#post-pandemic has been one hell of a time to be alive

[latin-dr-robotnik]

is it me or are we all kinda falling down a cliff right now?

[sirfrogsworth]

The Pretty Average Trump Trauma

I really picked the wrong week to have a controversial post go viral.

The appeal deadline for my disability case is very soon and we just recently got the last of the medical records. My lawyer can get very busy and hard to reach. And I have been freaking out trying to get a hold of him to make sure everything is ready to be submitted. Thankfully he just emailed and said everything is on track and will be sent in for the appeal.

But having this weighing on me behind the scenes while also dealing with the blowback from my "vote for Biden" post caused me to enter into some unhealthy arguments and lose my temper on several occasions.

I didn't actually think about what would happen if that post went viral. Sometimes I write things and a hundred people see it, and it serves as a catharsis because I was able to get my thoughts and fears out of my brain.

And sometimes it gets reblogged 6000 times and I can forget I have a platform where that happens from time to time.

I wish I had written a better initial post. I think my thoughts in subsequent posts, along with the inclusion of what I think is a better strategy, would have gone a long way to help people understand my point of view. Looking back, that original post feels incomplete.

The post that ended up going viral was not inspired by reason or logic and it was never really meant to convince anyone of anything.

I thought I was preaching to the choir.

It was a representation of my fears. It was the result of two years of panic and trauma from the pandemic which ended in my mother's horrible death.

Let me explain...

On November 9th, Shaun, a YouTuber I respect, posted this.

And it scared the hell out of me.

A very popular leftist with a huge platform wrote this to 5 million people and I freaked out.

Shaun wasn't necessarily saying not to vote for Biden at the time. But he thinks people should all say they won't vote for him unless he calls for a ceasefire. I get the strategy. But I feared that nuance would be lost on many people and they would only see it as "don't vote for Biden... no matter what." Which was an accurate prediction on my part. The guy from Eve 6 has been going nuance-free for weeks now.

The one thing I greatly disagree with Shaun about is this...

Before the pandemic, I might have understood his argument. For the first two years, Trump was mostly an ineffectual goof. He had trouble getting a lot of his worst ideas to manifest. Most of the border wall he built ended up being repairs of existing barriers. And Obama droned civilians and kept kids in cages too—though Trump kept them in cages indefinitely and made up a rule that we can't actually know how many civilians he was droning.

So, a lot of the same, but turned up to 11.

But nothing about the pandemic response was pretty average.

There is something I have been choosing not to say during all of these discussions. I felt like saying it would be poor timing. I was worried people wouldn't actually agree with me. I worried it would make people think I was turning suffering into a competition. I didn't want to make it look like I valued certain lives over others. But then people accused me of all of that anyway. I was called evil and a collaborator and a supporter of genocide.

So I'm going to talk about it. Because the fact that few have mentioned it in these discussions has been bothering me. And the fact that the majority of society does not mention it makes me feel very alone in this belief.

I have long believed Trump and the majority of US conservatives committed a genocide of the disabled and elderly. I was never really comfortable calling it that word. I wasn't really sure how a genocide got classified as such. So I would just say things like, "40% of people who died during COVID should still be alive" and "Trump is responsible for hundreds of thousands of COVID deaths" and "Trump killed my mom" and hoping people would make the connection or at least see it as mass murder. I mean, this country judges everything by how many "9/11s" something is, but not the pandemic?

Donald Trump was the leader of the Republican party. When he refused to wear a mask due to vanity, his followers looked for something to excuse him. And I feel that directly birthed the "masks don't work" movement among conservatives. Donald Trump, having enormous influence among his acolytes, refused to correct this dangerous rhetoric. And he probably welcomed the cover so he could continue going maskless and not smear his makeup—even after he nearly died.

It is my belief this was the beginning of a genocide of apathy, deliberate and accidental incompetence, and non-compliance. And the reason for that non-compliance was not freedom as many claimed.

Conservatives did not like being inconvenienced.

They didn't like having to consider others.

And if competence requires effort and vigilance, they'd prefer doing the bare minimum.

Trump was famous for not filling vital administrative positions in the executive branch. Not only that, his turnover rate was 5 times higher than previous administrations. People were asked to do the job of several people because they didn't staff properly, and so those people quit. Thus creating a cycle of inexperienced new-hires that were out of their depth and asked to do much more than they bargained for. There is no way they could succeed in their jobs.

I think people forget that part of the role of the executive is the day-to-day boring administrative shit that is required to run a country. And when this day-to-day work isn't valued, it creates a crisis of incompetence. Which then creates things like not enough tests, not enough testing, Trump saying "if you don't test, it doesn't count", botched vaccine rollouts, rampant misinformation, poor education of the populace, and abysmal improvised press conferences where the President does a quick riff on injecting bleach.

This competence aspect is one of the hugest reliefs I had with the Biden administration. Not Biden. Not his policies. I'm talking about the regular workers getting shit done. This is the reason I am desperate to get my shit worked out with Social Security before the election. I once called Social Security during the pandemic and I literally got a recording saying to try calling back the next month.

Trump didn't care. People criticized him for not hiring people. He was aware of the problem. He just did nothing about it. And many conservatives praised him for "trimming the fat" or whatever. This idea that all of these government workers were useless burdens on the taxpayer fell apart during the pandemic.

There is incompetence caused by ignorance but it can also be a deliberate act. Trump was extraordinary in all forms of incompetence. He wasn't qualified to manage a pandemic. But he could have easily appointed experts and then gotten out of the way. But his narcissism would not let him cede power to anyone. He has always been convinced "only Trump can save you" and so his ego helped kill nearly half a million people.

Once the incompetence ball got rolling, that's when malicious apathy reared its ugly head. It was time to choose who they cared least about dying—who they felt was most useless. Conservatives decided it was time to devalue lives and start making sacrifices to save politicians' money laundering fronts small businesses.

Popular conservatives were going on TV and saying it was okay if Grandma died. It would be a worthy sacrifice to protect our freedoms.

The Lt. Governor of Texas, Dan Patrick, basically offered up the elderly for sacrifice all while claiming that he spoke for them and was also willing to die. Though I don't take his personal willingness very seriously, since he has the money and resources to get the best medical care and probably had no expectation he was in any danger.

“No one reached out to me and said, ‘As a senior citizen, are you willing to take a chance on your survival in exchange for keeping the America that all America loves for your children and grandchildren?’ But if they had? If that is the exchange, I’m all in. So my message is let’s get back to work. Those of us who are 70-plus, we’ll take care of ourselves.”

But you cannot just sacrifice the elderly. You may justify it by saying they have lived a long life, but many of the same health risks were shared by the disabled. Many of whom still had normal lifespans, but just needed extra care and protection.

There are countless elderly who cannot "take care of themselves" but they are still of value to our society. They are still loved. They watch and teach their grandchildren. They are the keepers of the family stories. They bake cookies and give you two dollar bills. They have random bowls of butterscotch all throughout their house.

But some need help. Some are sick. Some can't drive. Some can't walk. I guarantee not all of them were prepared to die for the cause.

And none deserved to die for a sports bar.

Oh, didn't I mention?

Dan Patrick owned a chain of sports bars that were losing money from the lockdowns. Did you really think he was sacrificing old folks "for the children"?

Thankfully Dan's sports bars are gonna be okay. He ended up receiving a $179,000 PPP loan... that was forgiven.

Then they started saying COVID deaths weren't COVID deaths.

"Well, they had a bad heart." "They were obese." "They had cancer."

They dropped the elderly excuse and began to openly devalue the disabled as well. If you were sick, what good were you? They considered us the next sacrifices for their convenience. If we wanted to survive, we shouldn't have gotten sick. It didn't matter that we could survive for years or even have a normal lifespan as long as we were protected by our communities.

And then began the non-compliance.

Trump's followers ignored masks and lockdowns and eventually vaccines. They were unwilling to protect the vulnerable and so many of us just... died.

Again, 40% of the US COVID deaths could have been prevented. Hundreds of thousands of people should still be here. Malicious apathy, incompetence, and non-compliance were the direct cause of this genocide.

The United Nations Genocide Convention identified 5 acts that typically constitute genocide. Only one act is required and in the pandemic 3 of the 5 acts happened.

Killing members of a group. Causing members of a group serious bodily harm. Imposing living conditions on that group that would destroy them.

I'm looking at that third one just now and realizing why we have advocates to remind us of vulnerable groups that need protection. I was thinking about how the elderly and disabled were trapped in hyper-contagious nursing homes and care facilities, but I completely forgot about prisons and the concentration camps at the borders.

I am not trying to diminish the awful things happening in Palestine right now. This is not a comparison of suffering—but a reminder. When a current terrible thing is happening, it can be hard to focus on anything else. But I do wish more people recognized what happened as a genocide and that the leader of that genocide, the one with the power to stop it, was Donald Trump. If we are going to base this voting decision entirely on acts of genocide, why is this not part of the consideration?

It is an awful moral calculus we have to figure out. One president is supporting and asking for funding for a genocide and I feel the other was the direct cause of another genocide. That's why I said both choices sucked. And the only way I could resolve this moral calculation was by asking what path would cause the least harm for everyone involved.

And the most disappointing aspect of all of these debates was the ableism. People told me if Trump was elected and I lost my benefits I should grow my own food and learn about medicine. They said I valued disabled lives above those in Gaza. They told me to imagine myself in Nazi Germany as a collaborator despite the fact I would have been euthanized.

But I felt like they weren't considering the disabled at all.

I am a disability advocate. So of course I am going to remind people to consider us in their voting decisions. But I'm tired of hearing I value lives differently just because I speak on behalf of a vulnerable group more often. I'm tired of continually having to justify my existence. And I'm tired of people dismissing the very real trauma caused by Trump.

It was not pretty average.

I'd like to tell you the full story of my mother's passing. All of the details. Even the ones I can't bear to type. But this isn't just my story. This is the story of countless others who had to watch their loved ones slowly die behind glass or over the phone or on an iPad.

I spent two years in constant anxiety trying to protect my two very sick parents. It was always assumed that my father was the most at risk. And that he was probably going to die long before my mother. But she had started a treatment for her psoriatic arthritis that turned the volume down on her immune system. Something that would normally not be a huge risk... but a pandemic changed that. A vaccine needs a functioning immune system to protect someone.

She could either accept the agony of stopping treatment or risk getting COVID. If people would have been willing to protect her, it would have been an easier choice. And she would still be around today. And I wouldn't have to worry about being homeless right now.

I don't know for sure when she was infected. I kept her inside as much as possible. But she needed those treatments and we had to pile into a crowded waiting room every time. And I remember a man in his fifties who seemed preoccupied with having to wear a mask. And when he thought no one was looking, he'd pull it down below his nose. A few days later she was being taken away in an ambulance.

A few weeks before my mother died, she called me on the phone. She was heavily medicated and they had two different breathing devices assisting her. The nurse was holding the phone up to her ear and she was trying to speak over the volume of the air rushing into her face from the masks. I could not hear her no matter how loud she yelled. So she asked the nurse to take the masks off for just a second so we could talk.

Her only concern was for my father. We all contracted COVID and she was so worried he would end up just like her. Thankfully the vaccine worked for him and he was okay at that moment. But she kept yelling, "Is Dad okay? Is Dad okay?" And I kept trying to tell her he was fine, but she was hard of hearing and the phone could not be held very close to her ear.

Unfortunately, the yelling made it harder and harder for her to breathe. She started gasping for air. The nurse kept insisting she put the breathing equipment back on, but my mom refused. "I want to talk to my son! I need to talk to my son!"

I knew there wasn't much we could do to communicate. And so I kept trying to yell "I love you, Mom. Everyone is fine. I love you!" I then asked the nurse to tell her that. And when she finally understood what I was saying, she burst into tears.

Her oxygen levels were getting dangerously low and she was fighting the nurse. And she just yelled out, "I'm so scared! I think I'm going to die! Tell Dad I'm sorry I can't take care of him! I don't want to die!" She kept repeating that over and over. The nurse had no choice and had to put the masks back on. My mom screamed and shouted "No! Please no! That's my son!"

And those were the last words I ever heard from my mother.

Gasping for air. Scared of dying. Worried about her family.

This moment has intrusively popped into my brain on a regular basis since it happened. It happens when I'm awake. It happens in my dreams. I have no control over it. I just have to keep experiencing it like it is happening for the first time.

After I saw that tweet from Shaun and then many others expressing the same thing (without the strategic aspect), my dread and trauma resurfaced with a vengeance. I've been reliving my mom's final words in my dreams. That moment keeps popping into my head. I feared the man I feel is most responsible for my mother's death may regain power and kill me and the last of the family I have left.

I keep asking myself the same questions over and over. What if there is another public health emergency? What happens to my trans friends if he turns the US into Florida and Texas? What will happen to the migrants at the border?

All I have is my two best friends. Katrina is gay and Delling is trans and disabled. All of us are vulnerable.

I wrote that post to help deal with the nightmares. Writing is part of my coping process. I didn't really expect it to go super viral. I just needed to get that out of my brain. But when people pushed back and started calling me evil and a collaborator and that I was valuing my life above those in Palestine, all with a huge heap of ableism, I found myself unable to let it go and not respond. I couldn't choose the healthy thing and step away.

While I feel I made some good arguments and put forth some solid ideas for other ways to handle this, I also got angry and lost my temper and stayed in arguments for way too long—all to my mental detriment.

My little world felt like it was collapsing and the world at large also felt like it was collapsing. I had personal horrors in my mind mixing with the horrors of this global conflict.

It was too much.

I don't regret what I posted. Many felt the same as I do. And I think my subsequent posts did a good job of expanding on my thoughts while also offering hope for alternate solutions.

But I do regret the timing and I wish I hadn't lost my temper. Especially in a reply I left with a lot of cussing.

People might disagree but I am hoping that people can understand the fear and trauma that influences my point of view.

I am actually willing to risk quite a lot to protect other people. Even people in faraway lands I don't know.

But I refuse to offer up the vulnerable to be sacrificed if it won't actually help anyone. That's what a Texas Lt. Governor would do.

[recurring-polynya]

Idk if you’ve answered this question (sorry if you have) before, but how do you think Renji & Rukia first met ? What do you think their life was like originally before Soul Society ?

Pardon me if I'm reading this wrong, but...Rukia and Renji's first meeting is enshrined pretty thoroughly in canon? She rescued him from a water heist that was about to turn disastrous.

This is from Chapter 98/Episode 32: A Star and a Stray Dog, which is the first place you should be looking if you're interested in pre-canon Renruki lore.

As to the second part of your question...you mean before they died? What sort of lives did they have in the World of the Living?

I'm gonna pontificate, so I'll throw that under a cut

First off, I am fascinated with the fact that Kubo gives us nothing about what anyone's living life was like. On one hand, I would like to know everyone's pre-history, but on the other, I'm glad he didn't, like as a literary choice. The slate is supposed to be wiped clean. It doesn't matter. It's maddening, but also correct.

It's also one of those places that is just ✨fanfic free real estate✨ in terms of I think everyone should make up their own version for their blorbos, so of course I have them for Renji and Rukia. I have absolutely nothing to support these, they are just what I felt in my heart.

I have actually talked about Renji's beforedeath quite a bit, here and there in various fanfics, usual under the conceit that, particularly in their Inuzuri days, he would sometimes blurt out some half-remembered thing and then promptly forget it again. Here an excerpt from Chapter 3 of go places:

It’s an Alive Memory, Rukia is nearly certain. Most souls get them. All the boys did, from time to time. To Renji, it’s just brain dust. Whatever it is in Soul Society that makes people forget their lives also makes this memory detritus slippery to hold onto. Renji won’t think of this later, or attach any importance to this conversation. The funny thing is, after ten years of watching him stumble through these moments, Rukia probably has a better idea of what Renji’s life was like than he does. He lived on a farm of some sort. A small one, or at least his family grew a lot of their own food. He died of a fever. Nearly all of his Alive Memories involve his mother. Rukia is almost positive that Renji’s mother is the one who taught him to write. The sewing scissors were likely hers. In Rukia’s imagination, Renji’s mother is very tall and beautiful and kind. Rukia doesn’t need to use her imagination to know that Renji loved his mother very much.

Just to offer a little more detail--doing the math out, where Bleach starts in the early 00s, Rukia and Renji have been separated for 40 years and knew each other for 10 years before that, it would make a lot of sense for both of them to have died in WWII. However, I like to think that time is very wobbly, especially in the outer Rukon, so I like to make their deaths a little earlier-- specifically, I think that Renji died in the 1918 flu pandemic, which may have contributed to getting a plague spirit for a zanpakutou. That being said, my general vibe for his childhood is based on Kanta, the neighbor kid from My Neighbor Totoro, which takes place in the 50s. In any case, he had a pretty small and unremarkable life in rural Japan, aside from the fact that he was loved very much, which will never be unremarkable, no matter how common it may be.

I have written less about Rukia's beforedeath, mostly because she was too young when she died to have any phantom memories. [Note: I know there are some theories out there, based on some arcane clues that Kubo has dropped that Rukia may not actually be a normal soul and may be related to Hell. That's...fine. While I'm never going to say no to a storyline that centers Rukia, I really do hope that it comes to naught. Ichigo has enough Crazy Origin going on and I like the Rukia's backstory the way it is, so I'm just going to ignore all of that for the sake of this post]. Ahem! So, infant death is not anything surprising, or even really interesting, but what makes Rukia's kind of compelling is the fact that her much-older sister died at the same time. To me, this indicates either a natural disaster or a death-by-violence.

As I said above, there are infinity ways you can go with this, but to me, there were two important things I wanted to capture 1) given Renji's descriptions of Rukia having an inherent grace and nobility, and the idea that something about Hisana caught Byakuya's eye, I thought that maybe they should have been noble, and 2) I wanted them to live by the sea. I do not actually remember how I landed on this, but in the 1850s, a bunch of sea fortresses were constructed to protect Japan by attack from sea (see here for more detail). This was the tail end of the Edo period and I liked the idea that maybe Rukia came from an old samurai family, and her father was sent to oversee one of these coastal forts. Did they die in a bombardment? A bad storm? The Kanto earthquake? I never got that far. I'm not even sure if this is a realistic scenario, if they had civilians living there, etc, this was just a half-thought-out thing I came up with for a bonus chapter of a fanfic that someone requested once. The one other detail from that that I came up with and stand by is that I think there were more siblings in their family between Hisana and Rukia. I also like that this idea that makes Rukia somewhat older than Renji, even though the math is impossible and the points are made up anyway.

[thisaintascenereviews]

Brigette Calls Me Baby - The Future Is Our Way Out

About a decade ago, when I was heavily into writing about music, I tended to gravitate towards albums that were unique, whether it was their sound, ideas, or something I just hadn’t heard before. Fast forward to 2024, and present-me feels the same way, albeit I’m way more into “generic” stuff now. I like stuff that’s fun, straightforward, and generic, just as long as I find myself going back to it. During the pandemic, I went back to a lot of my favorite stuff, because I was craving that familiarity, but I’ve slowly been going back to new music. It took me awhile to really sink my teeth into new music, but I mainly like music that’s fun, straightforward, and easy to come back to, versus weird, unique, and experimental. I tend to like stuff that’s catchy and memorable more so these days.

If something happens to be weird and unique, that’s awesome, just as long as it’s catchy and memorable, too. A lot of my favorite albums of the year are ones that I keep going back to, regardless of how they sound, but most of these albums have a simplistic, catchy, and energetic sound, but there are some exceptions, at least with how unique a few albums are that I found. Enter Brigitte Calls Me Baby, a band with a weirdly long name, and their debut album, The Future Is Our Way Out.

Produced by legendary country producer, Dave Cobb, this record is something that caught my attention out of nowhere. I found it on the new releases in Apple Music the weekend it came out, and I was instantly hooked, especially by the name of the band and the album title, but the band’s sound is really what made me raise an eyebrow. These guys have one of the most interesting and unique sounds I’ve heard in awhile, but it’s not very complicated: 1950s / 1960s crooning and an early rock and roll sound with 1980s post-punk and goth-rock, but there’s also a modern indie-rock sheen that’s over the whole album. It’s got very modern production, but the sounds within are retro and old school. Their vocalist even sounds like a mix between Roy Orbison and Morrissey.

I absolutely love this album, frankly, and it’s one of the best year for me. It’s such a catchy, energetic, melodramatic, fun, engaging, and unique album. It checks off a lot of boxes. Hell, I found it a few weeks ago, so that’s why I haven’t reviewed it yet. In a sense, they don’t really do a whole lot with each sound they take, but they combine them together in a fun way, because you’ll hear 80s post-punk instrumentation with a 1960s rockabilly croon. Their vocalist is a big reason why this album works so well, as he’s got such a melodramatic and huge voice that works so well for what they’re doing. The hooks on this thing go for days, whether it’s “Eddie My Love,” “I Wanna Die In The Suburbs,” “Palm Of Your Hand,” “Too Easy,” “Pink Palace,” and “We Were Never Alive,” among a few more.

The lyrics on this album are just as melodramatic, but they’re written very well and they’re a lot of fun. This record is just a unique marvel that I haven’t heard in a long time. I’ve heard a lot of unique albums, but they don’t usually stick anymore, because they’re not catchy or memorable enough to really stick the landing. This record has a lot going on, but they manage to make it work, and it’s so short and sweet, only being 38 minutes, so it doesn’t spend a lot of time in your ears, basically. It also depends on how much you enjoy the sounds they employ, too, because if you’re a sucker for rockabilly and/or post-punk, you’ll love this so much, I guarantee it. This is only their debut, too, so I can’t see where they go after this album.

[eremosjournal]

My Queen and Savior: Ru Paul Charles

by Teresa Arredondo

I have been waiting a long time for this day. The day that I can share my testimony about my Queen & Savior: RuPaul Charles.

In the initial days of the pandemic I, like the rest of the planet, was in shock. The world felt out of control and I felt so incredibly isolated. Simultaneously, I had begun deconstructing my Catholic faith and questioning many portions of my faith, which at the time was the bedrock of my life. Once I was laid off from full time ministry it felt like I had hit rock bottom. I was looking around at the rubble of the life I had created around a church who I felt had bamboozled me. 

I was talking about all of this with my best friend who told me she thought it was time. It was finally time for me to hear the gospel of RuPaul’s Drag Race. She created a road map for my viewing pleasure (which you’re damn right I will include here) that led me through the many seasons of Drag Race, All Stars (the competition of fan favorites from past seasons) and Untucked (the quasi “behind the scenes” conversation of the queens post judging). I started this journey to the divine on a Friday night with my favorite blanket, and a glass of wine that was well over the legal limit.

I was immediately entranced. I watched as contestant after contestant dazzled me with their transformation! From their clothes, to their padding, their makeup, and their lipsyncing. I loved every second of the show. The challenges that tested their creativity and ability to think on their toes inspired me. I was brought to tears as the queens shared their stories of coming out to their families and about their first time in drag. The show quickly became all I talked about, all I watched, and all I thought about. Drag Race became the thing I evangelized about, sharing with friends and family how I felt so much more alive, joyful, and fulfilled with it in my life. I started passing around the viewing guide with anyone who remotely showed interest. I was inches away from going door to door to share the good news with my neighbors! But you know, it was still a pandemic so I didn’t want to get crazy.

The gospel of RuPaul and the final words of every episode across all 11 countries who now have their own Drag Race shows is, “If you can’t love yourself, how the hell you gonna love somebody else?”

The invitation of Drag Race is one of acceptance, questioning stereotypes, pushing boundaries, creating family out of community, and simply loving this one life we have. 

Honest to RuPaul, watching the show has changed my life. It is the place I turn when I am feeling down on myself or lost. It has helped me see my own charisma, uniqueness, nerve and talent. But above all else it has helped me to see the queen within myself. And that is worth shouting from the rooftops hunty!

Can I get an Amen?

[heereandthere]

So. I'm Alive! (Life Update)

I logged onto this account to try and find something I remembered having buried in my drafts, and since this thing feels kind of like a time capsule to my time as a teenager, I felt like it was semi-appropriate to do a life update since the last time I was here.

When I used this account, I was between 15 and 16 years old, and I am now 20! Holy shit! I'm like. An adult-adult, and that's still completely bonkers to me. I used this account BEFORE THE PANDEMIC. The person who created this Tumblr just outright does not exist anymore and that's INSANE.

Not only am I a proper adult, but I'm also a COLLEGE JUNIOR. I'm so proud to tell you all that I am, in fact, studying theatre and theatre performance on a professional level. I'm the secretary for the theatre-based fraternity on campus and am currently president-elect leading up to the election we'll be doing at the next meeting when the current president steps down. I'm also a part of the theatre for young audiences program as an actor, in beginning rehearsals for my second year with them, and am slated to perform in both mainstage shows this semester (out of the 10 shows we've put on or are planning to put on since I came here, I've been cast/performed in 7!). And on top of all that, I'm slated to be performing in SCOTLAND in the foreseeable future! I'm a busy bee!!

Personal life has been kind of a clusterfuck, mostly courtesy of the pandemic. But I don't really want to focus on a very, VERY dark part of my life other than telling you all that I've finally gotten much-needed diagnoses and coping skills. My obsessive-compulsive ass got and will likely try to continue to be counseled, y'all! It's still an uphill battle, but I'll fight it until I take my last breath. :) I mean, hell, I got the motivation to CLEAN today! If that's not indicative of improvement considering what a mess my room has looked like for the past two years, I don't know what is!

I'm also very proud to report that I have a friend group I feel very accepted and comfortable in. It took a very long time for me to find my "people", and I really think I have here; the theatre department has been so kind and welcoming, and I really do love and cherish the people I work with. Several of them are graduating next semester, which is DEVASTATING, but I know they're all going to do amazing things. I wouldn't trade a single one of them for the world. The same goes for every single one of my non-theatre friends, for though they be few, I would do anything for each and every one of them. They've collectively made this whole "growing up" business so much easier to cope with.

Finally, and I make a point to talk about this because it changed my life so much, Be More Chill is now a chapter in my life I've left in the past. I still love the musical dearly, but it's become a part of my personal history rather than my current obsession and I've made my peace with that. It and musical theatre will always be a huge part of me (obviously, since theatre is my chosen profession), yet my interests have and will continue to change. That's life, baby!

And I want to cap this off by saying, if you paid any mind to this blog at any point, thank you. Thank you for indulging in a really weird journey piloted by a really weird teenager and thank you for paying mind to this post by an equally weird but better adjusted adult. I made this blog when I was at an incredibly low point in my life and having gone through the drafts and seen the unsent posts I wrote about what I was going through, I've made it... so insanely far since the last time I was here.

After a lot of hemming and hawing, I really do think it's finally time to let this blog rest, even though I already haven't touched it for quite some time. I'm still active on Tumblr, though, so if you're interested in getting back in touch or reading some new fic I've been working on for Good Omens, you can find me over at @antiquarianandunusual. You can also find me on AO3 under the same name, or Twitter as AmazingMrFell.

With that said, time for teenage me to rest easy. We made it, bestie. :)

~Heere (Sam)

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

I posted 42 times in 2022

That's 4 more posts than 2021!

5 posts created (12%)

37 posts reblogged (88%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@elytrians

@muchymozzarella

@hamartia-grander

@demigoddessqueens

@thotty-bog-body

I tagged 42 of my posts in 2022

#not writing - 32 posts

#not mine - 10 posts

#art tag - 6 posts

#lol - 4 posts

#resident evil - 4 posts

#@hermione-grander - 2 posts

#my love! - 2 posts

#i dont think im capable of normal anymore - 1 post

#me w/ my villians - 1 post

#next tumblr april fools pls and thank u - 1 post

Longest Tag: 82 characters

#like i adore all of the adaptatiosn but am also sad that were loosing the og myths

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

hey... r u alive??

Am,,, I...?

(Lol, jk- yes I am. And I'm working on stuff I promise.)

((On A Totally Unrelated Note: Do NOT stop masking and get covid again because it can literally steal months of your life.))

0 notes - Posted October 11, 2022

#4

not for nothing but i absolutely do see the trend of newcomer tumblr users only liking posts and not reblogging them

0 notes - Posted May 6, 2022

#3

actually have a wip!!!

woo-hoo!!!

6 notes - Posted March 30, 2022

#2

update. ask box still closed.

i survived the fall semester only to get covid.... ugh. omnicron is no joke.

stay safe out there y’all!

-Mothmom 💚

7 notes - Posted January 2, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Nurse!Reader x Carlos Oliveira & Nikolai Zinoviev Headcanons

A/N: (Everyone’s a touch OOC as I doubt either one would willingly drag a civilian along, albeit for different reasons: Carlos because once you’ve been escorted to safety, you’re no longer his immediate concern; Nikolai because he was never all that interested in saving civilians, to begin with, but let’s say you’re just so darn cute/special that you alter canon circumstances, okay? Okay. Also, all of them survive RE3 in this, so yeah.)

☣     ☢     ☣     ☢

When shit starts hitting the fan, you don't panic immediately. After all, you work in a hospital, what better place to be during a pandemic, right? 

Wrong! Oh so wrong. 

You see the effects of the T-virus up close and personal, and it’s not pretty. Prior to this point, you thought such viruses only existed in science fiction or cheesy B-grade horror movies. But here it was in your workplace, quickly overcoming all quarantined forces, hospital staff, and security. 

So you flee. You leave through a back exit and get the hell out of dodge, or at least, the center of dodge. You soon find, however, that it’s not just the hospital that’s overrun, but the city as well.

Maybe that’s how you meet them…

Carlos:

He swoops in and saves you from a hoard of zombies, looking like an A-list action star as he does it. (It’s the hair- it’s incredible.)

He tells you his platoon is rounding up survivors in the subway, that it’s a temporary shelter until they can get the trains up and running again. That he and his teammates were sent in to get everyone safely out of the city. You’re not sure if you believe this plan, but you follow him eagerly as he leads you to the subway. 

On the way, you tell him who you are. When he finds out you’re medical personnel, he’s both impressed and relieved. He tells you his captain has been injured, and they haven’t come across a doctor or nurse that hasn't already been infected. You of course offer to help in any way your can. (Because you’re awesome like that.)

You’re not surprised when he tells you he’s working with Umbrella because you also work with Umbrella as a hospital employee. But to you, they’re a pharmaceutical company, why would they need military personnel? It doesn't sit right with you, but Carlos is an absolute sweetheart. (I mean the man is cracking jokes in the middle of the apocalypse.) So you trust the guy.

Carlos does his best to assure you you’re not a burden or some sort of unwanted weight when you first arrive at the subway car. Mainly, because he can tell by the way you keep offering to help get the trains running, even though you’d be no match for the horde, but also because of Nikolai’s snide comments about Carlos bringing in “yet another one” when the cars still weren’t working. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” he says. “It’s our job to protect you.”

Carlos takes you to his Captain- Captain Mikhail Victor in charge of Umbrella's Delta Platoon. You try and treat the Captain’s injury the best you can, using what little supplies from the first-aid kit that’s available. You apply a generous amount of first aid spray and wrap a makeshift bandage around the cut. You would have attempted sutures if the kit had any but unfortunately for the Captain, it didn’t. The wound isn’t deep but it’s in a compromising place. You know this man won’t make it out of here on foot. 

Overall, you feel you’ve done an inadequate job because you know the Captain is still incredibly vulnerable, but both Carlos and Mikhail assure you, you’ve been more than helpful. 

But you want to help more! When Carlos admits he and Tyrell won’t be catching the train and will instead stay behind to look for Bard, you offer to come with them, to help them navigate the hospital. 

Of course, everyone thinks it’s a horrible idea. One: because Bard is supposedly at the police station, not the hospital, and Two: because you have no weapons training whatsoever. You’re a walking liability. Nikolai teases Carlos about “taking on the burdens of strays”. You flip him off behind his back. 

After a ton of back and forth, you insist you go with Carlos and Tyrell, refusing to get on the train. At one point you take a seat on the ground of the platform and cross your arms stubbornly. (You’re not going and they can’t make you!)

Carlos is the first to accept the situation and roll with the punches. “Alright. But I have one rule.” He says. “No dying on me.” 

You stand, smile, and shake his hand. “Deal.”

The three of you make it to the police station, where you hang back with Tyrell in the main lobby as Carlos looks around for Bard. Once it’s revealed that Bard is still at the hospital, you offer to escort Carlos there. After giving him your best “I told you so” smirk that is.

On the way you find Jill, clearly having been infected by something, even though you’re not certain what. But none of that matters as you and Carlos bring her to the practically abandoned hospital. 

Once Jill is settled, you give Carlos some directions and a rudimentary drawing of where to locate the asshole Bard’s office. “You’ll need a voice key,” you tell him. “You’d have to look around these rooms for one of his cassettes.” 

He thanks you before asking you to look after Jill for the time being. You promise to radio him if her condition worsens. 

When Carlos comes back with the vaccine, you could practically kiss the man. You don’t, of course, it wouldn't be appropriate. (But the thought does cross your mind very briefly.) Carlos lets you administer the vaccine to Jill, you being the trained nurse and all. With all that's happened, being able to do some actual healing feels like nothing short of a miracle. 

You begin to take notes on Jill’s condition, commenting that although it doesn’t seem to be a speedy cure, her fever’s going down and her skin doesn’t look as clammy. 

The miraculous feeling doesn't last long, however, as Tyrell comes bursting through the room, clearly out of breath and pretty banged-up. He turns on the TV and to your horror, you find you have only hours to make it out of Racoon City unless you want to be vaporized. (Which, no, thank you! You certainly don’t!)  

After catching up, Tyrell being high-key surprised you’re still alive, (which honestly, you’re like ‘same’ lol) you decide to go with Carlos underground, to locate the stockpiled vaccine as a last-ditch effort to save the city. You hope whatever they made, that there’s tons of it. 

Before going underground though, Carlos gives you a gun from one of the killed security guards. It only has a few bullets but he feels safer knowing you’re not just going to walk completely weaponless into whatever danger Umbrella has waiting for you. 

See the full post

187 notes - Posted April 4, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[leave-me-alone-please]

Ok, idc idc you will now get my live reactions to the new FOB Album.

Love from the Other Side is a great Song. We been knew. I love the lyrics, I love the melody and I know it by heart already. This Was the Song that got me excited for this Album. Also I live for racoon Joe. I am especially in love with the prechoruses. But the 'give up what you love before it does you in' in the bridge Hits hard too.

Heartbreak feels so good is the other track i already knew. It is fun but for me personally the post-chorus is a bit to empty and take away from the rest a bit. Like the part with lyrics is great but then the 'ooooh' Part just makes me get tired of the Song quicker which is a bit sad because the rest of it is dope even through it is very repetitive.

Hold me like a grudge: The Bass line is really dope. The buildup towards the chorus progresses really nicely. Ooooh, the chorus hits hits. I love this. Even tho it is simplistic and very Pop and Patrick Sounds like Michael Jackson in some lines. The claps and Percussion give it a nice dynamic. I really feel the chorus lyrics wise. Very nice.

Fake out: oh this is giving One Direction vibes lol. It's a bit boring. Nah, this sounds like another boring love Song. Bit dissapointing. Ok, some of the lyrics are pretty. But it's just too generic overall. Oh, there was a bit of acapella, it's such a cheap move but I love it Every time. But Yeah, this is not it.

Heaven, Iowa: is this a balad? Oh it's a pretty epic balad. Sounds like a movie soundtrack. Oh no, this was a straight up Panic! line. Ok, I love the gitar in the second chorus. This might grow on me a lot. Nah, I don't like the bridge. Hm, this is quite the mixed bag. I'll have to See about this in a Week I'll either love or hate it. But the gitar is beautiful and Patricks' voice is of course also gorgeous so they got that going for them

So good right now: that is a fun Song right out the gate. This is a cleaning Song. And that says a lot because i need the brigh test Songs i can find for cleaning. Oh this makes me wanna dance. Yes, the chorus is lyrically also not very complex but it is fun and it matches the Song and sometimes that's all we need. Great Song.

The Pink Seashell: oh, interesting sampling of Ethan Hawke. It's a nice speech.

I am my own muse: Violin? Violin. Oh, this is a whole orchestra! Woooow, I love this. The harmonies?! Hell yes! This Song is legitimatly amazing. It is also sampling a really famous peace of classical music I think. And the guitar coming in with the orchestra? The Horns with this Bass line? I am in love. Wow, applause. This Was a journey and I ascended.

Flu Game: this is a fun track. It's in line with Dance Dance vibe wise. Very Fall Out Boy. Nothing New, solid Song. Weird Video game waiting screen outro

Baby Annihilation: hm, the speech is a bit too 2012 Tumblr girl melodramatic but that is Pete at his core, isn't it?

Zen years: Ok, the Song itself starts beautifully. The Electronic Sound is a nice Touch to an other wise familiar sounding Song. Hm, it's a bit forgettable in big parts. Ha! This part is the melody of 'what makes you beautiful' by one Direction. I knew it sounded familiar. Lol.

What a time to be alive: this is a fun track. The plucked Bass is dope. Very Disco track. I really like it. Ye, this is a Song for going to uni in the korning. Yes, I too am ready to livestream the apocalypse. This is a great summer Song. The lyrics are also pandemic inspired which is rather ridiculous on such an upbeat Song.

So much (for) Stardust: Violin, Piano, moody Song. Sudden trumpet. James Bond Song vibes. Subtle keychange i think. I want to hear this Song played in a church. It is a very specific vibe that I really enjoy. Great ending for an album. Ooooh, reference to the first Song of the Album. They're going full circle. Another sublte changeup and we're going back to a last chorus. Oh they brought in a choir for the end. I just kinda wish they hadn't done a fade out end.

[extasiswings]

"Offer Me" for Buddie :D

Technically this prompt was about giving a gift, but you know how I like to get metaphorical. Also, I understand that it's TV and therefore that they can and will insist on introducing debilitating trauma and then pretending it doesn't exist until it becomes plot relevant again, but if these writers don't stop putting Eddie in hugely triggering situations for his PTSD and not addressing it at all they're gonna catch these hands. Post-4x11.

Eddie makes it through the end of the shift by sheer force of will. And then, when he gets home to a dark, empty house—Christopher wanted to spend some time with Isabel so he’s staying at her house for a few days—

He makes it as far as the kitchen before everything he’s been holding back slams into him at once and has him retching into the sink.

Fuck. Fuck.

It’s not that they never end up around guns on shifts. Sometimes things happen. Hell, Eddie can remember all too well holding a line while Buck talked down a woman hanging out on a freeway sign who had a gun. Things happen.

But that’s different from what happened earlier. They’re not cops. They’re firefighters. They’re medics. People aren’t usually shooting at them. Being pinned down in a shipping container by gunfire, surrounded by his team, trying to keep a patient alive—

Eddie spits into the sink again as he shudders, cold sweat breaking out across his forehead and the back of his neck. His hands grip the counter tight, the edge digging into the palms, giving him something solid to focus on.

"ETA six minutes."

"We don’t have six minutes."

"Diaz—"

Eddie forces himself to take deep breaths and lets his gaze flick over the kitchen, cataloguing everything that’s out in the open. He’s in his house in Los Angeles. He’s not in Afghanistan. He’s not fighting a war.

He’s not fighting for his life.

And it was fine. Earlier. No one was hurt. They got the girl to the hospital. The asshole who kidnapped her was arrested.

"Diaz—"

No one was shot.

He’s alive. He’s fine.

They got the girl to the hospital.

They got her to the hospital.

Eddie’s eyes burn as the panic slowly begins to recede. He releases the counter and drags a hand over his jaw, exhaling shakily. For a minute he just stands there—the echoes of gunshots slowly fade from his ears—but finally he flicks on the sink to rinse his mouth and splashes water on his face for good measure. He’s just shut it off again when his phone rings. The sound is abrupt and jarring in the silence of the house—he flinches at the suddenness and yanks it out of his pocket.

“Hello?” Eddie answers without looking at the id, wincing at how rough his voice sounds.

“Eddie.” Buck’s voice is a relieved sigh. “Hey.”

Eddie’s pulse is still too fast, albeit slower than it had been. He pads out of the kitchen and collapses on the living room couch, stretching out and closing his eyes.

“Did I hear Bobby right that you got arrested today?” He asks as exhaustion settles into his very bones. His hand rests on his chest, over his heart, so he can feel the steady thrum level out to normal—it beats a tattoo of alive, alive, alive against his skin.

“Okay, I wasn’t arrested, Athena just stuck me in an interrogation room for a couple hours to keep an eye on me. And I still helped solve the case!”

Eddie’s lips curve up despite himself. He hadn’t planned on talking to anyone tonight, had dodged Bobby’s concerned looks to avoid getting pulled into conversation before he left the station, clenching his hands so no one would see them shake. He hadn’t wanted to talk. But he hadn’t really been thinking clearly either about the reality of coming home to empty space. To silence. Left entirely alone with his own head.

“Yeah...that still sounds kind of like you were arrested to me. But you were probably having more fun than we were.”

Buck’s quiet for a moment before he clears his throat.

“Chim said you guys were shot at in the container yard.”

Eddie swallows hard. “Yeah. Yeah, for a couple minutes.”

“Are you okay?”

The way Eddie’s stomach twists at the question, at the softness in Buck’s voice, isn’t the same as the roiling nausea that gripped him before. It’s not entirely comfortable—but then it never is when he feels like this. Vulnerable. Exposed. Because he knows why Buck’s asking.

They lived together for months during the second wave of the pandemic. It was a stressful time, and god knows Eddie hadn’t always slept easily.

Buck hadn’t shied away. Not once. Hadn’t judged. Hadn’t demanded explanations—which is why Eddie gave him one anyway.

Buck just listened every time. Listened until Eddie couldn’t wrap his tongue around words anymore and then wrapped his arms around Eddie instead, listing off random facts about anxiety and skin pressure depressing the central nervous system, and maybe Eddie wouldn’t have let Buck hold him out of pity but if it was for science well—

So. He knows why Buck’s asking. What Buck’s thinking.

“Not really,” he admits after a long stretch of silence. “But I will be.”

Buck makes a quiet sound over the line.

"I should have been there—"

“No,” Eddie interrupts, because being trapped with everyone else had been bad enough, but the thought of being in that situation with Buck? Makes something in him recoil violently. “You’re allowed to take a day off, Buck. Don’t do that to yourself. Nobody got hurt and you being there wouldn’t have changed anything.”

Buck sighs, but accepts that.

"Christopher’s at Isabel’s, right?" He asks. "Do you want me to come over? Or—"

Buck seems to trip over his words for some reason Eddie can’t quite understand.

"—I guess you could call Ana—"

“No.” Another recoil. Buck is one thing. Buck is safe, Buck has seen all of his raw, dark, ugly places and Eddie has seen Buck’s. Ana—they’re nowhere close to being there. He would sooner go throw up again than let her in like that.

Eddie swallows again. Takes another deep breath. He hates asking for anything, but—

“Would you—would you just talk? You don’t have to come over, I’m pretty wiped anyway, but...you could talk for a little. I don’t really care what about.”

“Yeah,” Buck says quietly. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Eddie falls asleep on the couch with Buck’s voice in his ear. And he blessedly doesn’t dream.

[alastanor]

In less than a week my feed has been plagued by the "hot takes" of entitled fans of the Hazbin and Helluva universe.

As a result, I know I promised some analytical information regarding what we know of Hazbin's version of hell thus far, which will be included in this post. But there will be some other things added as well to address some of the more frequently expressed "concerns" I have seen being (rather rudely) expressed in posts.

Some of the things I will be talking about in these posts, so while I will be utilizing quotes or things said in @total-mal 's very well articulated response post, I recommend going to read that response post in it's entirety. Like... now.

The complaints I tend to see typically fall along these lines.

So in this post I will be addressing these things and other things I typically see.

Story

As was very well put in the aforementioned post, the series of Hazbin barely has an hour of content. Yet for some reason people complain that it's a mess. How?

The Pilot itself is meant to establish the setting, who the characters are, what their relationships to each other are, establishing dynamic, and establish the premise of future story that is meant to follow. All of these things the pilot did exceedingly well. A pilot is NOT meant to drop dozens of hours worth of world lore and future plot points in one half hour segment. It is supposed to hook people into being interested in and watching the follow up episodes. Which, considering the rather quick cult following that preceded the pilot debut, I would say it did that and more even without the world lore dump people are demanding.

No story is going to give you every facet of the characters and the world they inhabit in the first episode or the first novel. No story worth it's weight in salt, that is. Any good story teller will tell you that content needs to be put on an IV drip as the story progresses, or else you will lose the majority of your audience's interest.

Helluva Boss is it's own standalone project set in the same universe as Hazbin, but it's job is not to provide lore for Hazbin. The kernel of lore we got from episode two was great. But that is very likely not going to be the norm every episode. Nor should anyone expect otherwise.

The comics were also their own projects, meant to strengthen an already existing narrative with Hazbin and establish both Angel and Alastor's motives for joining the Hotel. They are not meant to expand on the lore. Their existence could also very likely be overlooked by fans who only pay attention to what is popping up on Youtube or on their Twitter feed.

As for Addict, that began as a fan-created song Vivzie liked enough to animate into a music video which expanded on Angel and Cherri's relationship. It was not meant to be an entry to any Vivziepop Hell lore.

Hazbin is a story driven by its characters. This is why the characters are the focus and take up the majority of any screen time given to any entry of Hazbin. Mal puts it very well:

World

So this is where we will be getting into what we know so far about the world of Vivzie's hell.

So Vivzie's hell is, from what we understand, loosely based on Dante's inferno with other inspirations and deviations mixed in. For example, there are only seven circles of hell as opposed to 9.

In Dante's inferno only circle two through five are after the Seven Deadly Sins. Whereas in Vivziepop's version of hell, every circle is for one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

From what we understand so far, Pride is the top circle, or Ring. Sinners, AKA those who were alive prior to becoming demons, are only allowed to exist in Pride.

We do not know what "can only exist" means. As this doesn't imply that sinners can't leave Pride. Simply that they cannot exist anywhere else.

And also from what we understand, the big marker that differentiates each of the circles is the colors of the sky.

Pride, from what we have seen thus far, has a red sky.

While Greed has a green sky.

This is further confirmed on Twitter, however whether it was confirmed by Vivzie or one of the other official Twitters, I cannot recall.

Now, I know there are quite a few who keep asking this question.

And there are many who seem to think that this little detail means that the fact dump from official Twitters means the story and lore are ruined. This is actually false. Especially when you consider that Sinners are not a finite population. Nor is their influx a small trickle. So expanding Sinners into other parts of hell is only a temporary solution to a more overarching problem. It may slow down the necessity for purges, but it would also increase the number needed to be purged each time a purge was necessary. Further, it is doubtful that Lucifer would be keen on the idea of angels traveling deeper into Hell just as it is doubtful that he sees a reason to be exceedingly merciful to sinners- the creation he detests and is more or less what brought him to Hell to begin with. It also would erase any place to escape for Hell-born demons.

So in this regard, no. Nothing is ruined. People just aren't paying attention. The devil is in the details, after all.

As for what the difference is between circles and rings, perhaps this will shed some light.

Rings seem to be segments of a circle that separate sinners by the subcategory of their sin in each circle. Whether or not Vivziepop's version of hell follows this, I personally doubt it. Ring and Circle, from observation, seem to be used interchangeably. So the two could very well be the same thing.

The other bits we know are lore facts Vivzie has given previously that may no longer be true as the world exists now. For example, previously Alastor was scared of dogs. But more recently, Vivzie said that is no longer true and Alastor simply just does not like them. So any older facts should be taken with a grain of salt until they are reconfirmed.

Switching gears on the world, there have been complaints popping up that Vivziepop's hell is not "hell-y" enough because there is not enough fire and brimstone.

To take a phrase from total-mal once more, there are countless alternate depictions of hell as hell being other people instead of the place itself. The phrase exists from Sartre's No Exit, but has been revisited numerous times in other media depictions of hell to display that the definition of "punishment" can be broadened to a much larger spectrum than originally imagined.

In the Hazbin universe of Hell, punishment is the constant threat of physical and emotional harm from those around you, not unlike being in prison or living in a ghetto. You have the increased potential to be abused or taken advantage of if you show a moment's weakness.

And while some in the demon hierarchy might have it better than others, there is still the constant threat of being killed or overthrown by someone stronger or someone just wanting to prove themselves.

In the Hazbin universe of hell, you wear clues to your life, your sins, and your death on the outside for all to see (and in some cases, manipulate). You are thrust into a demon hierarchy one wrung up from the lowest class, unless you are lucky and strong enough to become an overlord. In which case, then you are two wrungs up from the lowest class. And your punishment is living every day with the constant threat of those around you. Of always needing to have your guard up because someone will take advantage of you or worse. That isn't even mentioning the annual threat of the purge.

Livestreams

This is another one that I see get mentioned and awful fucking lot in the complaint/concern/hot take posts.

There are always complaints about how the livestreams are useless, serve no purpose, or are just "jerkoff sessions." Mind, these same complaints almost always seem to come from the same people complaining about having no information about the show or having no lore surrounding the universe or the story.

Nevermind that Vivzie and the cast are all under NDA and cannot disclose much that isn't already known about the show and, where VAs are concerned, cannot do any voice lines that go beyond what has already been said in the pilot lines.

The Livestreams serve SEVERAL purposes, however. One of those purposes is to drum up interest surrounding Hazbin and Helluva, as well as to advertise and to disclose any lore that they have permission to disclose to the audience. Something to whet their appetites as they wait for the small Indie studio A24 to finish production of Hazbin's first season in the middle of a pandemic. Because that last bit people seem to forget is still ongoing.

Without those livestreams done by Viv and the cast, many of the impatient fans in this fandom would be practically breaking down the door on Vivzie's DMs demanding to know where Hazbin is or why she seems to have given up on it. Or at least, more than what is currently going on now anyway.

People need to calm down, let the Devs do their job, and pay more attention to the details given in what we have thus far. Vivzie has done a GREAT job at eluding to the bigger picture in her details. Particularly where her characters are concerned. And I for one am here for it.

[autonomous-zed]

Did you died?

For a while... Post my mothers death from cancer, and then subsequently tracking down my father only to have him die to a separate liver cancer before I really got to talk to him has been heavy for a few years. Then after I found myself in a better place, a pandemic started. I was working for a more high profile studio, but once that hit I had a friend who became sick and was taking care of him unknowing if it was the virus or not. Thankfully it was just a flu bug, but my time caring for him and trying to animate at the same time got strained. I was let go from the more high profile studio even though I'd be working until 11pm on a lot of it if not later.

I pushed myself really hard on that one, and when that job was lost I fell into a creative depression. It was a lot of hating myself for not being as fast or as good as my peers. It didn't help that the official explanation was, "You're not up to our standard" when I do believe it was a cost cutting measure in an uncertain time as I was still on probation and could be let go without repercussion. Then at some point the friend I was taking care of (one of my oldest friends) had to leave town, and I found myself alone in a pandemic ridden city with no one who would want to leave their bubbles to say hi to me as I wasn't as close of a friend, or family. I'd find work elsewhere, and find that they had me doing 3 different departments worth of jobs while having our client keep making changes while we should have settled the vision in storyboarding/layout. The one position I had rushed training on while trying to keep up with an animation/layout deadline. Hell, during the heat dome I had a computer on trying to render scenes while having the initial stages of heatstroke myself. You've seen the posts though on social media, and twitter. It's a common problem that our studios never push back on projects thus leading us to work more and more for later hours. I found myself doing 4 hours overtime, to 6, to being told by my team lead what is the legal amount of hours I could work with a wink. After that, I "stood up" (as we were having a remote call) and said we couldn't work like this as our team was falling off to stress and exhaustion. They got rid of me quick after that. So, I've been trying to find myself again. Work on myself again. Through art and through habits. I've been reading as well during my isolation so I understand more than I use to, but it all still stings regardless. As I've found the last 8 years I've been working really hard for studios that will never respect me as the artist I am, or the artist I can be if they let me put in my input. Hell (again), I was working under someone who had less experience than me, and that was just frustrating as I was trying to ask where certain tools where and met with, "That exists?" Not to mention some weird native american ignorance with my production coordinator that revealed itself during the truth and reconciliation day we had in canada. Just made me uncomfortable. Now, I dunno. I'm really burnt out and I haven't any family that's alive I can talk to as openly about this stuff. Heck, I didn't even have anyone here to celebrate my 30th so I was alone for that too. I have some dear friends though I talk to online. They've been helping my sanity as I hopefully help theirs with streaming films and stuff in our little group chat we have. At some point I'll have to get back in the animation grinder to pay the bills, and it just makes my heart sink to think about it. So, look forward to some art here and there. I also have some space station videos I've edited, but I haven't been sure where to upload them. Keep an eye out for that when I get to it I reckon. -Love you guys Zed

[bit-sized]

The year's almost ending, and it has been one hell of a ride. A little over a month and a half left before we can call 2021 a year. Here are 4 of my 8 thoughts for 2021. (Will post the last 4 by Dec. 31)

1. 2021 is 1 better than 2020.

→ We saw our world get torn apart and thrust into despair and hopelessness, as millions died, and billions suffered the consequences of a global pandemic. Some people took advantage of this situation, and tried to make the most out of what they have, not letting the trials and tribulations to continuously kick them down. I take courage in knowing that we have that 1 level of becoming better human beings, as shown by the dedication of health professionals, as well as professionals in other industries, to adapt, while showing compassion and empathy with those around them. Granted, this may not be the case for you who are reading this. But if so, I urge you to be 1-up better than the 2020 version of you. Life is already difficult, and the times are desperate. But we did what we could to make 2021 better, 1-up better than 2020. If you haven't, you have 6 weeks left to do so. How will you end your 2021? 🔥

2. Outlive your scars and traumas

→ As much as we suffered physically, the emotional and mental distraught we went through during these past 2 years has been traumatic, and it left scars in places we would never even care to admit. Some succumbed to the heavy burden, but if you're reading this, then you are a survivor. You survived one of humanity's difficult ages, and I hope you keep on surviving. As much as we admire the heroes and heroines in our favorite movies, or even the stories of strength and unbelievable human endurance told in our favorite songs, they are nothing but stories and songs. But the words and emotions they portray are as real as you are alive, and I believe that they are rooting for you to outlive your scars and traumas, because you are stronger and better than you think you are. Most especially, you are not alone in this struggle. Inside you is a herculean strength ang fortitude to overcome ALL THE ADVERSITIES that come your way. Dig deep, take a stand, and outlive all that tries to suck all the colors of life.

3. Tomorrow may not always be better, but it could be

→ Tomorrow's sunrise isn't always guaranteed, and we will go through shitty days. There will be days, weeks, or even months where blue skies seem bland, and rainy evenings are hellish. Giving up might be alluring, and the promise of not having to endure a second more of this heavy burden might seem enticing, but I promise you that the joy of being alive, and having to see one more sun rise gives warmth enough to shine over all your gloomy days. I have been through some rough patches this year, and even contemplated ending it all in the past years 3 times. What kept me going was the thought of seeing one more sun rise, seeing one more smile, having one more smile. Tomorrow may not always be better, but it could be, and if we just hold on long enough, I promise you, it will all make sense, and you will be glad that you did. I know I will.

4. Let life embrace you

→ Like me, you probably have plans, your own hopes and dreams. All the things you wished the world would be, and your fantasies of a perfect life dancing in your mind, and you hold on to those thoughts, as you trot through life. I still have those. But what these past years taught me was that life is too grand and adventitious. Nobody plans for disappointment, but it rarely misses to show up in everybody's stories. Here's what I offer you. Let life embrace you. Let this twisted, conniving hell of a roller coaster ride take you to places you never expected to go, make you feel things you never thought you would in parts of you that you never knew existed. Let life surprise you, and let it be a co-author of your masterpiece. You may not end up with the life you wanted, but you will always end up having adventures to thrilling cities, challenge the unknown, and with your last breath, you know you'll have no regrets, because you lived your years embracing joy, embracing pain, embracing life.

[interact-if]

Umm hi 👉👈 I realized that most of the asks you guys get are about games and rec lists. You guys deserve so much recognition for the work you put in this blog, so I wanted to ask if I can do a little get-to-know-the-mods thing? If that's okay!

1. Besides writing, what are your hobbies?

2. Do you have a niche interest right now?

3. Any fave songs/artists/bands?

4. Any fave movies/tv shows?

5. On a scale of 1-10, how likely would you survive in your wip's world?

You can totally ignore this if you guys want, no pressure. Anyway, much love to all the interact-if mods! You guys are incredible! ❤

We saw this ask and we went 👀 👀 👀 so we’re happy to answer! Thank you so much for the fun ask!

 We also rated our survivability in all of our collective games, since Mars isn't an author! Fun stuff! Spoilers, though: it’s really not looking so great for me (Dani) but that’s fine!!!  😌

1. I’m a photographer as well as a graphic artist (but not like. A painter/drawer kind of artist!) and, on a general level, a maker and a tinkerer!

2. Fountain pens! I only write with ink, and only with fountain pens, and I use bottled inks/converters!

3. I’m pretty eclectic with music, but my top genres are alt rock, indie, indie pop, etc, as well as top 40s and some rap.

4. I feel like this is the hardest one for me to answer? Favorite movies/shows? Avatar: the Last Airbender has been a favorite show of mine since I was a little kid, but I have a harder time thinking of shows I would call a favorite in recent years. There are shows I’ve liked, and a lot of shows I’ve watched. But I’m picky! And demanding! It takes a lot to earn a place in Dani’s Trophy Case of Favorites. 😌 I would say I quite liked A Quite Place (movie), and I liked Us (movie). When it comes to TV shows, I have a hard time being pleased with them if they don’t end well. As a result, I have a penchant for a good limited series/miniseries (because they’re stories that have an end in mind and the plot reflects that, dagnabbit).

5. Heh. Okay.

In The Goodfellows? I think I stand I chance. I can exercise my sparkling wit and lovable personality to the best effect. I’m gonna give myself an 8/10 survivability rating. Even if I don’t have the right skills, I can go crying to the person who does and they’ll save me. Maybe.

In Creatures’ Cradle? I’m super $**!%d. 😌 1/10 survivability rating. And that 1 is me being nice to myself. The day the apocalypse breaks out I would probably be patient 0. I am self-aware. I would not do well in an apocalypse. Zombies care not for aforementioned sparkling wit and lovable personality, and I have all the muscle of a boiled spaghetti noodle. So it’s a no go.

Greater Than Gods (Cruz): Well. I’m going to be optimistic. And say that I have the wisdom not to do things I shouldn’t do and not to rock boats I shouldn’t rock. I’m going to give myself a 7/10 based on insider information, but also based on reckless optimism!

Vardir (Cruz): Cruz says this is a lighthearted game, so 10/10 LOL.

When it Hungers (Roast): I’m giving myself a nice, mediocre 5/10. I think I could put my mind to work here; I joke that I’m the village idiot, but I’m actually pretty smart! Unfortunately, I’m also curious, and maybe a little bad with authorities who won’t answer my questions. So I knocked off a lot of points due to the fact that I’d probably poke the metaphorical bear. So it’s a real coin flip as to whether I’d really make it or not.

Orthall Bay (Nines): Considering the genre is “horror” and the game intro includes the words “monster” and “maim,” I’m giving myself a whooping, enthusiastic 3/10. Yes, folks, I am that confident in myself! Once again, I can’t charm the socks off a monster (or can I?), so one of my greatest weapons is snatched from beneath my feet. Alas!

1. Beloved I’m a college student in the middle of a pandemic... i can hardly even write LOL i do draw at times which u can see in my personal blog (nothing too good really) and i used to do karate before things went to shit <3

2. Nothing niche I believe? All I do is leave Netflix as bg noise every day n play popular videgames (genshin)

3. Porter Robinson <3 I love Bea Miller a lot as well but lately I’ve been feeling Porter a lot

4. The Good Place <3

5. My WIPs:

Greater than Gods: Highly situational, the world GtG is set in is as broad as the real world LOL so I don’t have an universal answer. But keeping it vague, and knowing my own personality, I feel like 5/10. depends on my luck.

Vardir: 10/10 no one dies in Vikgade, unless you’re a hunter but I wouldn’t be a hunter <3

Others’ WIPs

I'm gonna give myself a solid 5/10 in all other WIPs because y'all aren't writing lighthearted stories either. I feel like as long as I avoid the role of the MC I will be mostly fine. I hope. But as Dani said I'm also prone to fight the wrong person and dig my own grave so 😌

1. Well, writing is a very, very, very, distant hobby since Words Hard, but I like to crochet and sculpt a little! Anything to do with fiddling with my hands and I’m good to go. And like, debatable but graphic design is my passion [insert clown emoji here since Tumblr said No]

2. Oh yeah a bunch! DnD yelling at people, thinking of arson, crocheting, rock climbing and simply vibing. I got into podcasts a few years ago and I’m always looking for more recs, so if you have some, hmu 😤

3. Pls,,,,my music taste is,,,so weird do not let me expose myself with lack of consistency but uhh. Current songs that are stuck in my head include; Cult of Dionysus , Achilles Come Down and The Last Shanty  

4. If you’ve ever spoken to me before, I probably yelled about Pacific Rim to you or at you. Plus I love all The Mummy films and really enjoyed Castlevania (s3 excluded, we do not perceive that) as well! 

5. Ah, mod survival simulator pt. 3

Alright, let’s go!  I don’t have a WIP because again, words hard, but like, considering how feral I am when not tryna seem professional hm... 

The Goodfellows: I wanna say a solid 7/10 because I’d hardcore vibe with the Traveler and probably instigate so much nonsense. I can also bribe with blueberry cake so maybe. 

Creature’s Cradle: maybe a 4/10 and only because of pure spite keeping me alive long enough to smack someone. I’ve prepared for hypothetical  zombie apolcapyses and I won’t hesitate to bap, but will be bapped back because I’m weak as hell. 

Greater Than Gods: a toss up between 2/10 and 7/10! I can vibe and be chill but I also have terrible impulse control so... 

Vardir: hm....I think pretty good survival rates all around? If you ask me to fight then like, okay sure, your knees are mine. So maybe a 8/10? 

When it Hungers: .......8/10 just because I’d refuse to die if I can be a cool creature. Living for the aesthetic can and will drag me outta hell. But I’m also clumsy as hell so I’d probably crash as a porcelain or hold a rooster and perish (aka, real rating is a good 3/10) 

Orthall Bay: 2/10, nope. Nope I’d be taken out in a heartbeat. Monsters can go pspsps and I’d head straight into the dark creepy forest like a fool if someone comes @ me. Half the time I’ll just assume it’s sfx makeup and vibe until it’s too late. 

god, never put me in a universe where I cannot squawk like a bird and throw pebbles from a window. Oof

Anon, you're so sweet! I give you a forehead smoomch <333 As for your questions...

1. If I'm not writing, I'm usually watching video essays on Youtube. My go-to channels as of right now is Disrupt and Aperture! I just really like their videos. Aside from that, I recently got into podcasts. Currently going through Hello From The Hallowoods and Shelter and Warning, which are made by queer creators!

2. Oh oof, there's quite a bit so I'm just gonna put down one thing. For some reason, I really got into collecting tiny astronaut things? I recently bought this astronaut desk light, and I've got a package coming in for the miniatures I ordered. No purpose for them other than I think they're neat <3

3. I'm a bit private with my music taste (even tho I have Spotify connected on Discord lmao), but there's 5 songs that I'm currently obsessed with. I keep replaying them over and over again. Just squeezing all the serotonin I could get outta them.

4. I can't really say I have a fave TV show or movie because I can't really just pick one, but my current fave is 9-1-1 and Resident Alien. 9-1-1 because I just really love the found-family dynamics and how the show tackles sensitive topics, and Resident Alien because it's lighthearted comedy. My all-time fave movie is Flipped! I have the book too and I like rereading from time to time <3

5. You're in for a doozy, anon, because we're rating each other's games <333

The Goodfellows: 7/10

Listen. Shenanigans with the Traveler. I would get up to so many of them and that is what'll get me possibly bodied, not the actual environment itself <3

Greater than Gods: 7/10

I like to think I have enough common sense to uhhh not recklessly flip stones that should not be flipped <3 I'm a cautious and skeptic person irl so I think I'll hold up well? Then again, it's a vast environment change and while I can adapt pretty quick, I wouldn't like the lack of control in the unknown.

Vardir: 10/10

Going off what Cruz said, Vardir is lighthearted and focused on personal growth so I think I'll be okay! Self-growth here I come, babey!

Creatures' Cradle: 8/10

Maybe I'm overestimating myself, but I think I'll be able to survive in a supernatural post-apocalyptic world! Ah, but it depends on the motivation though. I like the idea of rebuilding communities and eventually societies, but the survival turmoil would be a constant battle I'd have to overcome. If we're talking survival itself though, I think I'll do well.

When it Hungers: 8/10

That's probably my wishful thinking but I think I'll be fine. Maybe. Possibly. Don't like the idea of being regulated by an organization so if I was a non-human creature that could pose a problem but I can roll with it <3

Orthall Bay: 6/10

Assuming I'm not playing as MC, my chances of survival uhhh changes quite drastically. Not enough to guarantee an untimely demise, but certainly enough that it would constantly keep me on my toes. I think that's the safest answer I can get without spoiling anything lmao

Thank you so much for asking! It's super sweet of you <3

1. Too many :'D I knit, I sew, I do carpentry (well, learning), I bake, I'm hammering away at HTML and CSS, my job kind of encourages learning new things and I take that to picking up new hobbies!

2. My time is kind of consumed with school work and work work and WIP work so not a lot of time to pursue niche interests right now. I've been watching a lot of horror game playthroughs, true crime youtubers, and an adorable show on Netflix called the Repair Shop <3

3. My taste in music is "what am I vibing with atm?" I've been listening to a lot of 80's music atm (don't @ me), but also Lo Fang and Kaleo, and whatever spotify recommends me on my discover weekly which is usually complete chaos.

4. I love the Mummy even though it hasn't aged 100% well (I'm a librarian, of course it's one of my gotos LOL), Legally Blonde, Leverage, Jumanji (the original), I'm....very bad at having recent tastes... and very bad at remembering my favorites when asked.

5.

The Goodfellows: I'm a creature of comfort, 5/10 if I can just luxuriate in town and not actually interact with the story sfjkdbsdkf

Creature’s Cradle: I'd like to think I have a 50/50 shot XD 5/10, I want to think I'd be decent at a zombie apocalypse but ultimately would suffer an early fate.

Greater Than Gods: 10/10 if I'm just vibing, less so if I'm involved in the actual story XD

Vardir: I'd still suffer without technology but I can also knit for a living in this world so I'm down 8/10

When it Hungers: I feel like I could vibe here, there's tech if dated, hot showers, telephones are around by now... might still get bored. 7/10 though it'd be cool to be another creature....I should make a 'what creature of snv are you' quiz!

Orthall Bay: 7/10 idk I feel like after the first monster of the week I'd just skip town XDDDD I'm the worst protagonist, I see danger I just leave.

[rkrispyt]

All I’m saying is this: it bothers me that right now we as a society are holding things to a standard pre-Covid. Whether ourselves or our art or our loved ones or our role models and celebrities.

We can’t pretend that this is over or didn’t happen. And everything that we have done while getting through this and everything that we are doing dealing with what we’ve just gone through and everything we will continue to do on our journey towards healing from this unprecedented experience is enough in my eyes.

All we can do is our best for one another and ourselves. And whatever we are able to put out there amidst this trauma, to me, deserves to be celebrated and given some grace.

Personally, everything has changed and pretending like we’re “back to normal” ain’t it for me. Expecting “back to normal“ from others ain’t it for me.

In a perfect, pre-Covid world, I may have judged this season and this finale very differently. But I’m still amazed that these young people moved away from their homes to film this season during a global pandemic. I was at a point that I only left my apartment one day a week to run all my errands because of how scary things were, and the danger for someone at high risk like myself.

They wrote and created 12 episodes. During a time I could barely do a virtual production of a role I’d done before, and just as I was able to push myself to start creating choreography after almost a YEAR of being such a mess due to the pandemic that I was creatively bone dry.

Any single solitary second of this season is more than I ever expected that they would be able to do under the circumstances and far more than I feel like I deserve because they owe me nothing. They especially owe me nothing over their own safety.

I did not survive a pandemic and fight like hell to make it out the other side to do my same old shit. It all has to have been for a reason for me. It just has to or I can’t make any kind of sense out of it. And I don’t want to be the same person I was before, that sees so much wrong in everything and became so pessimistic.

I want to be a person that can find the beauty in things and not just see what’s wrong with them. I want to celebrate the fact that I’m alive every single day. I want to help brighten someone else’s life instead of doing or saying anything that might bring them down.

I very vividly remember a point this season when the show shifted from just something that I would watch to a bright spot during these dark times. Such a simple thing but as hard as this last year and a half has been, I realized little things that bring you joy are worth so much that I don’t give them credit for. Ever since then I have been so very grateful for this little silly show that brought me a bit of joy in the way I used to feel it.

And they didn’t have to do that. They didn’t have to do ANYTHING.

So yeah, I will defend the hell out of this season and allow it its mistakes and missteps. I’m a Hufflepuff for a reason lol.

Meanwhile those that are feel disappointed, let’s find a way to turn it around and make the most of it. Let’s arrange a Portwell week. We should regardless. Let’s get some writing challenges going for brief moments you wish we’d seen or head canon posts or talks about what we loved. I’m all about trying to stay positive and, more than anything, grateful.

Because everything in life will leave you wanting more if you look at it the wrong way. And this ship surprised the hell out of me and was the most wonderful delight that I didn’t even know was coming. Let’s celebrate that and all we got despite the whole world shutting down.

No one asked for this so I thank you for reading if you got this far.

Love and risotto 😉



[quidfree]

prompt: tdbk in a post-apocalyptic setting (HEHEH)

self-servicing AND a helping hand to a friend in need, we love a good strat

this got incredibly out of hand but i hope you enjoy!!

--

it’s been two months and five days since he last saw someone that katsuki lays eyes on him. two months and five days, and yes, he is fucking keeping score, why wouldn’t he be?

two months and five days is long. two months and five days is long enough that he’s taken up the habit of muttering to himself to fill the air, because dead silence makes him paranoid, always expecting sudden interruption, and he chooses to ignore the fact that muttering to himself is a quirk he might have picked up elsewhere. jesus. if deku, scrawny and asthmatic and perennially, psychotically self-sacrificing, is somehow still alive, he thinks he might be glad to see him again, just out of sheer disbelief.

there’s other people he’d be glad to see. perfect timing, for the zombie apocalypse to erupt right when he’d been on a summer internship in tokyo. to think the old crone had been bitching about it before he’d left- don’t get mugged on the underground, all that shit. like he was some hare-brained tourist. like people didn’t expect him to mug them. whatever. he thinks his parents are safer, out in a smaller city, than anyone has been in tokyo, tells himself it’s not blind hope that makes him explain the radio silence away. it’s statistics, and the geography of the outbreak, and the memory of his mother beating a would-be pickpocket over the head with her shoe until he passed out.

six months ago he’d first walked into his cramped rental flat in tokyo, barely the space to unroll his mat. six days later the pandemic had begun. slowly, first, confusingly, two weeks of shadowing jeanist to court and back while the news got increasingly weirder, and then by the third things took a turn for the fucked, and his parents were calling frantically telling him to come home stat, but by then it was too late. tokyo’s the new york of japan- in sci-fi movies it’s always struck first. the city was on lockdown before he could so much as book a flight out.

that was five months ago. by four and a half his phone carrier service had gone dead.

he doesn’t like to linger on anything, but he especially doesn’t like to linger on what happened between the start and the middle of it, the slow descent from incomprehending disbelief into hell on earth. he doesn’t throw the term around- not one for flowery prose. for the first while there’d been something almost rewarding to it, the whole survival strategy, him and the interns and lawyers at jeanist’s office taking scope of their resources and planning their ways out. now it’s been two months and five days since he’s run into anyone alive, he fails to see the bright side.

the media called them the infected, or the walkers, or some other dumb shit, but everyone knows they’re zombies. it’s some kind of chemical weapon- americans, if you ask him- that’s mutated them, but they’re zombies by anyone’s definition. lumbering, decaying, dead, very keen on extending the invitation. the first time he’d seen one up close- whatever. he’d killed it. he’s killed so many by now he’s lost count, and that’s not an exaggeration. these days he’s not so big on those.

the office had been overrun, in the end. some of the other interns, panicking. bitten. dead. jeanist had held them off while katsuki dragged hysterical staffers out of the window, and the last he’s seen of the man he was catching his unflappable gaze as the doors burst open and jeanist slammed the window shut.

they’d scattered. maybe he would have stayed on, tried the group thing out of a sense of responsibility alone, but there were too many subgroups for him to rotate around. he’d split off, eventually, cut his losses. sometimes he catches someone he recognises walking the streets, wonders when and how and what. he’s still never seen jeanist. he thinks probably he offed himself.

if it ever comes to it that’s what he’s doing. he has a gun ready for it. one bullet. in the apartment he’d stayed in for a while, some forensic doctor’s place, he’d studied the angle that worked best. straight through the temples, angled down.

then there had been that thing with the league. he doesn’t want to think about that, but he does, constantly, because that’s how he knows. two months and five days. the last person he spoke to was that fucking girl.

like zombies weren’t enough- criminals who fancy themselves cultists roam the streets in packs. it’s like every shitty blockbuster movie he’s never bothered to see packed into one.

two months. five days. there’s no way of communicating with the outside world. after he’d shaken off the league he’d had jack shit on him- lost his bag in the initial fight, and his apartment was a lost cause. in the end he’d made his way back to the firm, but that had been a literal dead end too. he’d managed to retrieve, of all things, his phone, skirting the streets around the firm, probably dropped in their original escape. it’s functionally useless but he’s managed to charge it once or twice, stare at old photos and texts that fail to send. he has nothing else of his own except the clothes he’d worn that last day with jeanist.

he’s remade his belongings, obviously. he’s competent, as it turns out, in apocalypses. somehow it doesn’t surprise him. he works out a routine. when he’d first found a hole to burrow himself in post-league he’d spent days just picking up patterns- when, who, from where, how. once he was entirely sure he’d gotten it down to a science he’d risked it back out, mapping the area out incrementally, one rotation at a time. two months and five days in he has it down to an art instead.

he moved regularly for the first month post-league, avoiding anywhere that seemed inhabited by zombies and people alike. can’t trust anyone, and besides it’s way too much of a liability having other people around to get themselves bitten. he can look after himself, but he’s not signing up for charity work. by the second month he’d found his current address, the top floor of a mid-rise apartment complex in meguro city. apartment complexes are risky, but this one’s door locks are still functional, and once he’d cleared out the ground floor and made the rounds to check for stragglers he’d wagered it about as secure as it could get. the stairs are a bitch, but the zombies don’t like them either, preferring to straggle in lobbies, and for another thing the height is convenient. the roof’s close by for a way out, and it gives him a good view of the surroundings.

the apartment itself is nothing special. residential. he picked the cleanest one, which also meant the one half-moved out in a hurry. he pretends like he thinks the owners got out but he spotted a suitcase with their name abandoned in the elevator. the guy was a teacher at the university. the woman was in sales. it’s decent for a tokyo flat, two bedrooms, a bathroom, good kitchen, nice living area. the fridge had been full of expired goods, but the shelves had some cans in them- soup, rice, beans. pots and pans. he’s been working through the floors of the place one room at a time taking inventory, lugging the useful shit back up. nothing beyond the strictly practical- he takes food, medecine, clothes, someone’s watch once, binoculars. he’s not making a home for himself, just stocking up. he sleeps with his bag on his back, the essentials locked and loaded. the gun was an apartment find too.

his biggest problem is transport. he recognised this early on, because so could anyone with half a brain. tokyo’s teeming with public transports overrun by the undead, cars abandoned on the streets, but the actual streets are packed day in and day out. whatever movie said zombies hate the sun was full of shit, because as far as he can tell the only time they actually react to the weather is when it rains. all night and day they’re shuffling in tireless motions around the city, gaining numbers. there’s a rhythm to it, sure- they’re more sluggish at night- but it’s an incessant flow. he can’t drive a car, has found no convenient manual stored nearby, and google went and croaked on him when the electricity did, so there’s no way he can just take advantage of a lull and jump in. by the time he’s figured out how to get any given vehicle to start he’ll be surrounded. even if he could find a way in, there’s no way out- driving through streets packed with zombies is a doomed exercise, especially given that half of the cars in the city are busted or low on fuel.

his current plan involves boats. he’s not sure if zombies can swim yet, but they don’t like the rain so he’s betting no, and even if they do they’d fare no better than a human at climbing a boat from the waters below it. if he can make it to tokyo bay somehow- at least off the coast there’ll be room to manoeuvre. but he needs to figure out the basics of ship-operating first, and also to relocate his supplies nearer to the bay somehow. if he ends up on the open seas he’ll need the food to last him the journey.

so he’s been doing this. rounds, collecting shit. taking inventory. scoping the streets out. he spends the nights planning, the early mornings reading. there’s no power in the building. it’s freezing. six months since his internship, winter rolling in. if he gets to tokyo bay the waters will be frigid, but the sea doesn’t freeze over.

his biggest concern at the moment is hypothermia, if he’s being honest. he’s collected every fucking duvet in the building, it feels like, but there’s only so much he can bury himself under. he’d be warmer if he didn’t insist on bathing in melted snow, but he went so long without washing in autumn that he fucking refuses to waste the opportunity. he smells like some ridiculous apple berry blast bullshit because he’s cycling through shampoos, but sometimes he thinks he’s only sane when he’s brushing his teeth in the mornings so he’s not about to let up on the hygiene.

three and a half months ago he was meant to be back at school. he has no idea what’s happened to his classmates. most of them were home for the summer. he thinks yaoyorozu was abroad. lucky her. kirishima was the last he heard from, all suppressed terror, and even now it makes him feel sick to think about it, because he knows full well the asshole was scared for him. sometimes he thinks about what it would have been like facing this shit as a group, but he never dwells on it. he’s better off alone.

he’s cold. he’s tired. he needs to get to the nearest library, because no one in the building has shit about boats. he doesn’t want to leave the building yet, but he needs a book. can’t go into this shit blind, not without knowing what he’ll need once he gets there. and besides he needs to stay sharp on the streets- get back into the swing of it, literally. one month since he moved in and he’s barely seen a zombie in the rotting flesh. the doors have been holding up, and he’s far up enough that none of the regulars outside can smell him, decide to unionize and break the door down.

he’s had an assortment of weapons, since the start of this. most effective was the gun, also a heavy chair once. his trusty hockey stick had snapped on his way into the building, a month ago, leaving him to fend the last three tenants off with goldfish bowls and doors to the neck. he’s found a sturdy baseball bat since that he’s claimed as new weapon of choice, though never used. he takes this, when he goes. the bat, the backpack that never leaves his back, the longest coat he can find in his collection. not the heaviest, despite the biting cold, because that restrains movement, but the longest, to minimize contact. hat and gloves for the same reason. balaklava just for the cold.

the apartment is empty as he winds his way down, footsteps loud, and it’s dusk- just late enough that the zombies are slower, though not late enough that it really makes a difference. it’s be too dark if it were; he’s trying to save flashlights for real emergencies.

the setagaya library is the only actual library near him, as the maps inform him, but too far to risk. in the address book he finds a local bookshop three blocks away, and it’s there that he heads, already cold to the bone as he grits his teeth and locks the complex door assiduously behind him. there are zombies just across the street beginning to moan in his direction. he ignores them, breaking into a jog.

maybe because their blood doesn’t flow to their brains, maybe because their muscles are deteriorating: zombies aren’t incredibly fast or incredibly intelligent. what they are is resilient, and single-minded. but outrun them and outsmart them he can, and so he does- runs the paths he’s memorized, sticks to corners and shadows and scales ladders and crosses rooftops and just about manages to get to the street in question without even having to swing his bat.

once he gets there, though, he gets swinging. the bookshop is in an unfortunate position, and there’s an entire group parked in front of it. he lets them spot him first, so they break off in his direction, then climbs onto the overturned truck they’ve shifted to and springs back down into the doorframe of the bookshop, kicking the door in before they can register his itinerary. he slams it shut just before a greying hand scratches at it in outrage, heart pounding a steady tattoo, then glances around rapidly. no sign of life, but that means nothing.

there is, then, an unmistakable jingling sound from the very back corner of the room, behind rows and rows of antique-looking books. keys, or metal on metal. movement.

company, katsuki thinks, between anticipation and trepidation. his bat sits comfortably in his hands as he raises it.

jingling, closer, and he moves in on instinct, breathing feeling loud as he brushes past the anthropology section. he can just about see around the corner when a sudden sixth sense makes him whip around, bat swinging down heavily, and just in the nick of time- wood connects with metal, hard, knocking him back a pace as his teeth snap together from the impact, but he’s swinging again in self-defense just as there’s a sharp intake of breath and his brain catches up- red, white, painfully familiar. the bat makes an aborted spasm.

“bakugou,” shouto todoroki says, in disbelieving tones, crowbar lowered but not dropped. katsuki gapes.

“am i fucking hallucinating?”

the crowbar lowers further.

it is him, unmistakably. maybe with someone else he would have hesitated longer, but todoroki's hard not to single out. his red-white hair is tousled, long behind his ears like he's absently tucked it and forgotten about it, and he's grimy, smells sour and dusty, but it's him. katsuki's own hands stay gripped around the bat, their gazes playing some odd symmetrical game as they catalogue each other for the same exact thing- looking for bite-marks. todoroki's less covered than katsuki is, but there's blood on him, old, dried. too old for recent bites, anyways. inconclusive.

"what are you doing in-" todoroki starts, maybe having concluded that there's no way to assess his status with the layers he has on, but then his frown twists. "oh. your internship?"

which answers katsuki's own question, sort of, because now that he thinks of it enji was on that high-profile murder case in the high court. still- still, his brain is stuck on the incongruity of it, shouto todoroki in the apparently living flesh, and it's been two months and five days. he just keeps staring.

"i came for a book," is what leaves his lips, eventually, rough, and his voice sounds hoarse with disuse. it jars him into action, moving past todoroki on auto-pilot, because somehow he can't quite register his presence, doesn't know where to begin. he wasn't factoring this into his day.

it's dark inside, books hard to discern, so he gets his flashlight out, hits it against a shelf so it alights. there's a section on travel near the back. nautical travels of the eastern seas. useless. a map book of the japanese seas- maybe. he mechanically slides it into his bag. his fingers feel rigid. he's still cold. what the fuck is shouto todoroki doing holed up in a bookstore? where is his father? how long has he been here? what is he doing, alive, talking, walking, in the apocalypse, ambling into katsuki's routine with a crowbar in hand?

he can't see or hear him at all. now he's back here he can tell the ringing was rigged up- tiny trap-wires set around the store, what looks like fishing wire with bells attached. smart. of course it is. he's losing his mind. where has the bastard gone? is he even here? it's fucking freezing in the bookstore. where does he sleep? he hadn't looked starving. actually he hadn't looked anything- just blank as usual, barring the surprise. fuck! he's been staring at the same book for a good thirty seconds without registering the title.

beginner's guide to boating. miraculous. he nearly breaks todoroki's kneecaps when he sees his legs appear silently next to him.

"fuck! don't sneak up on me, you asshole!"

"boats," todoroki says. "that's your plan?"

it makes him flare hot with something like rage, because he doesn't fucking want input on it, doesn't want to be told odds, and it has him on his feet, slamming todoroki back into the opposite bookshelf within seconds.

"mind your own damn business!"

todoroki seems mildly startled at best, shifting a little so a book isn't digging into his neck, and for a moment katsuki is distracted by the scalding warmth of him under his arm. he doesn't know when he last came into contact with a living body. it's disorienting. he thinks probably it was the senior partner who fell down the stairs, minutes before the zombies swarmed the lobby, pulse skittering frantically with fear.

he drops todoroki, steps back. two months five days. maybe he's gone a little crazy.

whatever! whatever. he's fully functioning, he has his book, he's leaving. he's going to be off-schedule at this rate, times gone muddy with distraction. even without touching him he feels like there's residue warmth on his palm, making the rest of him shiver by contrast. if the zombies could have just gotten properly active in summer...

he's halfway to the door when he remembers- again- todoroki is actually there, watching him inscrutably from the bookshelf, swaying a little on his feet. despite himself he turns to stare back. he doesn't know what to- this wasn't in the plan, he doesn't know. he's going anyways.

it's because he's staring-cum-glaring at todoroki that he sees his eyes widen, and then he's leaping forwards on instinct as the window in the door shatters, decaying arm bursting through as loud moaning suddenly fills the dead silence.

"shit!"

"it's because there's two of us," todoroki reasons, in a tone like he's annoyed with himself for not realising this, which would make katsuki feel marginally better about his own stupid lack of thought if he wasn't so pissed. he'd counted on the zombies losing interest on his presence once he was out of sight, but the smell of two live humans in close proximity would obviously keep some of them near.

"is there another way out of this place?"

"back entrance, but it leads into a dead-end alley," todoroki retorts, suddenly functioning, eyeing the creaking door as thumping intensifies from the other side. "there's a way to scale onto the drain-pipe above but it wasn't made to take two people's weight."

"shit," katsuki curses, feelingly. "where's the drain-pipe lead?"

"roof. i don't know if either of us could scale it fast enough for the other to follow before they get there."

katsuki looks at him, crouched calmly stacking something or other into a loose duffel bag, rusty crowbar by his feet, then looks back to the groaning door. his gut tightens with a sort of pissed off fatalism.

"how long 'd it take you to get to the roof? five minutes?"

"i could do it in three, maybe less," todoroki estimates. "it's slower with the frost."

three minutes. katsuki hoists the bat higher, takes a step then two back from the door.

"fine. go. i'll follow."

"bakugou-"

"it's the most logical fucking plan of action," katsuki snaps, eyes still on the door, adrenaline spiking. "if you get up there before i get outside i can make it to the drainpipe before anyone nabs me. i can hold them off for three fucking minutes. and you're the one who knows the way up. you go."

"i know," todoroki says, which makes katsuki glance back at him, finds his face set with nothing but fixed determination. "i was going to say to give me your bag. it'll make it easier to climb."

there's something about this that makes katsuki's head briefly thud with something like a pounding headache, lungs gone tight, but he refocuses, blinks away the dizzy spell. the last fucking thing he wants is to give the bag away, but unless the plan goes as hoped he's dead anyways, so there's no point in arguing.

he shrugs his backpack off, slides the gun out, shoves it into his back pocket. todoroki fastens the straps around his shoulders without comment, then turns and runs, not wasting any time. it makes something in him-

the door breaks in.

there's five of them at least, the ones from before. the first one goes down with a direct hit to the head, skull caving in with a crunching sound, but he has to retreat immediately, make them spread out of their pack formation as he zig-zags back through the rows of books. they're slower than humans but not slow, breaking into a fast paced shuffle after him; he turns a sharp corner, doubles back as fast as he can to catch a second one from behind. crack, snap. the one in front lunges back before he can swing again, sending him running back; he jumps onto the seller's counter, dodging an arm, then brings the bat down full-force onto the zombie's neck. three. there's another one nearing the broken door, the other two circling back to the front at the commotion. he jumps over the counter, ducking under an arm, knocks into the nearest bookshelf with all of his weight, sending it sprawling towards the door, books flying and frame landing awkwardly across the doorframe. it doesn't block entry, but it befuddles the would-be incomers.

there's an arm grabbing his shoulder; he dodges a gaping mouth, bat spinning to hit at the rotting jaw, once, twice, bones splintering decisively on the second hit, but the last straggler is on him and the others are crawling in through the door. he runs, down to the back of the store, nearly trips over todoroki's traps himself as he goes, miraculously jumps clean of them as his pursuers stumble. it gives him the seconds to jump up to the back portion of the shop, grab a nearby chair and throw it at the advancing huddle, knocking them back a step, then turn sharply into a row, sprinting down to the back of the room where the emergency exit sign hangs half-broken. it's closed, likely behind todoroki, but he slams through it before any of the zombies near, staggers at the sharp gust of cold air that hits once he's out. the sun is nearly set, casting a red haze over the alley, and there's a pack of six zombies right beneath the glinting drainpipe, still trailing after todoroki's scent, moaning around the corner signalling backup. fuck.

there's a loud scraping from above, then todoroki's head appears over the edge of the roof, something grey and unwieldy in his hands; a satellite dish comes falling down, catching speed as it goes. it hits the pack dead-centre, crushing two of the zombies into pieces on impact, others reeling backwards in confusion, and he doesn't have the time to question his odds four-on-one. he runs in while they're still dazed, beats one into the wall, head splattering, turns and swings into the second as it zeroes in on him, head collapsing inward and drenching him in blood. the other two are too close to hit; he twists, jumps back, curses, eyes the alley entry where others have scented blood. fucking- no, two on one, god, he's not dying two on one, not after the bullshit he's been through. he kicks heavily into the one's chest, just missing the hand trying to nab his ankle, which sends it knocking into the other, and like that they're just aligned enough that he yells and slams the bat through the first one's head, in three rapid blows, hitting the one behind it on the third as bits of skull go flying. it's not enough to take it out; he hits again, manic, and it gets him on the second go. then he's scrambling to the drain pipe, mindful of the others closing in, shoves his bat down the back of his shirt and under his waistband before he throws himself at the drainpipe.

"brace against the wall," todoroki calls, almost in the moment he does so, hands slip-sliding on the damp pipe as his boots hit concrete; there are arms nearing, outstretched, but he bunches his stomach and drags himself up, feet first then arms, side of his arm scraping heavily against the wall as he moves almost horizontally upwards, fingers clenched around metal. the fucking gloves are no help; he pauses, braced and shaking with tension, to rip his gloves off with his teeth, one hand then the next, dropping to the floor below as his bare palms hit the freezing metal.

he's so cold it hurts, but he's halfway up the wall. methodically he moves. one foot. other foot. one hand. other hand. stomach muscles, straining, arms pulling. up a fraction. then another. then another.

"wait," todoroki says, closer than he feels, and he glances up for the first time, finds him an arm and a half's length away. "you'll slide at the top."

"then what the fuck do you suggest i do?" katsuki bites, half a yell, too strained to scream. todoroki leans, heavy, arms outstretched.

"do one more. then take my hand."

katsuki wishes he could spit on him. todoroki's expression has gone tight like he knows what he's thinking, like he's not sure katsuki won't let himself fall all the way down rather than put himself into the uncalloused hands of shouto todoroki.

the pipe creaks. katsuki moves up, ignores the way his blood boils, eyes the outstretched hands. he can hear todoroki breathing, hot against the cold air.

"drop me and i'll turn you."

he braces. one hand leaves the pipe, and for a godawful moment he's grasping at nothing. their hands connect, rearrange themselves; todoroki has a death-like grip on his wrist. his foot slides. the second hand is thrown rather than extended, and todoroki's eyes flash alarmingly as their fingers brush and miss, but he doesn't fall, hangs there by an arm for a heartbeat, jolt like he's dislocated his shoulder before his boot catches something and he shoves upwards, todoroki grabbing hold of his hand and yanking full-body at him.

katsuki falls over the top of the roof in disjointed movements, the both of them half-hitting each other as momentum carries them down, lands with an elbow in todoroki's stomach and a hit of tile to the jaw.

his head spins; he shoves up immediately, falls back down when his arms protest, adrenaline pounding hysterically. his limbs are shaking with belated exertion. todoroki is still holding his wrists, punishingly tight, his breaths heavy nearby. his body is still hot beneath him.

he scrabbles backwards, onto his knees, todoroki dropping his hands and dragging himself up to his elbows. for a moment they stare at each other, panting loudly.

he wants to yell at him but the words don't come. two months, five days. it's not even todoroki's fault, really. he was living there unperturbed. there's a flush of exertion over his cheeks now, and maybe he's just gone crazy what with the constant thinking about unbeating hearts but he feels a little obsessively interested in the visible flow of blood beneath his skin, wants him pink all over if that'll prove him living a minute longer.

he shakes himself, exhales in a burst.

"are you all right?" todoroki asks, and up close katsuki realises his voice is hoarser too. in the shop he'd been too dumbstruck to register it, but it's there beneath his normal cadence, a scratchy undertone. he hasn't spoken in a while either. something about it-

all right, he'd asked. unbitten, he means. katsuki shakes his head.

"we need to get going."

he hadn't meant the 'we', but he thinks at some point when todoroki's fingers dug into his arm hard enough to pierce flesh the message had gotten under his skin too. they're not fucking splitting up now. of course they're not. this isn't model un or a baseball match; it doesn't matter that the guy drives him insane. and this is todoroki, too- excruciatingly hyper-competent at every challenge life throws at him. if there's anyone less likely to rely on katsuki for the next however-long until one of them is forced to shoot the other, he hasn't met them.

"where?"

"my place. 's not far. how d'you get down from here?"

"the next building over has a fire-escape."

"fine. let's go then."

todoroki hands him back his backpack. he hits his bat against the wall to shake some bits of bone and flesh off, eyes unfocused on the task. he thinks desensitisation is the word. it's maybe the third or fourth time he's fought them off without registering anything about them once. usually he gets stuck on some detail or other, schoolgirl shirt or smile wrinkles. freckles. proof of life. there's that movie he watched once with kirishima and the rest of them, some kind of sci-fic thing, and at the end when the monsters come the dad shoots his whole family dead to spare them. turns out it's the military instead, come to rescue them. kirishima had cried.

questions pile up in his throat. he forces them down.

they jump from the rooftop to the next with relative ease, the gap narrow, his foot just catching on the edge before he rights himself. the fire escape is solid where the drain pipe wasn't. he wonders how in the fuck todoroki ended up here, in some old bookstore.

he's gotten good at scaling shit. he thinks in another life he'd have made a top-grade gymnast, or a superhero. when he'd broken out of the league's hold he'd made a spiderman worthy leap onto a clothes-line.

they make it back to the apartment as the sun vanishes, late, and because they're late his perfect scheduling is off, leaves them facing a pack of easily a dozen zombies swarming around the doors. there's another way in through the side, but it requires forcing a door open that he doesn't have keys for, and that means an entry-risk.

"i'll clear a way to the door," he says, hoisting his bat higher. "you keep them off my back."

todoroki follows his gaze, nods.

they advance in the dark, close together, and it's bizarre having someone breathing down his neck after so long, makes him on edge, expecting a bite that never comes. when the first zombie starts turning their way he breaks into a run, brings the bat down fast and heavy so it connects with a sick thud, flashlight clicking to life where he holds it between his teeth. it blinds one zombie long enough that he gets it too, and then it's chaos, flashlight swinging drunkenly as he batters this way and that, fighting off the clawing arms with irate kicks and loud swearing. if there's one thing he fucking loathes about the apocalypse it's how touchy-feely everyone is, all endlessly grasping hands and drooling maws straining for a piece of him. it makes his skin crawl, which makes him see red, which makes him go through fights like this, all furious movement, too keyed up to feel afraid. he never goes into a fight expecting to lose.

behind him, around him, wet crunching and moans track todoroki closing the pack; in off-beat synchronisation they move their way through the group, dropping bodies as they go. he's by the door before he knows it, light catching the heavy glass, switches the bat to one hand as he drags out the keys. the first time he'd gotten in the door had been open; his luckiest find since was the functioning key, sealing him out of harm's way. he's efficient with it, no fumbling, has it in and open in the time todoroki exhales sort of shortly as their backs connect. bakugou yanks the key out in the same movement he grabs blindly at todoroki's collar with his bat-holding hand, hooking a finger to swing him through the door and diving after him to slam the door shut on a wrist, bone snapping and the hand falling limply to the floor as they put their weight on the door for as long as it takes him to lock it again.

todoroki's crowbar is sopping red, guts in his hair; he casts a look around, doesn't even ask if katsuki thinks the door will hold, if katsuki has thought of their scent luring zombies in. most people would have.

he has, obviously. thought of it. that's why he lives on the top floor. the scent doesn't linger. doesn't matter if there's two of them up there. the door holds for as long as the stragglers press up against it, but as soon as they're out of sight the zombies will drift again.

they make their way up the stairs. he's warmer now, purely from the exercise. heat rises. another reason he lives at the top. doesn't feel like it when he's freezing his ass off at night, but he knows his science.

they make it to the top floor in silence, and he pushes his door open (unlocked, this one, because by the point anyone reaches him up here he'll be long gone), goes for the camping lamp on the floor, trudges along with it in hand. remembers his houseguest.

"kitchen's there. there's a bathroom. two rooms. living room. no power or running water but i have some water in the bathtub if you want to wash."

"it's nice," todoroki says, and the worst thing is he sounds like he means it, almost politely. it makes katsuki stop dead to look at him, struck again by how unreal it all feels, but it almost feels reassuringly normal, staring at todoroki in disbelief. in the bad lighting he looks otherworldly, even despite the filth and zombie gunk he's covered in, all half-lit and angelic like something out of a hazy dream.

"i can't fucking believe it's actually you, half 'n half."

it escapes him unthinkingly, but it's true, and besides that it has the unforeseen consequence of making todoroki's composure fracture, shoulders rising and falling on a mute laugh, exhausted wryness in the tilt of his head. for a split second his gaze is dizzyingly and uncharacteristically frank, almost intimate.

"the feeling is mutual."

if the moment stretches he might do something wholly deranged; he rolls his aching shoulder, gestures to the bathroom.

"you go first. you reek."

todoroki says his thanks to his back as he retreats.

he returns to routine. strips, despite how fucking cold he is, wraps his shoulder tight enough that it hurts, rubs alcohol onto the more worrying cuts and scrapes. drags some bedding to the second room, then drags himself to the kitchen, shivering, mentally redoing his maths, then pulling out his notebook to jot down the edited stock. pauses, hesitates. in the margin under the date he writes: found half 'n half. it's not a diary, but he feels like he should make note.

todoroki appears silently in the doorframe, wrapped in a towel and scrubbed red, and there's something reassuring about how clean he looks, balanced out by how disturbing it is to see him so casually bare. he's barely glanced up at him that he drops the towel.

"the fuck-"

todoroki just turns in a neat 360, then wraps himself back up. katsuki snaps his jaw shut, ears burning but head clear. no bites. right. the previous times- whatever. reluctantly he stands and turns. when todoroki eyes his boxers he glares.

"you don't think you would have noticed if i got bitten on the dick today?"

he's not entirely sure todoroki won't fight him on it, but he concedes after a moment's assessing stare, shifts from foot to foot.

"you can have some of my shit to wear," katsuki says, pointing to the wardrobe he's requisitioned. "some of it's too big. should fit."

todoroki just nods, follows suit.

he wonders, as he scrubs himself down with a bucketful of water, teeth chattering and bath-tub still half full, if todoroki was always so goddamn quiet or if he's traumatised or some shit. the guy was always the annoying silent type, but he doesn't remember him this monosyllabic. habit, probably. what does he know.

he dresses, layers up, shoves his dirty clothes with todoroki's in the basket. when it fills he'll dunk the whole lot into a tub of his used water, but until there's that many dirty clothes he leaves them out.

todoroki is sat on the couch wrapped in blankets and wearing someone's dad's heavy knitwear, illuminated by (of all things) a gas lamp that katsuki had found but never managed to light. so the asshole has matches.

"you hungry?" katsuki asks, really only to make him speak. todoroki nods, counter-productively, but he's talking next.

"don't waste your food on me."

"shut up, asshole," katsuki mutters, on instinct, fatigue setting into him. jesus. the martyrs he's surrounded with. "you can make the next grocery run."

todoroki only looks at him longly, but he follows him into the kitchen, eats the cold soup without complaint. he likes cold food, katsuki thinks, then stops at the thought. he has no idea how he knows it. it feels like a memory from a different life. he likes cold food. like that matters.

it's not very late, though it's pitch black out. he goes to bed early these days to make the most of the sunlight. he's not sure what to do with todoroki, though rationally that's not his concern.

he can't find it in himself to ask the obvious questions. it's partly because he doesn't want to hear the answers and partly because he doesn't want to have to give his own. it's not like they were fucking bosom buddies before this all went down- he's past hating the guy, despite how unbearable he finds him, would call them something adjacent to friends under duress, but it's not like they make a point of hanging out outside of class. and todoroki's a terrible conversationalist, always.

even so. two months, five days. he wants to talk, if only for the pleasure of getting to call him a superior bastard, if only to know that he's still the same confounding weirdo whose face he wears. it's not even the words, really- he wants to hear a pulse beat near him, to catch alert eyes on his, to watch his chest rise and fall. alive.

he can't believe the asshole stripped naked like that. pale flesh all over, but not that diseased grey tint, just regular winter cold, like the inside of a peach. bruises and scratches littering his limbs. nasty half-healed scar like someone had tried to gut him with a knife.

his lips are peeling when he licks them. he found vaseline in someone's drawer but he uses it sparingly. whenever he goes outside his lips crack to the point of blood. against the glow of the stove he can see only half of his new flatmate where he sits surveying his newly clean crowbar.

"what's in the duffel?"

he'd have bristled more at the invasion, pragmatic though it is, but todoroki only shifts obligingly to raise it to his lap.

"medical kit- bandages, aspirin, tweezers, needle and thread. three water bottles. instant noodles. biscuits. matchbox. a city map. a change of shoes. a space blanket. my wallet. wire. rope. an alarm clock. a mechanic's manual." he pauses, feels around, drags out a glass bottle. "this."

it's vodka, of all the things. katsuki half wants to laugh.

"you drink now?"

"kept me warm," todoroki shrugs. which is, maybe, all there is to it. maybe not.

"i'll run you through inventory in the morning," katsuki says, if reluctantly. best todoroki knows what they have on hand, despite how little he feels like letting him into his notebook. it's not like he's deku, writing down his little feelings all over it, but it feels revealing anyways, for todoroki to know what he's been tracking.

there's nothing else for them to talk about without heading into dangerous territory. todoroki packs his things back into the bag, careful, and katsuki is sick of his own weird emotional breakdown, doesn't know where this sudden needy cloying bullshit is even coming from.

two months five days, his brain says, chipper, and then offers to rewind the days preceding that. he hisses through his teeth before he remembers he has company.

"i'm going to bed. 's fuck all to do without wasting light. stay high up if you want to go exploring."

todoroki has gone back to muteness, because he only nods as katsuki glowers at nothing in particular and makes his way back to his room, unhappy at the sight of his diminished bedding. it's not like he's actually able to use the whole apartment's bedding anyways- too unwieldy, too heavy, whatever- but the three duvets and two quilts had been working well enough to insulate him against the chill, and with two sacrificed he's resigned to a night of tossing and turning.

fuck his life. he thinks maybe the reason he's been having these fits of weirdness across the days is just fatigue. between the nightmares and the cold and the actual zombie break-ins over the past six months he doesn't think he's managed a single night's good sleep beyond the times he's blacked out. he feels untethered, at times both more and less emotional than he's used to being.

no surprise that having a real life human being around- and one that he knows at that- is making him almost ill with conflicting urges. part of him wants to lock todoroki out in a cold sweat and never lay eyes on him again. part of him wants to cut him open and grab at his beating heart just to confirm he's not alone. the rest of him lies there wondering what the fuck is wrong with his brain.

he lies there for maybe an hour trying to get to sleep, but his mind has kicked into overdrive in the way that it does every goddamn night nowadays, replaying scenes he didn't even notice in the moment. one of the zombies by the bookstore had barely reached his shoulder. when he'd washed his bat there had been bits of an eye clinging to the base.

he's too busy being cold and annoyed and possibly hysterical to notice the soft footfall until it's close, jerking up on instinct to brandish his bat, but he can tell by the moonlight filtering in slivers through his blinds that it's todoroki, if the lack of shuffling hadn't given it away.

"what the hell is wrong with you?"

"i didn't mean to startle you," todoroki says. monotone, but in an off way, almost dreamy, like he's asleep. it makes katsuki's skin prickle with foreboding; he stares at the little he can see of his face, alert now.

"then what do you want?"

"you sound cold," todoroki says. still in the doorframe, unmoving. he wishes there was more light.

"it's the middle of winter, jackass, of course i'm cold. can you fuck off?"

"my father is dead," todoroki says, completely unprompted, voice not changing in timbre in the slightest, and it makes katsuki's heart jump before he sits fully upright, trying harder to make his face out.

enji todoroki, gone. he guesses he'd known that on some level, for todoroki to be roaming around like a ghost, but it doesn't compute. jesus. maybe todoroki's actually fucking lost it since. he imagines two months and five days tracking back to losing his father, feels that gut-punch of paralysis in his stomach.

he's so caught on processing it that he doesn't even register todoroki is climbing into the bed before he's halfway under the sheets.

"what the fuck are you doing?" his voice half-breaks on it, rising in sheer disbelief as he jerks violently back, because seriously- there's insane and there's insane, and he's starting to suspect todoroki is so out of it he'd snap his neck in his sleep.

todoroki has the audacity to shush him, distracted, and it takes katsuki actually grabbing him hard by the shoulder, braced to hit at the slightest flicker of intent, to stop him in his tracks.

"hey, asshole, i'm talking to you! are you out of your goddamn mind?"

where he's stopped now todoroki's one eye catches the moonlight, big and dark and eerie. he blinks slowly like he's coming out of a trance.

"oh, i-" he pauses. his pulse is sluggish under katsuki's hands, skin fire-hot. feverish, maybe. shit. feverish, very possibly. he'd had no layers in that shitty bookshop. "sorry."

he says it like he's not sure he means it. katsuki doesn't let up with his grip.

"how long you been sick, icyhot?"

"sick," todoroki repeats, processing it. his gaze sharpens. "days. i think maybe- what day is it?"

"wednesday. thirteenth."

"six days, then," todoroki says, quiet. their gazes catch, more consciously now. "i'm fine. the adrenaline helped."

"sit still," katsuki warns, and then pulls up quickly, shrugs his backpack off, digs out the medical kit. he has a decent stock of medicine in the apartment, enough that he only hesitates a beat before pulling out the advil bottle, unscrewing the cap to fill it. he knows the dosage by heart. "drink."

he nearly drops the whole bottle when todoroki just obediently sticks his mouth to the rim of the cap instead of taking it himself, hot breath fanning over his fingers as he drinks. it makes his own pulse go skittering with discomfort when he fills it a second time, brandishes it back. the cap is sticky and wet when he screws it back on; todoroki is still half-sitting where he told him to when he's done his bag up and slid it back onto his back.

"why'd you tell me about your dad just then?" katsuki asks, despite himself, if only to fill the silence.

"did i?" todoroki asks, on an exhale, visible eye swivelling to him. "i don't know. i was thinking about the cold, i think. he wasn't cold in the end."

he resists the urge to check his temperature. probably it got worse once he tried to go to sleep, all the residue adrenaline gone. it can't have been peaking all day, or they'd have never made it out in the first place. and it's not from a bite. just a fever. he's medicated. he'll sleep it off.

"i'm not crazy," todoroki informs him, suddenly cool, not so hazy. "just sick. i could hear you tossing and turning. that's why i came."

"why're you in my bed?" katsuki shoots back, on the edge of combative, not really. maybe he's a little relieved. he's a lot pissed off, even though he knows todoroki probably genuinely didn't realise what a state he was in the last week, might have actually been trying to make sense of his fluctuating mood himself. no shit he'd been so weird when they first ran into each other.

"i'm not sure," todoroki admits. "it seemed important at the time."

this makes him want to laugh, though he doesn't. the cracked-open raw part of him that still smarts loudly whenever he thinks of jeanist thinks he missed him somehow.

"glad we solved that mystery. get out now."

todoroki makes to move, stops when they're facing each other, blue eye white-pale on his. "actually i remember now, i think."

"i swear to god, half 'n half..."

"you're cold," todoroki repeats, factual, then back to floaty. "and i couldn't hear..."

he doesn't expect him to do what he does, which is why he doesn't stop him when he puts a too-hot palm directly over his heart, doesn't even pull back when he pushes, knocking him onto the bed.

"todoroki-"

"it's fine," todoroki says, scratchy, sweat-warm. he slides onto his own side in a heavy, graceless motion. face to face, half an arm between them, palm stuck to his chest. "it's fine."

it's the scratchiness that wins him over, or maybe the fever flush of him. todoroki may be fucked in the head but he's not, which is why he knows full well he's being insane by not shoving him out. it's just that on some extremely uncomfortable and deranged level he gets it, because he's been tracking his pulse like a shark since they first ran into each other. there's something less insane beneath it too, pragmatic acknowledgment that it is actually a great deal warmer when there's body heat to share, but he knows full well he'd have toughed it out, six months ago, sent him back to bed and spent the night half-awake in spiteful resignation.

it's six months later, though, and somewhere along the line he's been rewired wrong. he thinks it's not unlikely that he's just this desperate for a full night's sleep.

it doesn't really matter why, though. he lets him stay. in the morning if todoroki is back to himself he'll see right through whatever he says, and on balance he doesn't fucking care.

he's so fucking tired. two months and five days, six months and three. the last time someone touched him for more than a second without trying to kill him it was a crying intern, this bespectacled guy whose name he'd never bothered to learn choking on his own blood as he clutched katsuki's wrist for comfort. before that he thinks it was his mother, exchanging their usual routine of brusque ruffling before he got on the train. he hasn't cried since the start of this, but he feels like crying now, hot throbbing behind his eyes. he sucks in a breath, forces it down. time and place. he's said it like a mantra since the start, like there's ever going to be one.

todoroki is fast asleep, but his hand's still there. his fingers have curled into the wool.

two months and five days, he thinks again, remembering other hands, clutching his face, pinning his arms. that's changed now, he realises. still marks the date, but not the last time he's spoken to someone.

ten minutes, thirty seconds. he reaches to pull the covers higher over todoroki's shoulders, feels his stomach constrict when his hand brushes medicine-sticky lips in passing.

maybe todoroki can sail. that's a rich kid thing to do. he'll have to ask in the morning.

he falls asleep within fifteen minutes, forty seconds of todoroki, and doesn't wake until the sun rises.

[doodlingstuff]

On The Run

I know, I know, I knoooow I shouldn't be posting things like this (maybe someone did first). Blame my fingers and suffer with me: •Kevin, Jean and Neil are close to retirement, but still pro •Near to pay their debt, but they still owe •Covid happens •Exy seasons get suspended •Olympics get cancelled •Ichirou won't take a pandemic as an excuse •They go after Neil first •It doesn't end well •For the other guys •It's been so long since Neil stopped running, but he still knows how to do it •Andrew sticks with him, obviously •Because he made a promise and now it's time to fulfill it •They take the cats and run to the Kerejean apartment •It's almost too late •Together they can overpower Ichirou's people •Jean feels defeated and ready to die •Kevin is having one of his nervous breakdowns™ •Jeremy wants to comfort them but he is also scared af •The five (seven) run away •This is bigger than anything before, so Neil calls Stuart's people •They are offered a safe place to stay abroad. However, •Borders get closed •They are trapped inside the country, with the Moriyamas on their heels •Neil is taken back to the years on the run with his mom •But ten times worse •Everything is closed •They can't risk their friends •Their only advantage they have is wearing face masks •The following days, they squat in empty houses, break in backseats of parked cars •Kevin is so afraid he doesn't complain •They have a few close encounters •Everything goes to hell •Neil starts having constant panic attacks again •Kevin's are increasingly worse •Jeremy has never been on the run or in danger. His sunshine mood gets drown in fear •Jean and Andrew are the ones who stand their ground and get their lovelies moving •All hopes are lost •Then, Jeremy remembers •His family used to have a cabin in the woods •They make it to California •Jeremy finds the cabin •It's old, empty and a bit creepy, but it's hidden •And safe •Neil and Andrew sleep back to back, ready to fight •Kevin and Jeremy sleep tangled, failing to ease each other’s nerves •Jean can't sleep anymore. He becomes the night watch •Time blurs. There aren't any more attacks •They get comfortable and make a good life far away from the rest of the world •It's been so long when Jean decides to give it a shot and explore civilization •Everyone is sure he won't return. They get ready to move again •Jean returns. A small grin on his face, a newspaper on his hands •Ichirou caught the virus and didn't make it •He had no successor, the Moriyama empire is crumbling to dust •They can breathe again for the first time in months •Outside, the world is still strange. Everything changed •But after all they gone through, face masks, sanitizer and staying at home isn't such a big price to pay for being alive