a while in exchange for her helping Connor with his abilities. She agreed

Layni and Kennedy got to spend a lot of time together, especially when the former discovered Kennedy’s carving hobby and offered her a role in the carpentry. The pair grew very close over time, Kennedy sharing secrets with Layni that even Connor, who Kennedy privately considered her best friend, didn’t know. They shared interests in plants and nature and carving, and bonded over all of these things

Fun Facts

• The carpentry always has a faint scent of black coffee due to how much Layni drinks. Connor and Kennedy tease her often about how she can drink it

• Layni’s love language is gift giving, but quickly learned that Kennedy wasn’t the most comfortable receiving gifts, so she began framing it as Kennedy doing her a favour by allowing her to not throw out perfectly good things. Connor has, on more than one occasion, taken the gift under the impression that it was up for grabs, only for Kennedy to get uncharacteristically possessive of it and snatch it back from him

• Layni is the only one to know Kennedy’s past, as well as some other secrets. Their favourite secret is an ongoing prank they’ve been playing on Connor for nearly a year now without his knowledge

[manofthepipis]

*bursts through door* *a gazillion character analysis pages fall on the floor* HELLO!! I really hope you don’t mind! But like, I have so many ideas and thoughts about your characters that I’ve been dying to share with you!! I hope that’s alright! Here’s my in depth analysis of your five main Addisons! I gave them all a name starting with “P” LMAO IDK why

Sponsor: Persuader

-I’ll admit, he was hard for me to pinpoint. But I’m not one to back down from a challenge! I decided to make Sponsor the persuader because he has a very “electric” aura around them. Now when I say he persuades, he doesn’t manipulate obviously, he just hypes them up to be brave and that they’ve got this! (Sometimes…) Like in the previous chapter, they manage to persuade the group that “hey! I believe in Spamton!” And is able to get Banner and Survey to agree with them. (And later Clicks) He also has a streak of acting without thinking, like a “rip the bandaid of quick so it will sting less” (Mike incident and Swinging open the door to Spamton’s “room” respectfully) However, he does realize that their actions have consequences a little bit too late in the game. Sponsor is like the energy ball of the team. He keeps them hyped and determined! A spokesperson if you will. He’s like, a cool older bro (I guess younger in this scenario) that will you help you sneak out to try out your new motorbike on the empty road at like 3am or something.

Clicks: Protector

-Another given in the group, Clicks is calculated and logical. Not that he doesn’t show any emotion (far from it…) but in terms w/ Spam especially. Clicks is shown to be on guard. A sword and shield duo kinda? His sword side is that He’s quick to jump to conclusions about Spamton, but is also the first one to get shit done when he sees Spamton struggling with an episode (Panic Attack & Glitch Attack respectively) However, his shield side is that he actually really still deeply cares about our little spam man and the other Addisons. When they first encounter NEO, he’s the first one to actively protect the group and tells them to get to safety. Also, I’m curious to see Clicks side of the story with his thoughts on Spam. Looking at it his way, he probably feels regret, anger, pity and guilt. Like his deep dark feelings to who or whatever did this to Spam and I just think that he… has a tough time processing it because he’s in this state of shock and is supposed to look out for the group! Not the other way around. Someone help out my emotional constipated drama queen.

Survey: Peacekeeper

-This one was kinda easy with the whole, “Survey is the voice of reason!” thing. Survey was the one who had the biggest impact on talking Spamton down from his NEO rampage in the first place. They also try to put everyone’s feelings above their own, and multiple times during the story, they get onto Clicks for being too passive aggressive toward Spam. They are just trying their best by keeping the peace and being a shoulder to lean on. But, I can’t help but wonder if this is gonna take a toll on them(?) not that they don’t want to help Spam anymore, but that they might need a mental break for themselves. I don’t think they had enough time to process their OWN trauma from their past experience with NEO. Like in the previous chapter, Surv definitely seems to be struggling with an internal conflict of their own, help Spamton, or go somewhere safe kinda deal. Maybe Swatch can lend an ear(?) Also!! I just want to give them a big ol’ hug!

Banner: Provider

-I chose banner as a provider because he doesn’t really fit into the “peacekeeper” category, BUT he is shown continuously providing for the other addisons (ex: Hot Chocolate, New clothes for Spamton, Moral Support for Survey etc…) His strengths are that he’s determined, hopeful and optimistic. He’s able to provide a sense of agreement and comradeship with the others by just letting them know that he’s there for them etc,, plus with his dwindling confidence, a provider is a good role for him because he’s able to offer support and help, but just at the sidelines. Hopefully he can get his confidence up!! He seems passionate but anxious, and wants to prove he can do more. Also, Banner seems to be the mother hen of the group if I had to give one of ‘em that role. Like, I can 100% see him telling Clicks, “bring a coat with you it’s gonna be cold!” And then goes on a whole rant when Clicks did not in fact bring a coat while at the same time pulling a spare coat from his inventory to give to him LMAO I love this dude.

Spamton: Puppet

ARUGHAHD DUDE IM SORRY BUT. YOU ARE THE BEST AUTHOR I HAVE EVER MET THAT ACCURATELY PORTRAYS SPAMTON!!!! He’s a tragic but comedic character. You perfectly balanced his humor with his hurt like 10000/10 Spam writing!!!! I also enjoy how you write his mini episodes with his panic attacks, dissociation episodes, and his bouts of depression! (As someone who has gone though similar episodes myself, it’s executed very realistically!) also! I have some ideas on how the group can get spammy out of his static episodes! Some things that help me out of a dissociation episode is just putting my hands in some cold water or just splashing some water in your face. helps distract your brain from trailing off too much! Also giving Spamton something to fidget with might help his anxiety as well! As for talking to him out of a panic attack, just letting him know that his family’s got his back this time. Maybe something like a weighted blanket can help him with his panic? Idk but that usually helps me!! Also book these five a group therapy session asap LMAO maybe Ralsei can be their psychologist?

AAAAAA i love these thoughts i'm currently spinning ur analysis in my head like a microwave and these are just all so awesome i've read over them over and over because all of it is like exactly what i wanted to convey and then more

sponsor is the addison i haven't had too much time developing yet because i have a plan for them later on but what you wrote is exactly it!! :D he does have so much energy, but like electricity, enough consumption of it leads to shutting down. after spamton's disappearance, he couldn't handle much of the back and forth from the other ads, and kept to himself throughout it, not remarking on it knowing clicks and banner at the time were the most bitter. his 'acting without thinking' is also spot on and something they're aware of, which leads to them being too-hesitant at times and then vice versa. that and he's not very good with handling emotions, and has a view of things that isn't so past-driven. like it's not "oh we almost got killed bc of spam" it's "spams back! he's different but he's here". i made them the newest addison out of the bunch which is going to come into play a bit later with his connection to spamton, but i love the idea he's the spokesperson of the group, and a persuasive big bro figure. his energy, when it's there, is definitely contagious (also i could go on and on about this guy i love him sm)

i love this take on clicks as well being like a sword/shield because that!!! is such a good way to describe it!! like, unlike sponsor, he's very past-driven, but that leads to so many emotions that just take over. he's aware of consequences, a little bit more than the rest, but his ego gets in the way of the consequences of his own actions (like if he were the one talking down sneo instead of survey they'd all be nothing but spare pixels in seconds). he's a protector, both a successful and a failed one, and god his emotions are all over because of that as he's trying to process what happened while dealing with the aftermath AND getting over his resentment for spamton whenever it surfaces. dude is SO emotionally constipated it's ridiculous

i wanted to make survey the main pov from the beginning because of how they kinda tie everyone together and are more of an observer than the other ads (i thought about the idea of having a pov from each addison every once in awhile but that just seemed a little much). they are a peacekeeper :D but being a peacekeeper isn't the easiest job especially when something like this pops up. it is DEFINITELY taking a toll on them, and they are in no means a leader, so this responsibility is weighing on them like a lot. Though they are patient, understanding, and trustworthy there is a limit to how far that can be pushed. they still love spamton and the others but i agree they need a lil bit of a break :') (are they going to get one immediately???? lol the answer may not surprise u)

banner oh boy ok i have a little bit of bias (he's grown to be my favorite over time) but him being a provider is like exactly it :D it's how he expresses his care towards others is through items, distractions, optimism etc because that's the one thing hes really confident in is what he can make. he acts as a stand-in leader in the first part, but after failing to apologize to sneo, that confidence ship has taken a hit. he's not sure if he can lead anymore, and has started falling behind the others, but it's only because he doesn't know a lot of what happened to spamton. the guy acts on what he knows, and is aware he makes the wrong decision on inferences but if he can build up spamton's trust, find out how to help, then he can do something from there :'). btw i love this scenario of him pestering clicks about having a coat because it's so true. he won't let his addison family go out without a coat goddangit

with spamton (AAAAAA TYSM :'D I LOVE WRITING HIS CHARACTER AND SO THIS IS SO MUCH APPRECIATED <3 <3) gosh what can i NOT say about him?? he's just so !!! i love this lil puppet guy. his mental state is incredibly unstable, but he's the type of guy to want attention but not from his faults. i'm glad i could have his episodes be reminiscent of what those who have them go through while in spamton's pov of having corrupted software. i strive to be as realistic as possible while also keeping him just a lil computer guy :D tho i like the idea of the water getting him out of the static, because a physical distraction like that is actually so helpful. the addisons definitely got his back this time, and actually in the next chapter i have a lot written about their ideas to conquer the static while also giving him something that will help him but also challenge him a little bit as he makes his return to this new normal.

[bluepenguinstories]

(Anxious) Mouse Vertigo 10

Pynchon once had a name he called his own.

But when he stared out from the tree stump he stood on, he wondered why he ever called himself anything.

His back was turned to a group, all in white cloaks. Everyone was looking forward to the day, he even fooled himself into rejoicing. There were six others behind him, and they turned every which way to stare at the damage done. That same damage which they all wished for. He was no different, he was complicit. That much was known, has been known for a few years now.

The sky was blanketed with a thin cloud of smoke and soot rained down. He saw several fumes billowing up, far away toward a civilization that might have once been.

It’s far too quiet. Did we all sleep during the collapse? What is left of us?

Despite the sunglasses he wore over his head shaved bald, his eyes were wide and the image was seared into his retinas. Little red streaks of veins filled his eyes and tears fell without him registering that they were tears at all. Indeed, despite the sting, they came off as little more to him than a mild allergic reaction.

In the distance, but not nearly as far, the Rockies had all toppled over, taking down several evergreen trees with it. Nay, those trees, once evergreen, were withered in the very same instant as the rest of the collapse. He caught a glint, a faint glimmer, of a lake, or some body of water, also covered in soot.

Surrounding the church members, him included, were dead beetles, lying on their backs, legs stood up stiff.

Yes, he knew what such a wish entailed, but like Joyce, he just thought of it as a practical joke that everyone was in on. Just some fun little get together with horrible implications.

His bushy, black eyebrows, his soft and pink cracked lips which trembled while he remained motionless. There was a last chance of salvation in his pocket, but at the moment, all he could think was:

“We did this.”

He was the second member of the church.

Never one to put stock into those cults with their egotistical leaders and their made up, bullshit worships, he only had a passing awareness of what such a world was like. Things like:

“Distrust outsiders.”

“Devote yourself to us.”

When he met the first member, the de facto leader, he wasn’t thinking about any of that crap.

No, with his sharp, black plastic rain jacket, he walked through the rainy streets of his city. The hood of his jacket was up and he had stretched the strings down to scrunch the hood in such a way that, in theory, it would have protected his face and not let the rain in.

Fat chance.

The rain came down with a slant, almost as if targeting his face specifically.

He hated the smell of rain, the raw and vinegary scent of the dumpsters he passed by, and the scent his hair got after it was drenched. Like mildew, or soft, fuzzy mold.

If he could, he would have left all of the scents of the city he lived in behind. There were never any prospects for him there and all the people he passed by either pissed him off or depressed him.

At one of his favorite haunts, however, he found solace:

A tavern, simply called the Fat Tiger. Somehow, the sidewalk near the bar had perfect, smooth sidewalks, while the sidewalk outside of the zone that was the ‘Fat Tiger Zone’ was cracked, uneven, and gravelly.

Inside the bar, it was cloaked in darkness and had that familiar, musty scent. As if everyone, man and woman alike, forgot what the concept of ‘hygiene’ was. He smelled no such floral scents, and the closest fruity scent was the sour grape smell that the patron’s sweat brought with them.

Little lights hung above, orange and glimmering. There was a strobe effect, but he couldn’t place from where or what it came from.

On the mat by the door, he dragged his feet along. His slick, black stiletto heels, which were once pristine leather, now had splotches of brown from all the mud tracked on it.

God damn puddles.

Even though he tried some modicum of politeness and hung up his jacket on the stiff, wooden coat rack to his left, he couldn’t help but drip remnants of the rain onto the wooden floorboards, sloppily painted red.

He forced himself to smile, even though he couldn’t break himself of the slouch he carried with him. While trudging his way to an empty stool at the bar, he spotted a tall lady, with shoulder length, plum colored hair, curled inward.

“Now what’s a...doing in a...like this?” He wanted to ask, but refrained from such trite questions.

He too had shoulder length at the time; black and matted. He’d try to tame it and keep himself neat and tidy, but gave up somewhere along the way. At work, he wore his hair in a bun, and a net over his hair. Ugh...just the thought of work was starting to give him a headache, and he had yet to have a single sip of ale.

He sat upon a stool, leaning one leg up before the other. He wasn’t exactly a short man, by any means, but those stools could be so god. Damn. Tall.

“Not wearing the usual deerstalker and flannel?” Meringue asked. She was a stocky woman, orange polka-dot sweater dress, saggy breasts, and bushy orange hair with hints of gray and green, almost as if her hair was a moldy tangerine. Somehow, that fit her, and some nights, Pynchon could swear that Meringue was the most beautiful woman in his life.

“Have you seen the weather outside? It just wouldn’t be appropriate,” he shook his head and folded his elbows over the table.

His usual attire which he wore to the bar, and the attire he wouldn’t part with, even after joining the church, was at home. He really didn’t want to think about returning there.

“Is there a spare room tonight?” He asked Meringue.

“Afraid not. Another gentleman beat you to it.”

“Ain’t that the pits?” He chuckled, his soft, but gravelly voice. It was the same kind of voice that Meringue had, and sometimes he could have sworn the two were the same people.

“Will you have your usual tonight?”

He shook his head.

“Just give me a bottle of hard cider.”

His usual drink was a pint of plum brandy. He would have preferred if they left the pit in, but he couldn’t blame Meringue for that; she was a simple bartender, not the one who brewed the blasted drink.

“How’s the knees? And them wrinkles?”

“Fuck,” was all Meringue had to say.

“Is there anything more to say about that?”

He chuckled, which was about all he could do these days. In order to produce a laughter more raucous, someone would have to tell him a joke funny enough to kill him.

Both of them were in their 40s and aged far too early, put under the weight of their lots in life. Despite all that, or because of that, to the other, they saw the other as a sort of divine beauty. It wasn’t a romantic attraction, however, nor anything else quite as sentimental: Meringue had her shitty husband, Pynchon had his shitty girlfriend.

Neither were satisfied, but both were far too accustomed to do much else.

“Does Lorelei know you’re out drinking?” The bartender asked while pulling a bottle out of the fridge.

“No. And it doesn’t matter.”

“Rough day?”

He chuckled again.

“When is it not?” His smile lowered back into that wide, glum expression he was far too used to.

By day, he worked at a paper mill. His clothes would get covered in the scent of mulch and pulp, with debris gathering all over as well. Any of his clothes that he once considered nice no longer applied, as several rounds in the washing machine could attest to. The money was decent, or, at one point was decent. By the point he was at, it was only just enough to get by, and even then, he could only afford to live in his home due to the income supplanted by his girlfriend’s job.

It was a rather twisted sense of hilarious, as any who passed him by might have mistook him for being homeless.

Meringue slid the bottle on the table, and he slid a $20 bill from out of his pocket.

He was about to say, “keep the change,” before he noticed that the lady with the plum hair beside him was without a drink.

She really is quite the looker, he examined before slapping on another $20 on the table.

“Get this fine lady a drink as well, will you?” He looked up at Meringue before tapping the stranger’s shoulder and asking, “hey. What do you want?”

She flinched, less like she was bracing for hurt, and more like she just got tickled when she turned to him, her face held a rather crooked smile, almost lopsided, like she was caught taking a cookie out of a cookie jar.

“A peter pan, please,” she said with a twinkling timbre. It reminded him of the first sign of spring. Her bangs were parted on each end, which revealed her forehead, with a few freckles, but nary a blemish otherwise. Her lips were a crimson red, and smeared just a little to give off the impression that she didn’t know how to apply lipstick. That, or…

Her lips were bloody.

No, he shook away such thoughts.

No matter what images sprung forth, he couldn’t deny the sight before him: like a porcelain doll, or a nymph bathing by a hidden fountain of water.

“A peter pan?” He asked. “You come to a bar, a seedy one at that, and you order a kiddie drink?” He almost sounded incensed, but he meant it in a joking way. It didn’t really matter. She could order cotton candy for all he cared and he would have still obliged her.

“I wish to have a clear head while it’s still mine.”

Her head was tilted, and her palms rested off to the side. The angle seemed to straighten out her face more than staring straight ahead did.

Damn. She really is...she’s…

He felt that spark in his groin. For now, he ignored it.

“What brings you to a place like this, anyway?”

“Well…” she kicked her legs about and looked up at the ceiling. A rather uninteresting sight, although he gave it a quick glanced. All he saw was a tiny abyss. “This isn’t a world I’m used to visiting, but I needed something to frighten me. I’ve fallen under hard times, you see.”

“Damn. You too, huh?”

“Yes. I lost my job. Or rather, there were things my job could no longer provide.”

“What did you do?”

“I was a psychological researcher. Not a psychologist, as I didn’t quite work with people. But I worked with the brain.”

“A neurologist?”

“No. Something close. My team’s research was rather famous. If I told you my name, you might have heard of me.”

“Probably not. I never cared much for that stuff. I already know I’m messed up, I don’t need to know the names for what I got. Part of the problem is society.”

“Yes. People don’t fear enough.”

“Don’t fear enough?! You’ve got surveillance, drugs, violence in the street, half of which is perpetuated by the authorities. We can barely afford to live and are in constant worry, and you’re telling me we don’t fear enough?”

“I’m sorry. I misspoke. What I meant is that we’re not in touch with our fears. We are afraid, but don’t know how to deal with it, and it keeps us from progressing.”

“Oh, yes, I’m frozen in fear,” he retorted. He never expected to get angry with such a beauty, someone who just a minute he considered akin to a Greek goddess. Blame the atmosphere.

“I know. You’re afraid of your life, afraid that it will never change, but too afraid to break out of it, either, for fear of disrupting your routine. Surely, breaking away would lead to a greater fear, but perhaps a greater life as well.”

Damn. I changed my mind. This chick’s nuts.

The room spun around him and he could have sworn he never took a swig from his bottle, yet it felt half empty in his hand. Shadows were cast on this lady’s face and all the features he thought he could once identify (the shamrock green eyes, the thin eyebrows, those freckles on her forehead) dissipated as her face turned to black clouded rain.

“People aren’t afraid of monsters these days because the monsters in their lives are always with them. But those fairy tale monsters, they do exist, you know? Ghosts, vampires, werewolves. I’ve seen them all.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I am not. I know you think I am, but haven’t you ever woken up to scratches you couldn’t explain? Felt a chill in an otherwise warm area? Walked into a room and forgotten why you were there? Do you really think those things only came from your mind?”

He waved his hand away.

Meringue came by and set down the glass: a cocktail of dry gin, peach bitters, and orange juice, with a couple of other mixtures. He couldn’t remember it all, nor did he care.

“Thank you. Has anyone ever told you how lovely you look? Especially that orange and green in your hair. You remind me of an orchard,” she told Meringue.

“Aw, shucks. You’re gonna make me blush.”

The lady, someone who Pynchon no longer had a grasp on, turned back to him.

“I want to help people with their fears. I believe with your help, we can guide the world. There’s a great mother waiting for us all, and I need five more people to make a complete group. Will you help me?”

He knew well enough.

She’s crazy, but good enough for a lay, he thought, before saying:

“I’ll think about it. Give me your number. If I’m interested, I’ll give you a call.”

She smiled and handed him a business card from her pocket. As he took it, the sensation conjured images of dipping his hand in black ink. It was repulsive, but not enough to get him to pull away.

Pynchon, or the name the man once went by, walked home in the blistering rain, chugging down his bottle and singing an orchestral tune along the way. He waltzed about, but he knew that as soon as he walked in the door of his home that the feeling wouldn’t last.

His home one was a, in relative terms, modest one.

It rested on the outskirts of the suburbs where grass didn’t grow. It was a yellow house, one floor, with paint scratched up and a roof covered in moss. Off to the side were wilted flowers, back from when his girlfriend tried to start a garden, but quit when she realized she would have to consistently water the plants. The windows which overlooked the front of the house were all boarded up. Some folks would walk by and whisper rumors about Pynchon’s home being a drug den. It was a joke between him and his girlfriend that they really did cook hard drugs in their home, even though neither did.

The truth was far simpler: some rowdy kids had accidentally tossed baseballs at their windows and shattered the glass, and rather than get them fixed, the couple settled with boarding them up.

He rustled in his pockets for his keys. A few blocks back, he tossed the bottle of hard cider in an an open-faced dumpster.

The drink didn’t get him drunk.

It barely gave him a buzz.

When he opened the door, it creaked and in the living room sat his girlfriend, Lorelei, cross-legged and cross-armed on their beige colored sofa. Her face, too, was cross.

“You reek of alcohol,” she grumbled.

“I reek of rain,” he argued. Whatever bliss he had on the way home left as soon as he saw her:

Her hair was dirty blonde and ragged, her cheeks sagged, and her eyes drooped. Not even the hazelnut shade of eyes which matched the shade of the burn marks of her cheeks (a childhood accident, a long story). She wore a white tank top (those thin ones...what did they call them again? Wife-beaters? Ha. What a joke) and gray, baggy sweatpants.

“Whatever. You’re always going to reek,” she went on.

“Then why mention it? Are you just looking for something to complain about?”

He shimmied over to her, even as all words told him not to.

The TV was on in the background, and flashing white lights filled the house. The kitchen, in the back corner, flashed. He didn’t even want to look at the mess that was the backyard.

Whatever. The whole house was a mess.

Some nauseating shade of brown always greeted him; the painted tapestry on the walls, some of which had peeled off. The living room was cluttered with stacks of books, magazines, and newspaper. There were stuffed animals of clowns and creatures from the jungle thrown about. On the walls were shelves, a darker, burnt shade of brown, which housed various trinkets they found at antique shops and flea markets, most porcelain or tin.

He sat next to her and felt a loose spring try to poke out from the cushion.

On TV was some old film, silent, and featuring a man in a striped suit pantomiming.

“Got anything nice to say?” He asked while crossing his legs and arms in the process.

“Do you?” She echoed.

“You know, I met this girl at the bar.”

“Did you fuck her?”

“Would you get mad if I said yes?”

“I don’t care. Would you get mad if I was seeing someone else?”

At one point, he would have feared such a prospect. Now, it felt like winning the lottery.

“Maybe you should. Better make sure they make enough. I know you can’t survive on your current income. What would happen if I left? Would you go homeless?”

“I could ask you the same. If I got fired, or quit, you couldn’t afford to keep living here.”

Pynchon sighed.

“You know, if we ever both go homeless, I’m not going to stay with you. I would rather die in a ditch.”

Her face was stiff. He stared at her and noticed the stiffness and wondered if she would cry.

Damn it. Feel something.

She didn’t cry.

“We’re both going to die homeless,” she said, “maybe we should just quit our jobs or get fired and get it over with.”

It was an enticing offer.

Neither Pynchon nor Lorelei knew how the two had come to hate each other, only that they did now. There was no doubt that at one point, they gave each other warmth in their lives and even after fights, were all smiles.

Now, the only reason they were together was because they depended on each other to keep living. Neither understood why they let the other live.

Their relationship ran its course years ago. There was no returning to that, and anything it could turn into would have surely been worse than the current toleration of the other.

Even still, that strange woman at the bar must have had a point, as the very next day, Pynchon called her up and left the house, no note, no explanation.

He never knew what happened to Lorelei. He almost felt a sick, poisonous delight in the idea of her being destitute.

The strange, yet alluring lady, explained that she was starting something she called ‘the church,’ and that she named herself HD, after a famous author. She also urged him to do the same and pick the last name of an author to go by.

Of course he saw it as weird, but he went along with it. He was never much of a reader, but two books which stuck in his mind was Gravity’s Rainbow and Inherent Vice by the author Thomas Pynchon. The way that man wrote in simple, casual language really resonated with him. Forget shit like themes or plot structure, Pynchon just came off as the easiest name to use.

HD took Pynchon around the country in a white Volkswagen van, and they ate out at various restaurants and diners along the road. Pynchon ate better than he had in years, even while sleeping in a hammock in the back of the van.

There was no doubt in his mind that he was homeless, but at least he was away from his old life. That much he could get behind.

Sooner or later, she’ll let me lay her, he told himself, and to that end went along with every whim she had. It didn’t matter to him whether or not he believed her speeches. He was waiting on a promise that would never come to pass.

Watching the state of the world upon that stump made him realize that one promise was fulfilled:

“Do you know what it means to pray for Mother’s arrival? It means that we would be praying for genocide.”

The words echoed in his mind. The words he told to Joyce, the young man he recruited.

Now, he saw how true those words were.

He reached into his inner pocket and found his salvation.

I’ll still have the last laugh, he told himself while giving off a wide, crooked grin.

“Well, looks like my work here is done,” he announced, his voice hoarse, and with much less humor than he wished to express. It didn’t seem to turn any heads.

Tears ran down his face, and he was thankful for his round, dark glasses.

“Are you harboring doubts?” He remembered asking Joyce. In fact, it was the very same day.

He held his salvation up under his chin. He gulped and his throat hit the cold, steel barrel. It was loaded with a single bullet. If he failed, he would be in a lot of pain, but a heat rose within him which indicated that luck was on his side.

He pulled the prick near the end of his salvation and a shot rang out through the air, a sharp howl which echoed. It was like a banshee walked up to every member of the church and screeched.

Everyone’s heads turned toward Pynchon, who fell over, lifeless. The pistol dropped onto the ground next to the stump, on the other side of him. Blood had sprayed onto the ground and painted the black beetles red.

They all shook and their eyes went wide. Most didn’t react beyond that. One of them screamed, but no one could tell who it was, not even the one who screamed.

“What the…?” Joyce uttered and tears welled up in his eyes and flooded his face. Some of the blood had gotten on the cloak that Joyce wore.

Joyce wiped away the tears, even as they still flowed.

No. No. I told myself long ago that I was numb to all this, he tried to coach himself out of distress.

“Wow,” Ocampo said, and said nothing more.

She sat on the ground next to Joyce.

Behind them, the trio of Borges, Steinbeck, and Mansfield sat together. Borges to the left, closer to Ocampo, and Mansfield to the right, furthest away from everyone.

It didn’t seem like the three were shocked, but Joyce wasn’t always the best at reading people’s reactions, even though he knew that everyone responded to distress differently.

Pynchon had been off to the side of the white building that was the church’s headquarters, near the back. All the rest were near the front. Most of them were lost in their own conversations right before the shot rang out. Only the most fervent believers had an idea of what happened to the world. Joyce and Ocampo simply speculated.

“Well, then,” an absentminded and dull voice broke through the silence. “Now that I have your attention, I would like to explain what happens next.”

Everyone turned to face the tall woman in the white cloak, her hood down. She was bald, as was everyone else, and her pale skin, thin eyebrows, and freckles on her forehead were the main identifiers that separated her from everyone else. She often reminded Joyce of one of those department store mannequins.

Joyce often liked to look around and imagine what the church members used to look like before shaving the tops of their heads. Some of them had grown back part of their hair, even if at most, they had what he would describe as a pixie cut.

As usual, he looked around, except when his gaze met the back of Pynchon’s lifeless frame, he cringed and shuddered.

“So –” HD began to speak again, but Joyce wouldn’t have it.

“Hey! One of our members just committed suicide and you want to hold a meeting?!” Whatever tears he had faded away and in its place was a red-faced righteous anger.

HD glanced over to Pynchon’s corpse, then looked away in the other direction and toward the ground where the corpses of bugs rested.

“Yes. It’s quite sad. We’re down one church member. I often relied on him to recruit new members, since I’m...uh…” her pale face almost looked blue, as if she was gasping for air, “I’m not so good with people.”

“That’s what you’re sad about?!”

“We need seven to make it work.”

“Make what work?” Joyce huffed. His rage was palpable and he snorted out every other breath. What was more baffling to him was that no one else seemed to be as angry.

“That’s what I was going to get into. See, Mother has arrived. The world population of every creature has been reduced by over 90%. In its place will be beasts. There is no need to be alarmed, however, as each of us will help restore humanity. It will take seven church members, and scattered about are different objects. For symbolism’s sake, we’ll call these objects ‘trumpets’. Each of us will sound these trumpets and gain abilities which will help guide humanity.”

“Excuse me?” Joyce raised his hand. “I’ve been going along with this ‘mother’ business, but I really have to ask: do you have some kind of Oedipus Complex? Were you not loved enough as a kid?”

“Good one,” Ocampo slapped Joyce’s shoulder and sneered.

A soaring, glowing feeling worked its way into him and he wondered just how far he could carry that feeling.

“Um, well...are you interested in my personal life?” HD fidgeted in place without making eye contact with Joyce.

“No. I just want to know what your deal is. Why this Mother thing? I’m tired of everyone giving me vague crap instead of just coming out and saying what they mean.”

“Mother is...yes. I see now. Many civilizations have had their form of a mother goddess. The Anatolian civilization had Cybele, the mountain mother. The Babylonian civilization had Tiamat. Mother is no exception. A better name might be ‘Fear’ as that is what our Mother is.”

“Fear?” Joyce’s head tilted.

“Yes. Many see the emotion of fear as an enemy, rather than the nurturer it is. I have made contact with our mother, Fear, and I have been tasked to build a mythology. Are you familiar with the book of Revelations from the Christian bible?”

“Is this what it is? You brought about the apocalypse because you wanted to recreate a series of events that were meant to be allegory?”

“No. I wanted us to create a new mythology and make it into reality.”

“And you decided to copy a pre-existing one? How is that making a new one?”

“Well...nothing is wholly original…”

“Yeah, but what you’re describing is plagiarism.”

“I’m impressed,” Ocampo nudged Joyce, “you went past being skeptical of the world ending and are now just criticizing the one responsible.”

“Oh, no. I’m still skeptical. I just can’t deny what’s in front of my eyes. Maybe outside of Colorado, most of the world is fine. For all I know, HD might have just used some explosives or used special effects to give off the impression that actual damage was done.”

“I..didn’t. That would kill a lot of people,” HD interjected.

“Oh, right. We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Joyce put his hands on his hips and leaned forward, “even though according to you, most of the world is DEAD.”

“I didn’t bring it about, though. I only invited Fear here. This destruction is simply a byproduct of Fear’s arrival.”

“If you knew it would happen, sounds like you’re responsible.”

HD turned her head, stared straight into Joyce’s eyes at last. Her shimmering green eyes shifted to a bright, orange, fiery look. Joyce shuddered.

“I see now. This is why Pynchon recruited you. I needed this,” she said with an icy calmness. Despite the burning glare, her words nor voice showed anger.

“What?” Joyce had no words of rebuttal, only confusion.

She continued, however, with no further explanation given:

“Each of you will be tasked with finding your trumpet. It may appear in any form, but each one will grant you abilities based on what suits you. Once the seven have been sounded, the next phase can begin.”

“What is the next phase?”

“Up to your discretion. It cannot truly begin until we have seven members again.”

“Why?”

“Because it felt most significant. That’s why there are seven trumpets. For each of us. They aren’t meant for anyone else.”

“I don’t know. I prefer six, personally,” Ocampo added her opinion, “with seven, it was always going to be uneven on the male/female ratio. With six, we can have an even three and three.”

Joyce counted each member, including himself: indeed, there were three male members (Joyce, Steinbeck, Borges) and three female members (Ocampo, HD, Mansfield). However, there was a glaring issue.

“Excuse me? Do you even count as a member? Aren’t you the leader? Shouldn’t that mean that we need two more members?” Joyce pointed to HD.

“Well...I thought we were all leaders…”

“No,” Joyce said, and nodded his head, slowly. “You organized this. You planned this. You supplied the food and housing, you brought your ‘Mother’ here. God damn, I must have landed in the most incompetent cult in existence, and this is saying something.”

“I need my trumpet, too,” HD whimpered and pursed her lips.

“I think you’re doing great,” Mansfield spoke up. Her face was gaunt and she looked so frail. “I hope we can find another member. Whoever they are, maybe I can fall in love with them.”

“Fat chance,” Joyce turned toward Mansfield, “who are you going to find? Most people are dead, if you haven’t noticed. Are you really expecting to find love in the apocalypse?”

Joyce couldn’t imagine anything more absurd than two people banding together in such desperate times against grotesque creatures and falling in love with each other.

“Let her dream,” Ocampo patted Joyce’s shoulder.

“Yes! Dreams! I cannot wait!” Borges stood up, his fist in the air. Joyce took note of Borges’ curled mustache and how round Borges was. It made Joyce think of a meatball, and he imagined that even when Borges had his hair above his head, he never had much of it.

“I for one like that the population has been reduced. Maybe now there will be enough food to go around for everyone,” Steinbeck sat and nodded while stroking his long, light brown beard. His wrinkles and creases all over his face, his dark, sunken eyes, all were signs that Steinbeck was the oldest of the group. Joyce imagined Steinbeck’s hair was once either blonde or white, and long and stringy, and that he liked to wear a straw hat.

“Are you kidding? That ‘overpopulation’ fallacy? The problem with the world was never how many people we had!” Joyce shouted.

“Never mind them. Worry about what you want to do and how you will survive,” Ocampo whispered into Joyce’s ear. He hated to admit, but he felt his member shift around in his brown, hay woven pants and stiffen.

These pants are too tight. My dick’s too uncomfortable. Damn it, why did she have to blow into my ear? Doesn’t she know how sensitive my ears are?

HD clapped.

“This concludes our meeting. While the church will still exist, in its current form, it is disbanded. Go out and do what you will. With any luck, we shall all meet again.”

HD was the first to walk off. Mansfield got up and ran behind HD. Maybe the two would follow each other?

For the moment, both Borges and Steinbeck remained in place.

As did Joyce.

While Ocampo stood up, Joyce stopped her from walking away, grabbing hold of her wrist. Once again, the appendage between Joyce’s leg stiffened further and began to throb as his legs heated up.

Why is holding onto her arm turning me on? What is wrong with me?

Ocampo looked down and smirked.

“What’s the matter, boy? Are you going to miss me?”

“Of course not! But what are we going to do about Pynchon? Shouldn’t we bury him?”

“Leave him. The carrion will find him. And if they don’t, the beasts will.”

“Don’t tell me you believe in that crap! I don’t care if most of the world has died out, but that doesn’t mean there’s monsters all of a sudden!”

“I don’t know what is or isn’t real right now,” she shook her head while continuing to hold her smirk. “Like you and Pynchon, I never believed in this ‘church,’ I only joined and played along because I had nowhere else to go in my life. All three of us come from similar places, but that doesn’t mean we’re all the same people. I want to see what’s out there, and if I can influence the world, I will. Despite how horrible things have become, I still want to believe some good can come of it.”

“Let me come with you! We can survive together!”

She chuckled.

“You’re desperate, aren’t you? What’s the matter? The poor cynical boy who cursed the world started to catch feelings?”

“No! Quit fucking with me! You’re just the only connection to Pynchon I still have! He mentored me! You knew him, too!”

He let go of her wrist. She held her wrist in her other hand and rubbed it. Joyce knew he didn’t squeeze that hard, so he found the gesture odd.

“Good luck out there. May we meet again,” were her parting words.

He huffed.

Bitterness filled him.

Of course. Being alone still suits me best, he told himself.

Time and time again, he expected to die.

But one year passed and Joyce persisted.

At a certain point, a month or two ago, he raided a home in an otherwise wrecked suburbia. The once uniform, trimmed lawns, were overgrown, to the point they covered up many of the doors to the houses, or at least the ones that weren’t demolished by either the initial calamity or trampled over by beasts around the area.

In a way, the wrecked homes and furniture strewn about the cracked roadway with wilted flowers growing in between and overgrown grass lawns which could have housed any number of hidden beasts held a sort of obscene beauty in Joyce’s eyes.

Every now and then, he waited for a beast to jump out and tear him limb from limb. It brought him a perverse pleasure to imagine a scene of himself mauled by a beast while his intestines were pulled out by the teeth of a beast. His lifeless body turned into a mushy combination of yellow and red.

No beasts ever jumped out at him.

Instead, he found a button-up blue and white striped shirt from a dresser drawer. In another room of the house, he found a pair of blue jeans in his size. He abandoned his old clothes in the same house he found his new ones and moved on. As soon as he left the house, the large head of a hunched over beast poked out from the side of the house. It huffed hot air out of its large snout and several thin, human arm-like appendages poked out from the nostrils and wriggled about.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Joyce spotted the beast and fell back. He nearly pissed his pants, and his crotch grew cold. Despite that, the beast paid the young man no mind and took a step forward. The ground shook and before Joyce could get up, he fell again.

Yet again, the beast took no notice.

That was how Joyce’s life had gone. Beast surrounded him. Many resembling animals he recognized back before the calamity, but with oddities that didn’t fit with what he knew.

Despite all the danger he should have been in, the beasts never took notice of him. They never harmed him, they never looked his way. He never could find an explanation for it, and wondered if that was all the beast’s purpose served: to scare him, and nothing more.

He’d soil his pants on occasion and his apathy for life made him not want to bathe, even in situations when he could have done so. He ate whatever scraps he could find and raided any home he came across. Rashes developed on his arms and legs. Cuts formed from itching everywhere on his skin. Even when he didn’t have cuts, his skin was red all over. When it rained, he not only shivered, but it felt like his skin burned, and worse, his clothes clung to his drenched self.

He had yet to come across another person in his travels. No, that wasn’t true: once, he saw someone mauled by a beast while he watched, too paralyzed to help or run away. Ever since watching that person get murdered, he fantasized about it being him.

Where he stood at present was an unimpressive locale: a thick, forest atop a mountainous road. He knew that the road was close, and that the road was twisting and winding. What he couldn’t tell was whether he was still in the land once known as the state of Colorado, or if he had moved on to another former state. No, he knew such details didn’t matter to him. Names were in places, but now places were just places.

Few, if any hair, regrew on his head in the span of that year. Just brown patches throughout. Meanwhile, a thick mustache had attached itself and refused to let go, and curled hairs fixed its way across into what he could only call a haphazard goatee. His face had become larger, thicker than it once was, and his cheeks were constantly puffed out in a way that reminded him of a chipmunk. To make matters worse, it was once again raining that evening, and his clothes were not only drenched, he was not only broken out in hives, but he was also covered in mud.

The road was close. There was a bus shelter that he knew was close by, and its clear, glass awning would protect him from the rain. For the past few days, he dared not stray from the area near that bus shelter. It was like a shrine or temple to him.

“My, aren’t you an eyesore,” crooned the voice of someone he constantly tried to forget.

His usual slouch jolted him to turn around and for his back to straighten up. Before him stood a pristine, even as her white cloak had been grayed out from the rain, Ocampo.

“What? What are you doing here?!” He demanded. He blinked a few times, not sure if what he saw was real or not.

“It seems you’re still alive. Good,” she ignored his question. Her voice had that syrupy richness to it, and her smirk was the one thing he might have changed.

“Were you following me?”

“I already knew where you were.”

Between them, the bushes rustled. It could have been the wind, or some hidden beast nearby.

“So. Uh. How are you?”

She shook her head.

“Different.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“It’s all real – all of it. The lack of life, the beasts, and the trumpets.”

“The trumpets, too?! Tell me where they are! I’ve been all over, but I don’t know where to look or what they look like!”

She shook her head again.

“You don’t want it. Trust me. It’s best to keep living as you have. I found mine, and I picked it up. It changed me. I don’t know if I’m still human, but I know that what I am...it’s not how I should be.”

“You’re not making any sense!”

“When I picked it up and it sounded, I saw visions: I think I know now why she called it ‘Mother.’ It’s the reason for the beasts. It gives birth. It doesn’t stop giving birth, either. It’s like a living factory. That’s all I can call it.”

A sudden ache erupted on the side of Joyce’s head and he clutched it while squinting. He hadn’t noticed before, but she had a full head of hair: deep purple, like the color out of space. If he squinted further, he might have seen stars in her hair. It went down to her waist. Joyce couldn’t help but be enraged.

Why does she get her hair back? What about me?

“Never mind that,” he said through his headache, “what I want to know about are these trumpets. If they’re real, what ability did you obtain?”

“The ability to change others. You may not have noticed, but I too am covered in mud. Truly, nothing is quite so filthy as cleanliness.”

“I disagree.”

“I can make others into the selves they never knew they needed to be.”

“What if somebody doesn’t want to change? Or what if how they change isn’t what they need? I’m not saying I believe you, but how is such an ability helpful if you’re forcing someone into a role that they didn’t accept for themselves? I thought you had a controlling husband! What makes you any different from him?”

As soon as he said those words, he felt like he was struck by lightning, but Ocampo continued her smile.

“He was controlling, indeed. Every night, he made me make the meals, do his dishes, clean his floors that he spilled his food and drink all over. I was to fuck when he told me to fuck, not when I wanted. I was too meek to say no, too bound by my routine. He would come home, with men and women alike, a different one every other night, and I was to make no comment. I knew they were fucking. I heard them. Those grunts, those screams. Don’t you think I wanted to fuck another man or woman every once in a while?”

“I’m sorry.”

Her smile faded, but she didn’t look angry.

“So I left. I had to leave. There was no freedom for me there. Once, there might have been love. There must have been some reason I had gone with him before I turned into this dutiful housewife. I put on a smile for the children, I let them do as they pleased, but it wasn’t enough for me. When I left, I didn’t return home. I thought, once, about returning home to pick them up. But if I did, he might have been there. Maybe he returned early from work. Who knows? He would have beat me back into submission, made sure I had no means of escape again.”

“You had kids? And you just left them?”

Her smile returned, but it wasn’t a smirk. Droplets of water ran down from her face – the rain.

“Yes, I did. But I can do right by others. I can coerce others into the same freedom I now have. I can remove the shackles they didn’t know bound them.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Good. Keep it that way. If you want to preserve who are you, don’t seek out the trumpets. Forget about me.”

“You know I can never do that. I’ve always felt...”

She laughed and it sounded like the sounds of a macaw taking flight.

“Why, if that isn’t the essence of who you are: you say you don’t need anyone, but at the slightest hint that you might be into someone, you try latching onto them. You say everything is hopeless, but you so desperately want to hope. You’re not a pessimist, no: you’re a scared optimist.”

“Shut up! Everything is hopeless! No matter what I did to change the world, my efforts went unnoticed.”

“What’s more important: making things better or being noticed?”

“What I mean is, the people in power...they made sure the ones beneath them had no power. They blocked any attempt to make the world a better place at every turn. What hope could I have?”

“And? Where are these people in power now? Look around you: aren’t we the ones in power? What’s stopping you?”

“I lack resources! And look, the beasts! There’s nothing I can do unless I obtain that trumpet!”

“How have you survived as long as you have without finding one?”

“I’ve only survived because I went unnoticed! No matter how many times I thought a beast would kill me, they never looked my way!”

“My. Don’t you think that’s an amazing ability?”

“How? Tell me how!”

She shook her head.

“I don’t need to change you. All you need to do is see what you have.”

“What?”

But she disappeared from sight. There wasn’t a hint like she had faded away – no, it was like she was never there at all.

“Ha. I must have made up that whole conversation. Even made up a backstory for her that made sense to me. That’s all it was.”

His legs shook, but it wasn’t from the cold.

He found the bus station just as he left it. There was a thick fog in the air, but he was confident no beast would show up and attack him. He curled up on that stiff bench made of wooden boards and shivered. As he looked out into the fog, he thought he saw the outline of Ocampo’s face take shape. Everything was there, down to the mole under her lip and the widow’s peak of her hair.

“Look how feeble you are,” the wind howled in Ocampo’s sardonic tone.

Joyce curled up tighter and covered his face with his hands. With one final plea he shouted:

“MAKE IT END!”