#this is what im speaking in reference to when i say that i'm surprisingly well adjusted considering the circumstances btw.

[turtlemagnum]

now that my childhood is definitively over and has been for a while, i'm feeling compelled to write a little about it in retrospect. warning, long, and likely not very pleasant at times. specific warnings include discussion of child abuse, domestic violence, sexual assault, racism, ableism, medical abuse, and pissing on my enemies (god typing that out really made me think about the depths of this shit. christ)

as far as i can remember, my earliest memory is noticing the condensation on the outside of my cup and being amazed at how the outside could've possibly got wet even though the lid was sealed tight. even then i could tell that it wasn't the same as when you spilled it, leaving me with a lot of questions but without the language to express them. this is a soft memory, one of the few i have of then due to how i started forming memories about 2 weeks before my dad left, at least according to my parents recollection of little things i told them about remembering. now, my parents... they were definitely too young to be parents, i think; and regardless neither were particularly well adjusted individuals. my dad undoubtedly moreso, the fact that i have more trauma surrounding my mom most certainly being a matter of sheer exposure since she's the one that mostly raised me.

my parents splitting is also one of my earliest memories. i still remember it being late at night, i couldn't sleep so i was watching the VHS for one of the aladin movies repeatedly. i was about 6 at the time, if memory serves. i don't know why, but eventually i felt like trying to see my parents in their room, but when i got to their door i was filled with an overwhelming sense of dread; one i couldn't quite comprehend at the time. it was quiet, i could hear nothing. or at least that's what i remember, it's all very fuzzy. next thing i know, i inch open the door and it bursts open. my dad, with some sort of hold on my mom; i interpreted it as a choke but she says it wasn't. i can still remember the looks on their faces, especially his. i'd never seen rage like that in someones eyes before. next thing i remember, we're out in the living room. dad has a knife in his hand, and i don't quite understand what he's saying. i keep asking mom why he has a knife in his hand, she's panicking and insisting it's just a newspaper in an ineffectual attempt to keep me calm. i'd later learn that in that moment, he was threatening to kill himself. that was the last time i'd see my father for a long time.

a short while later, i was playing outside. i don't quite remember why, but a group of siblings started attacking me, throwing rocks the size of my head and hitting me with sticks and the like. i was trying to run away, but i was slower than them. luckily, i've always been a bit big relative to my age range, so when i saw i had no choice but to fight back, i was equipped to. i remember literally seeing red, and grabbed one by the neck. the rest scattered like a bunch of little pissants, and i'd later find out that they were going to get their dad. now, their dad was a rather large man. one of unimpressive fitness and even less impressive mental faculties. but he was an adult, and i wasnt. he said he was going to kill me, and my mom, and when i ran he yelled "yeah, get your daddy". i likely needn't say why that line particularly hurt. my mom came out to protect me, and the police arrived. the cop said to him, something to the effect of "if i were in your shoes, i'd have done the same thing." thus beginning a lifelong distrust in the police. i'd also later find out that he shared a last name with the cop, though due to some phrasing i'd later hear from one of the dude's daughters there's reason to believe that they might not actually be related. regardless, this unequivocally sticks out as one of the times i felt most utterly powerless in my childhood. my mom didn't allow me outside on my own until i was big enough to defend myself from trash like him. needless to say, that was the most formative years of my childhood flushed away spent alone inside a shitty apartment. years later, given how he was a neighbor at the same apartments, he'd act like nothing ever happened. he'd try to act all friendly, and i'd have to restrain myself from trying to get revenge. i'd later find that his wife was a kind soul, and the one who actually worked a job, with the kids actually seeming to grow not only to be decent people but to hate him just as much as i did. so, i can't bring myself to blame them in all of this, even if i unequivocally did at the time.

i'd start going to school soon, about 1 to 2 weeks later? the first day didn't go so well. i was in an introductory gym class, and the gym teacher was being kind of a condescending prick. so, i pissed on him and ran away. that's just kinda something i did, back then. probably the only funny thing about this story, at least at this portion. they didn't manage to catch me for about a half an hour according to my mom, but by my reckoning at the time i avoided the teachers for what felt like an eternity. regardless, i was placed in a special ed school from then on for my behavioral issues, and would be in some kind of special ed for the rest of my time in school.

at around that same time, i don't remember exactly when but i could at least form memories by then, i made a "friend". his name was christian, and he was a mean little fucker. but, since i had no other friends, and i'm pretty sure our moms got along well, we hung out. i think he might've been the first in a long line of people i sought companionship in and shouldn't have; or ar least one of the first. regardless, i forget the context but he was being a prick one day and i'd finally had enough of his bullshit, so i pissed on him. he started crying, which made me laugh. luckily i think this was the last time i had done this, so if this grosses you out then be happy that there's nothing piss related left.

school was mostly uneventful. a fight here, some work there, usually nothing special. my first teacher, i loved her at the time, ms. h. now, as a white person it's very much not my place to call her an uncle tom. at the same time, she very much taught us that we had moved past race as an issue, and unprovoked she at one point mentioned how the black panthers were, and i quote, "the black KKK" (one of the few things from back then that i remember the specific wording of). again, i'm white, she was black, it's not my place to call her an uncle tom. but i'll let you come to your own conclusions. wasnt the end of my grade school teachers putting their own stupid political beliefs into the classroom, though i will say it was somehow probably the least stupid. in middle school, i had a mrs. messina as my main teacher. at one point, while teaching us about the american civil war, she said something to the effect of "now, the book says it was fought over slavery, but it was really about state's rights". at the time, i could tell it was absolutely bullshit she was pedeling there, but i didn't know the history behind that specific brand of bullshit and i didn't have the ability to meaningfully challenge her on that due to the fact that i was a fucking middle schooler and she was my teacher. was still somehow one of the better ones i had overall though, somehow. probably more of an indictment of the system if anything. the one i was very much most impacted by at the time was in high school. i don't remember her name, but she was one of the aids in class (which, if you dont know, in special ed are the people who do little supplementary things to help the actual teachers), and during a slow part of class she just kinda went on an unprompted rant about how PTSD and related mental illnesses are "stupid". in a special ed classroom, with at least one student who had PTSD (me). said some bullshit about how things were so bad for the people who went through the world wars, and how they didn't have PTSD and this and that (clearly somebody never heard the term "shell shock"), and my actual teacher, bless his soul, actually pushed back a little on it, but god damnit did i want her to have been through even a little bit of what people like us have. i remembered at the time, back in middle school. one of the aids was a veteran, real soft spoken guy, shaved head, pretty buff, i never learned how his name was spelled but if i had to guess it was mr. garo. i remember at one point saying that what i went through was probably nowhere near as bad as what he did, and you know what he said to me? "you've got PTSD too, kid." that stuck with me, it really did. and here i heard this dumb bitch talking about how back in her day men were men and all that bullshit, and i couldn't help but think about mr. garo at that time, and wonder if she'd have the balls to say that shit to his face. at a different point she also came out as a climate change denier, so, y'know. wrong side of history about a lot of shit, really.

so, over the course of my adolescence i was in and out of the mental hospital more times than any of us can remember. i sure as hell can't, and by my mom's recollection it was about 7-12 times all in all. i barely remember the first times when i was very young, i don't think anything all too important happened despite a prevailing sense of death pervading over the whole experience. most of them happened when i was very, very young. luckily, we were poor enough that we actually had free healthcare, which if you know much in depth about american healthcare that should tell you something about where we were at the time. the last time i went was in middle school. just recently, i had burnt my leg pretty severely. they didn't give me the ointment to treat it while i was in there. i had lost one of my favorite shirts in there and one of the staff said "yeah, i'll see if i can get it", lying to my fucking face (bastard never even checked where he said he would), and according to someone who previously worked there and quit because the staff there sucked, there's a good chance it was stolen. i had a headache once, and the staff wouldn't let me just stay in my fucking room even though they let at least one other person stay in their room and sleep in, and at one point one of the nurses threatened to burn the book i had with me with a demonic fucking grin on her face. the worst thing that happened in there, though, wasn't to me. i didn't even realize the depths of how fucked it was until i remembered it in high school. warning, this next part is about sexual assault, you can skip to the next paragraph if that's enough for you. one of the girls i did group therapy was in there for being drugged and raped on camera. and the psychiatrist she was talking to? he said that she was just doing it for fucking attention. i swear to god, if hell exists he's going straight to depths of satans dick.

one time, when i was very young, i was playing with some cards that belonged to my grandpa. this is blurry but my grandma told me to stop, and when i didn't she beat the shit out of me with a belt. y'know, for being a kid, playing with cards. my grandpa and mom would later find me with my bed pushed up against my door. i don't believe i was punished for it because i told them exactly what happened. in talking to my mom about it, she said that she made sure that i wasnt alone with my grandma for a while. i wonder if she never tried anything like that again because she knew what she did was wrong, or if it's because she knew that by the time we'd be alone again next, i'd've been able to fight back, and unlike her if i went down i'd be able to get back up.

i never really had friends growing up, at least never for long. there were the people i went to class with, and that's only assuming i didn't fucking hate them. never really stayed in touch with people, and while a couple of times i met some again after the fact, i'd come to kind of fucking hate them. one of my best friends in middle school, garrett. loved the dude at the time, made the busrides actually goddamn enjoyable. i think he was probably my first time having romantic attraction to a another guy, even if i didn't quite have the capacity to understand the specificities of it all. my first morning in high school, i was overjoyed to see him again. and, since he already had two friends, that was two people i had a foot in the door to becoming friends with already. over the next two years, we'd be friends in the way that only teenage shitheads could be. and by the end of it, i realized that i hated them, and more importantly, myself for how we acted. so, i started to isolate myself, and luckily for me that's around when covid hit, so i would've been isolated as shit anyways! i think that's around the time i really started to mature as a person, funnily enough. i still sucked, but i was well on my path to sucking a lot less, like i do now. of course, i'm not perfect, but i'm definitely a lot better than i was as a high schooler, that's for damn sure.

growing up all alone, my two main sources of entertainment were books and video games, setting aside the VHS player. aside from my gameboy advance, the first actual console i could call my own was my N64. i used to think it was probably the newest piece of functional technology in the apartment, but in retrospect the fridge probably beat it out by a few years. that damn thing got me through a lot, especially the zelda games on it. the other main gaming device i had throughout a significant part of my childhood was the computer my dad left, and there were significant parts of that time where it didn't function at all, much less the functional but without internet it would later come to be. one of the games he'd install on it when he came up to visit was oblivion, i remember requesting it because i figured out that it was a game i remembered him playing when i was really young. there were a few games like that. ones that i mostly remember watching him play while i sit on his lap. spore was one of them, one of the earliest i remember really. but oblivion... it's still unequivocally one of my favorite games of all time, even if i have grown more and more critical of it as the years have gone on. growing up, the first job that i ever wanted was to be a warrior, like vegeta called himself in dragon ball z. as soon as i realized that wasnt gonna work out, the main thing then became games, and while i've definitely grown a lot more focused on writing as time's gone on, i still remember the desire and wonder i felt over imagining a game that had open world exploration and first person perspective like oblivion but the stellar dungeon and puzzle design of zelda, as well as a mixture of the immaculate vibes of both. i think the closest we've gotten was botw, but that's still not quite what i had in mind. i sincerely hope i'll be able to show you all, one day

eventually, i'd get a fully functioning computer. one that was basically an overpriced prebuilt office PC, but it had good enough specs to play oblivion and could connect to the internet, so even before i was able to get a new copy of oblivion on steam i was able to play flash games and such. the first game i ever got on my steam account was TF2, because it was free and somebody i knew from middle school had recommended it to me. i later friended him when i gained full steam account usage, i remembered his steam name even though he had been in high school for a while at that point. he was also the reason as to why i eventually got discord, too. a fair amount of time had passed, and i had come to find that i had basically nothing in common with him, but i think i might've been an adult by then. regardless, i had somebody to play TF2 with, and i was a happy kid. i would eventually rig up this broken bluetooth headset to work as just a mic over discord, it sucked but hey, i'm not the one who had to listen to it. i remember my first major TF2 update was, and get ready for this... jungle inferno. good timing, i know. got in just in time to see the last major content update! it was pretty early on, so i didn't even notice much different aside from the fact that i had to wait significantly longer to find a game for a while, so i just didnt play for a while lol. over the course of about 2017 to 2018 or so, i put the vast majority of my hours in TF2 in. 554 hours at time of writing. i don't see that changing soon, given the state of the game and lack of friends to play it with. i actually met a longtime friend over a niche little hightower server, one that's no longer up. i actually saw it being played in a pretty popular TF2 youtube video at the time, albeit for a short bit. i'm not friends with her, anymore. she's one of the many people i've realized i'm better off without, even with the pain in my chest as i write that. there's a certain kind and degree of irony poisoning that kills you even to interact with, and while hers was subtle in many ways it was also to her core. talking with her left me with an overwhelming feeling of not being cared about, like i meant nothing to her even though i cared so much about her. i'd be lying if i said a part of me doesnt miss her.

through the guy i met in middle school, i met who in retrospect would be my highschool girlfriend. online, of course. gods, it pains my heart just to think about her. they had such a profound impact on me, from my sense of humor, to my music taste, to my taste in games. she's the reason i have such a love for half life, you see she was pretty involved in the source modding scene when i first met her. she actually had me do a bit of voice acting for one of her mods, if memory serves. unsure if it ever got finished. god, she even bought me the microphone i currently use. well, not like i've even used it this year. all our little spoonerisms, our stupid little jokes, the games we'd play together, it all makes me want to cry in retrospect. by the time we parted, things had changed. she'd grown distant. cold. i couldn't even talk to her anymore. i still feel so bad for it, but i had to break up with her. on some level we both still loved eachother. but we had grown apart. and the things i had put her through... i couldn't continue to have done the things i had done. from what i've been able to ascertain about the lives of normal people, i was... relatively not that shitty, for a teenage boy. but god did i still fucking suck.

i remember, all my life, everyone always insisted how smart i was. my parents insisted i was smart because they were smart, my teachers all insisted i was smart for some goddamn reason, everywhere i turned i had adults fellating me over my own perceived intelligence. it gave me a complex, to put it lightly. if i was so smart, then everyone around me must be such a dumbass, and therefore i'm better than them, and... you see the problem here, right? and the thing is, i wasn't smart, i just knew big words because i read a lot of fantasy and that's just what our society thinks smart is. honestly, i'm not even sure intelligence is a wholly valid concept, even if it makes instinctual sense. there's a reason i try not to use intelligence as neither a compliment or an insult anymore. honestly, at this point my stance on it is that everyone's a dumbass and the difference is on what. it's taken me a lot to unlearn my own sense of superiority, it's very hard to unlearn something that you had instilled into you as long as you've been making memories. i think another thing was my own attractiveness.

growing up, people always told me how much i look like my mom; my mom especially. i don't really see much in the way of similarities, but i still internalized that to some degree. now, imagine hearing that as a kid, and then hearing your mom crying about how ugly she thinks she is. that's pretty fucking damaging, even if it took me into adulthood to be able to properly articulate it. there's a lot that it's taken me into adulthood to fully articulate. y'know, you absorb a lot, as a kid. that's what you do, generally speaking. so, speaking as an adult now... i just hope i can make a better world for the next generation of little shits, so they dont turn out with as much bullshit as i did, y'know? even if i don't think i'm ever gonna want to have kids, it's just... important. y'know?

[azsazz]

omg BABE congraaats! SO excited for u 👏 I absolutely adored Midnight Muse, so even though a small part of me wants to hoard and gatekeep our precious fic in this fandom, you deserve the success and recognition, and the world deserves good books! 💖

Remember us and remember where u came from when you blow up 🥹 luv uuuuu

now, some questions 4 u:

How was it to 'un-acotar-ize' the story, and find alternate names for everyone? Do you still picture the acotar characters in your mind in the new version? I'm curious what the rest of the changed names are apart from Quinn and Knox (which are awesome names btw), are the other changed names something you can share, or is that a secret? (it's fine if not, I'm just super curious 😁) Also, was 'Knox' a reference to one of Az's sons in your fic family tree?

Also, I notice it says "Book 1 of the Vulcan University series", are there plans for more? 👀

💙

Thank you so much!!! I know i wish we could gatekeep it here too but it was too good not to share with the world! The real ones will always know where midnight muse came from 💙💙

i could never forget any of you!! and you'll never get rid of me either 😈 hehehe. I love you too!! 🫶🏻

Honestly, it de-acotarizing it wasn't too bad. it was a little grating because i basically had to revise 120k 😭 and my version of revising that was literally retyping the entire thing because im a psycho and can't just fix up paragraphs haha. but the plot did get some work after all of the feedback i received and i thinks its even better than it was!! There's def still some subtle acotar hints tbh (maybe to the point where i'm worried it might be a lil obvious but whatevs) but gotta let em know my roots lol

hmmm finding names was kind of a mix of easy and hard for me. i've always wanted to use the name knox because i really like it as we all know so i went with him bcs i love it. it's slightly a reference to the son i made for him, but if you've read the knox x reader fic there's something that i do want to use his (my?) canon (or is it fanon? no idea) character with a variation of the name (so excited about). but that's for when i attempt writing a fantasy so idk when that will happen, there's much more thought that has to go into that than my lil romance 💙 but yeah we love knoxie in any form 💙

sometimes i do picture the characters when im writing...it's surprisingly mostly cass i think about or slip up when i'm talking about it irl 😂 but they mostly have their own personalities now and i adore them all so much!

I would LOVE to share the other character names!! So we have Quinn (absolutely love this name tbh) and Knox obviously 💙💙💙 Then we have Ace (which would be Rhysand's character in the fanfic), Rory - Quinn's best friend and roommate. Then we have Slate (😂 always cracks me up) for Cassian's character, and Reid for Luciens character. Mandy was Mor but only makes a brief appearance! Those are pretty much the main characters for the series 💙

There are plans for more...hehehe...i might be well into writing the second one as we speak, but the goal is to have four books in this series!

thank you for the questions these were so exciting and fun to talk about 🥰💙

[silawastaken]

it’s me again. new Taylor swift album. ssk thoughts?

first, i woke up at 4:30 in the morning to listen to this album the moment it came out. And I WAS going through it thinking about skk when I wasn't bawling my eyes out over certain lyrics that were personal attacks

I do want to take a moment to talk about the actual album itself on its own for a moment just because omfg i love it, and something I really liked with tpd in comparison to more of her recent albums, is the music seems very simple, with a focus on lyricism, which had always been a theme with her music, that the lyrics are more important, but it just. It's so well done here.

Also, there's a very nice mix between the synth pop of midnights, and the more acoustic vibes from folklore and evermore in this album, when i listened to the first song i thought the whole album was going to have that same vibe, and was very pleasantly surprised at the first piano track.

Also a lot of the lyrics are very reminiscent of her earlier albums, thinking speak now and fearless. it feels most obvious with i can do it with a broken heart and who's afraid of little old me- which by the way, based off the title I thought i would HATE whos afraid of little old me, but i actually really like it??? like it's a very 'cringe' phrase, it's made fun of mercilessly, but it works surprisingly well.

The songs all seem to have an earlier album they could tie back to, with the same vibes or styles of lyrics, and it's so nice to listen to while thinking of what it could possibly tie back to.

This definitely isn't my favourite album, i was expecting something different i think, but it's still really good, and there are quite a few really good songs on it. guilty as sin? and clara bow are my personal favourites i think :3

But I would like to direct your attention to the second song on the album, 'The Tortured Poets Department'

I LOVE a title drop in a song, it drives me insane for real, and i actually screamed. But more importantly, in reference to this, it is VERY skk to me, like I listened to it and instantly was thinking of how i was going to reference this song in an au some day.

But imo, this song is 100% Chuuya pov skk and well the autism is working overtime so I will be doing an analysis I'm so sorry this is what I'm using my time for but AUGH brainrot im sorry i have interests

'You left your typewriter at my apartment' - starting off by mentioning that this is what i thought of when considering references, because im a sucker for writer skk, and i thought a really cool thing would be Dazai leaving a typewriter behind when he left for some reason, and then Chuuya picking it up and eventually using it, especially with one of the following lines being 'who uses a typewriter anyway?', something he used to judge Dazai for then becoming something he does himself is just *polite clapping* i love it and I will be giving dazai a typewriter at somepoint

'But you're in self sabotage mode, throwing spikes down on the road' - Dazai is very mentally ill, and likely does self sabotage, ESPECIALLY if it were to be his relationship with Chuuya, his bandages are an allegory for the fact that he doesn't let anyone see below the surface of his personality, and that does go for Chuuya as well. He doesn't allow for that kind of vulnerability and in all likelihood, if he were to end up in a situation where he did need to be vulnerable, he'd self sabotage and try and fuck it up just to get out of that situation. However, there's also the next lines;

'But I've seen this episode and still love the show, who else decodes you?' - which is to say that regardless of the 'episode' dazai would be having in that moment, chuuya would still love him, and can decode him to understand what he is doing, which is a VERY skk thing, being able to decode what the other is thinking when they do things, and their intentions. He would be able to work out what was going on, and be able to work things out.

'And who's gonna hold you like me? And who's going to know you, if not me?' - skk have that insane bond that they don't have with anyone else, they know each other better than anyone else, and they both probably know it, regardless of whether they admit it or not, and (don't attack me im a multishipper) they're genuinely unmatched as a duo, there's not another team with either of them that are stronger than the two of them together. Nobody is going to know them the way that they know each other, it's just impossible given how close they had to be, and the environment they were in. The entire Dazai makes Chuuya feel human and Chuuya makes Dazai feel alive thing. As the post chorus says, nobody will do it the same.

'I scratch your head, you fall asleep, like a tattooed golden retriever' - rare moments of vulnerability my beloved, but my specific picking of this line is Dazai's constant insistence that Chuuya is his dog, while frequently behaving in a way(esp ada dazai) that would be more suited to a golden retriever. There's also something I want to say here about the comparison to a dog, by a person he loves. But it is canon that Dazai at the very least does not like dogs, and in fanon he is frequently portrayed as afraid of them.

Here, this could be translated as it being a metaphor, Dazai being vulnerable like a dog, something he is scared of/hates. He isn't just scared of dogs, he's scared of vulnerability in any form, and comparing him to a dog when he is like that would be to emphasise that point, that he hates them both. This also opens the implication that Chuuya is aware of both of these fears.

But he is like a dog, and being vulnerable, and in that moment, he would be exactly what he hates most, his is everything he hates. And Chuuya loves him anyway, despite knowing how much he hates himself. And he makes himself vulnerable around Chuuya, regardless of how much he's scared of it.

'Sometimes i wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me' - this lyric makes me think of concerns about Dazai leaving again after they reunite at 22, perhaps Chuuya's own concerns of getting too comfortable only for one of their many issues to come and blow everything up in their faces, like how in a earlier lyric the relationship in the song is referred to as a cyclone, the fear is that it gets out of control, even if they know what they're doing, or trying to do.

'But you had told Lucy you'd kys if i ever leave, and i said the same to jack so i felt seen' - oh boy toxic co-dependency time. skk are so co-dependent it's literally insane, their lives often genuinely rest in each others hands, not even mentioning whatever the fuck went on in mersault. From Chuuya relying on Dazai to nullify corruption, to Chuuya being the reason Dazai decided to try living a little in 15, there have been multiple instances in which if it wasn't for the other they would be dead. They trust each other with their lives, and could very easily end up in a state where if one were to leave, the other would make an attempt on their own life (moreso dazai than chuuya, but it really could go either way).

'Everyone we know understands why it's meant to be, cause we're crazy, so tell me, who else is gonna know me?' - Anything else aside, skk are fucking insane. they deserve each other just so they don't bring danger to literally anyone else they interact with. They're insane, especially around/about each other, and again, they're the only ones who fully understand each other. Dazai is the only one left from during stormbringer as well, which is think is important to mention. Dazai was there during sb and the dragons head conflict, both times that Chuuya's friends were killed, if anyone was going to understand how he might have felt after that experience, or what happened, it would be Dazai. They understand each other in ways others would never manage.

'At dinner, you take my ring off my middle finger, and put it on the one people put wedding rings on, and that's the closest I've come to my heart exploding' - skk are literally married guys. dating six years, married four years, divorced eight times and broken up 52, but also never stopped dating and are best friends who plan how to kill the other for fun. They're married, but they're also not, but also their souls are tied together in ways not made for the human brain to comprehend. This feels very much like domestic skk fic interactions and i'm 100% here for it.

Anyway, this song is very skk coded and I love it so much, tell me why i spent an hour on this. I don't think this was what you were looking for but... this is what you got. If you want me to go through any other songs like this then i'll do it. I love skk and taylor swift so much i can't even think like im afaifiegbi im pretty sure taylor has a tumblr account so there is like a 0.0000001% she would see this and that has me... panicking but anyway :D i have lots of thoughts all the time and thank you for indulging me with this ask i NEEDED to get this out of my system before i exploded!!!

[ur-fav-inactive-writer]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐦𝐲 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐨'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐧-𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞...

Request by anon

WC: 619

You were Amy's younger sibling and Amy absolutely adored you.

You had never really felt attached to your gender, you never felt like your assigned gender but you didnt feel like the opposite one either. For years, you thought maybe it was just normal to feel this way

Until, you found out about the term 'non-binary', you read up on it and discovered it described exactly the way you felt about yourself

You were excited to finally figure out your identity, but you were also scared. What would your parents say? What would your brothers say? What would Amy say?

You knew you'd have to tell them eventually, you couldn't keep hearing them use the wrong pronouns and your dead name. It was driving you insane, they had to know

You scheduled a dinner with your older sister Amy, you worked with her but it felt right to do it in a more private way, you had always been close with Amy, she was your best friend

As you began to eat, you told her you had to tell her something. She looked intrigued and urged you to continue after seeing your nervous expression

"Well, um... I'm non binary. I go by they/them pronouns and my new name is (Y/N). And if you don't like that, then im sorry, but it's who I am."

"(Y/N), im not upset about it, I accept you for who are you are, I love you no matter what your name is or pronouns are!"

You were overjoyed that your sister accepted you but you came to the realisation that you'd also have to tell the rest of your biological family and your work family.

You decided to first tell your work family, you'd have your sister there to guide you through the announcement and you were certain you'd have some support

The next day at the precinct, as the briefing came to an end, Amy announced that the two of you had an announcement. You both stood at the front of the room and she looked at your reassuringly. You sighed as you began to speak,

"So um... I thought I should tell you guys that I no longer go by (deadname), I go by (Y/N) and my pronouns are they/them. I'm non binary."

The room went quiet for a moment. You were scared but everyone quickly reassured you that they accepted you for who you are.

Rosa and Holt were especially proud of you for coming out, surprisingly they both gave you a hug (despite not being touchy people) and told you it was a good thing you came out and told everyone who you really are.

Jake thought it was cool and was obsessed with your new name. He made sure everyone got your pronouns and name right.

Scully and Hitchcock try their best to get your name and pronouns right, sometimes they slip up but they do apologise for any mistakes they make. They're old but theyre trying which is what matters

Terry and Holt prioritise changing any paperwork with your deadname and any information that had changed since your transition.

Charles did very good with remembering how to refer to you and gave you a very tight hug while congratulating you for gathering the courage to express who you really were.

Amy started dork-dancing with joy once you successfully came out to everyone, she was so proud she couldn't help it. She hugged you tighter than anyone else.

But then came the hard part, coming out to your family. Amy decided to arrange a family gathering and made a binder on hoe to come out. When you came out to your family, she was right by your side. No matter how your family responded, she stuck by your side the whole time.

[ruporas]

hi!! it's the anon with massive brainrot that spammed 3 fat asks at once <3

i'm so so so happy that u responded to all my ramblings so earnestly. and in DEPTH. that last rant u had about the nature of vashwood and how they view each other and their insecurities and all that... it took me forever to read cuz i kept stopping to just Sit and Think About It

but u also asked about that spotlight metaphor i mentioned and. it's bad lmfao

i was actually thinking about in 98 trigun where wolfwood takes a very permanent vacation. i'd remembered a kind of spotlight effect on him during that scene, and looking it up just now i realize it was cuz one of the church windows cast this warm square of light over him

so my memory was slightly off- i'd thought it was more of an actual spotlight- but i lost my mind when i thought you might've been referencing it for some reason. i didn't wanna bring it up tho cuz i figured i was wrong, and evidently i was lol

anywho, YAY LOST PAGE RECOVERY! kind of honored that i accidentally dug it up

bound to want still reads surprisingly smooth despite the fact it was missing a whole page tho. i never would've known if you didnt say anything. ETERNALLY happy i have it now, of course- it's beautiful and i adore the composition <3 it speaks so strongly to the atmosphere and what's going on

side note: would it be ok if i messaged u to talk about vashwood more? cuz i can Seriously ramble nonstop but i feel like im annoying your other followers lol (it's like i have everyone cuffed to desks as i aggressively slap a whiteboard with bound to want pasted on it)

i just. want to praise your work so Bad. i notice so many little things and it gets swept under the rug so much cuz an anon ask can only get so obnoxious haha.

but yeah! thanks sm for bein so amazing. i hope school goes well for you so u can thrive with vashwood this summer <3

(also i SAW that tag about bonus content. i Saw it. i'm Thinking about it)

OHHHHHH I understand what you mean by that though! It makes sense to me to presume that considering the confetti notes haha, but yeah, just one reference to his permanent vacation and it's in the confetti!!

BUT WAH, thank you so much again for your kind kind words!!! Yes, feel free to message me whenever, I always welcome it. It'll definitely take me some time to respond because life and I also like to sit down with a response and have the proper coherency to respond with my full attention and stuff. It's an honor to hear about detail analysis about my work so!!! I welcome it, thank you so so much!!!

[hauntedziosportrait]

The Relativity and Connections between Jamaasian Lore and Mirabai

WARNING! ⚠️ Very religious themes. I apologise if I have any incorrect or outdated information, it's very risky writing about something surrounding a certain religion when in fact.. I'm an atheist.

The lore of Jamaa has always been a really tricky and fairly eerie topic to cover. It has themes from all sorts of different cultures and despite the main tale being retold, changed and edited one thousand times, the information we receive is clear about who the certain deities and characters are and what their roles to play give.

Today, we're looking more on the more eerie side of Animal Jam- The relationship between Mira and Zios. Surprisingly, we know more about our enemies the phantoms than we do the entities we're serving. Alot has been told about Mira, but on the other hand, not much information has been provided about Zios and his identity making him more or less a very suspicious character to take heed of. That's why there are so many theories regarding him specifically; the most we know is that...

●He is the spiritual highest point of the Jamaa heiarchy, having created Mira and setting the stars and planets in motion

●He is often depicted as a bodyless golden mask surrounded by intricate patterns and grooves

●He was the lover of Mira

●He dissappeared at some point in time and never came back.

To jog your memory, I'm going to be basing this theory more on the Old Jamaasian Lore. Interestingly, the lore was changed to make it appealing to a younger audience, but in the old lore we get a stronger sense of emotion and alot more information about the guardian spirits of Jamaa.

Zios is practically a God. He sets several plants, stars and seas in motion. Eventually he gets lonely and gives life to a deity said to be the perfect incarnation of humble beauty; a graceful grey heron named Mira. Mira and Zios get on well together and she often tells him how talented and artistic he is.

Eventually, Zios falls for her, and creates a beautiful land for he and Mira to share; Jamaa- as a sign of his love.

Mira is ecstatic and suggests and creates the idea of giving live to mortal inhabitants to the land- us, the animals. However, Zios gets a little snappy at Mira for that. He meant for this place to share just between the two and for nobody else to interfere.

He then snaps at Mira for creating the Animals and the two fall into a fearsome and emotional argument. Mira's tears then, without her knowing, come into accidental contact with the mortal world. Since she is an omniscient deity, mixing such power with normal life would end in ruin- Thus creating the phantoms.

Here's the catch. Mira and Zios are too wrapped up in their argument to notice the phantoms attacking Jamaa. Since the phantoms were created by Mira, they would only obey her. That is why they are after Zios, to avenge Mira. Also a case why we never see the phantoms target Mira specifically.

Then, they notice the peril Jamaa is in and, still angry at eachother, select the powerful and strong remaining animals in their selective tribes as Alphas to defend.

Shortly after, Zios goes missing. We're told the phantoms took him through the phantom portal never to be seen again. However, there is alot of evidence to suggest he fell victim to the phantoms and gave in to their side, furthermore taking control of the Phantom Empire. That may be why, despite their goal being reached, they continue to harass and attack the alphas, Jamaa, and by extent, Mira.

From then, the Alphas succeed, and all is well. Zios, however, is never heard of again.

Despite their argument, Mira is eternally upset. That is why phantoms keep producing, due to her tears. Since Zios left angry at Mira, it may be an extra that she thinks Zios left hating her.

And... That is what is inferred from the old lore. The new lore consists of less knowledge about Mira and Zios, but more information about the Alphas and of course the animal heartstones.

Now, here is the thing. The tale of Jamaa is very familiar sounding to some people. Zios is often seen as omnipotent and very powerful. He's often seen as similar to several different gods in mythology..

●Zeus, the Greek god of sky and thunder (This one is self explanatory, even their names are similar: however I've seen this one cause a bit of controversy as this is comparing Zios to a technically VERY problematic god.. Also, Mira sounds alot like Hera!)

●Viracocha, the great creator deity in the pre-Inca and Inca mythology in the Andes region of South America. He's mainly mentioned in incan and mesopotamian mythology as the high creator god (and this one shares more similarities than you may think!) They both had lovers, both dissappeared after creating the world, both had similar powers (examples of heliokenesis) and they actually look REALLY similar, most likely Zios' design being based off of Viracocha's golden armor. Viracocha pictured below!

●And the last one... Krishna. An important religious figure in Hinduism and the final reincarnation/eighth avatar of Vishnu.

And that last one is what I'm planning to talk about today!

The perhaps most important part of this theory is Mirabai. Mirabai, often called Meera or Mira, was a 16th-century Hindu mystic poet and devotee of Krishna. She was known for her elegant beauty and poetry, as well as her eternal devotation to Krishna.

Meera pictured below as well as a figure of Krishna in the distance.

Surprsingly, we have our own Mira too. And if we're comparing Zios to Krishna, this relationship makes alot of sense. Meera was in love with Krishna, and Mira was in love with Zios. "In her last years, Meera lived in Dwarka or Vrindavan, where legends state she miraculously disappeared by merging into an idol of Krishna in 1547. While miracles are contested by scholars for the lack of historical evidence, it is widely acknowledged that Meera dedicated her life to Lord Krishna, composing songs of devotion and was one of the most important poet-saint of the Bhakti movement period." That paragraph was taken from Meera's Wikipedia entry, and relates alot to the story of Mira and Zios. Its said that Meera one day miraculously dissappeared just like Zios did and they only things she left behind were her poems, music, and of course, her devotion and husband-like considered relationship between her and Krishna.

Krishna pictured below.

Most of Meera's poems are dedicated to God in the form of Krishna, calling him the Dark One or the Mountain Lifter. "Some Meera songs include Radha, the lover of Krishna, and her jealousy and hatred for them. All her poems have philosophical connotations, mainly centered around Krishna."

The "Dark One" and "Mountain Lifter" terms are certaintly strange. Why would somebody refer to a "Dark One" in such a loving term?

Lets not forget the example of Zios not only representing the light in most cases, but spiritually, representing the dark. There's alot of evidence to actually suggest instead of the common thought that Zios represents the Sun and Mira the Moon, it may actually be the vice versa in a yin yang sort of way. Light and Dark cannot coexist without eachother and Zios and Mira are a great example of that.

I may explain the Zios is the moon thing a different time but you're going to have to roll with me here on this one... Zios is a perfect representation of the dark. Dark gives space and life to the light, but of course light always gives life to the dark.

Also, "Mountain-Bearer"... Not much to say here. Quite literally what Zios did to create Jamaa. "In her poems, Krishna is a yogi and lover, and she herself is a yogini ready to take her place by his side into a spiritual marital bliss. Meera's style combines impassioned mood, defiance, longing, anticipation, joy and ecstasy of union, always centred on Krishna."

Let's take a look at perhaps the most well known poem by Meera... And perhaps the one that relates the most to Jamaasian Lore. I am aware Julian2 has covered this in a video before, but here im going to take a proper analysis.

My Dark One has gone to an alien land. He has left me behind, he's never returned, he's never sent me a single word. So I've stripped off my ornaments, jewels and adornments, cut my hair from my head. And put on holy garments, all on his account, seeking him in all four directions. Mira: unless she meets the Dark One, her Lord, she doesn't even want to live.

— Mira Bai, Translated by John Stratton Hawley

Alot to process here. Let's see what we can compare.

●"My Dark One has gone to an Alien Land"-  Zios= Krishna: has gone to the realm of the phantoms/alien land

●"He's left me behind, he's never returned, he's never sent me a single word"- Exactly what Zios did. Never responded to Mira and didn't speak to her again after his dissappearance.

●"So I've stripped off my ornaments, jewels and adornments, cut my hair from my head"- Julian2 suggested this may be about Peck running away but this has been outdated. This could possibly refer to the "jewels and adornments" being the Alpha stones as Mira gives them away.

●"And put on holy garments, all on his account, seeking him in all four directions."- This refers to Mira yet again giving the alphas their Alpha Stones and after that she prepares to go out and find Zios.

●"Meera: unless she meets the Dark One, her Lord, she doesn't even want to live."- Unless Mira doesn't meet her Dark One- in this case, Zios-she doesn't feel the will to live, referencing her sorrow and despair without him.

I'm not sure about you, but I'm very convinced AJHQ may have based their lore on this poem specifically.

There is another poem that can relate to the legend of Jamaa, but there's not much to infer. I'm not going to do a thorough line by line analysis, but hopefully looking back on the analysis I just did you can atleast gather some stuff.

After making me fall for you so hard, where are you going? Until the day I see you, no repose: my life, like a fish washed on shore, flails in agony. For your sake I'll make myself a yogini, I'll hurl myself to death on the saw of Kashi. Mira's Lord is the clever Mountain Lifter, and I am his, a slave to his lotus feet.

"Meera speaks of a personal relationship with Krishna as her lover, lord and mountain lifter. (Sanson Ki Mala Pe Simru Main Pi Ka Naam) is written by Meera Bai Shows her dedication towards Lord Krishna. The characteristic of her poetry is complete surrender." -Quote from Wikipedia

The song of Sanson Ki Mala Pe Simru Main Pi Ka Naam is an interesting one-referring to her "beading the name of her beloved on the garland of my breaths". Interestingly, this song refers to Krishna as a Cuckoo Bird- A little bit of a crack theory, but this may suggest Zios could actually be the same behind that mask of his?

Examples of this bird-referring lyric are this quote from that same song:

"He is a melodious bird

He is a magnificent man

This foolish girl has taken

The beloved’s heart as the Lord"

I will link the full song plus English translation below!

https://www.google.com/amp/s/ekta25.wordpress.com/2011/06/23/sanson-ki-mala-pe-simroon-main-pi-ka-naam-on-the-garland-of-my-breaths-i-have-bejewelled-my-beloveds-name/amp/

Intresting... Perhaps Zios IS some sort of bird!

In conclusion, Mirabai's poetry, devotion and songs have alot of connections to Jamaasian Lore! I find this interesting, but this did help us gather quite a bit of information!

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Keep Trying: Nat

CW: Blood (like a lot of blood), implications of gore but no actual real gore, infected wound, referenced/implied past noncon/dubcon, referenced past abuse, referenced abusive relationship, very sick whumpee. Pet whump and dehumanization (referenced).

TIMELINE: Comes just after The Freedom to Run in Kauri’s story, right after Jenna kicks him out of the first safehouse he tries. References events in The Surgery . Blink-and-you’ll miss it character details for a side character.

The Jack referenced belongs to @spiffythespook and the Tara referenced belongs to @fairybean101

Tagging the Kauri crew: @im-not-rare-im-rarr, @maybeawhumpblog, @pepperonyscience, @haro-whumps, @18-toe-beans, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @giggly-evil-puppy, @whimpers-and-whumpers, @moose-teeth, @whump-it, @lumpofwhump, @pumpkinthefangirl​

Nat found him under a bush. 

Most people might have been a bit more surprised to discover a young man curled into a tiny ball underneath the line of heavy landscaping that went around her property, but Nat had been at this a long, long time - eighteen years, give or take - and this wasn’t the first time she’d found a runaway curled up asleep in the shade of the leaves.

Sometimes they weren’t even runaway pets, just kids who needed to escape the rain, on their own or on the run from bad home lives. Kids the shelters turned away or who had maxed out their time, needed somewhere to crash for a day or two before they made the rounds again.

She didn’t care - Nat took care of anyone who came to her for help. Only the pets ever came into the house, though.

“I thought he was… I don’t know, an animal or something at first,” one of the rescues whispered, wringing her hands together. 

She stood hunched over with narrow shoulders curved forward, drowning in a T-shirt at least three sizes too large, but it was all the poor thing ever wanted to wear. That and sweatpants that covered every inch. It was all the rescues ever wore, until they started to feel like their bodies belonged to them again. “I came to check to see if the bushes had flowers yet and I found him and I thought he was dead? I thought, I thought I should come g-g-get you, but then when I, um, I was going to get you the shovel because if it, if it was dead… but then he made a sound and he wasn’t an animal, and-”

“I understand, Krista,” Nat soothed, rubbing a hand in a slow circle on the young woman’s back. Krista relaxed at the touch and leaned back into it - the rescues usually came either horrified by touch or desperate for it, with no in-between. “I’ll take care of him from here. You did the right thing coming to get me. Now, maybe you should head inside.”

Krista nodded quickly, one hand to her mouth, chewing at her fingernails nervously. She hadn’t done that when she first showed up, too thin and nearly mute. She’d been dumped by her owner and found by a good Samaritan who took the time to find a storefront and drop her off.

The storefront had called Nat and Krista had been here ever since, going on three months now. She was a pretty thing, if faded and harried-looking, and she was fairly sure she was from somewhere near Tennessee - nearly across the country.

And she’d started biting her nails.

While biting fingernails wasn’t a habit Nat would normally encourage, she had a feeling it was parts of who Krista had been starting to show themselves, so she didn’t stop her.

Once Krista had gone back into the house, Nat stood with her hands on her hips, looking. It was still early morning, and the sun had only just barely begun to paint the deep blue-black sky with hints of pink and orange and, she thought with a hint of irritation, a bright and bloody red.

Red sky in the morning, farmer’s warning, her dad’s voice said in her head. Man had been gone for twenty years, and Nat never stopped hearing him. Never stopped feeling, in her mind, like maybe she still needed an adult to help her figure out what she’d done with her life and to give her some advice on the trajectory her life had taken since she was a twenty-two year old freshly graduated psych major shown a salary, a benefits package, and challenging work she couldn’t refuse… until she had.

She’d sort of lost her way - or found a better one - and become the den mother for a neverending rotation of frightened dehumanized amnesiacs who were, legally speaking, not even full people, but property.

Sometimes it occurred to her, with a bitter humor, that she had funneled, over the course of nearly twenty years, millions of dollars of stolen property through her old five-bedroom, three-story house in a town that had grown into a suburb with time and urban sprawl.

She was a goddamn criminal, but she couldn’t say her father wouldn’t have been fucking proud of her for picking the right side to fight for.

The boy curled up under the bushes shifted a little, the rustle of sticks and decaying leaves and dirt underneath him, and Nat dropped into an easy crouch, resting her elbows on her thighs and tilting her head.

Her braid slipped down towards her right shoulder, and more than a few strands of graying brown hair hung over her eyes.

“C’mon, kiddo,” She said, not bothering to keep her voice to a whisper. The boy shifted a little, rustling in the leaves. “Time to get up and moving.”

No one else in this neighborhood was up - and it wasn’t a great neighborhood, so even if anyone did get up they were fairly safe here. Everyone kept to themselves, and most of them understood why Nat did what she did.

The pets were unobtrusive - they came and went and kept to themselves - and so the neighbors pretended they didn’t see a thing. In return, Nat pretended she didn’t know what most of them were up to, the ways they made money in a city where the wealthy nearly never had to even look at the poor. It was a good enough system to get by.

“Hnnnnh, can’t,” the boy whispered. “S-sorry, not… I don’t… feel s’ well.”

She could see him a little better now. Black sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt - the rescue uniform, she thought with warmly affectionate dry humor, they all came out of captivity craving comfortable loose things that didn’t show any skin. Black curly hair - or maybe dark brown, he was shadowed under the leaves so it wasn’t clear. Eyes closed, long dark eyelashes, clammy pale skin with a sheen of sweat across his forehead…

And a lot of blood staining the front of his sweatshirt. A lot of blood.

Nat’s eyebrows raised. Rescues turned up in all sorts of shape, but they rarely showed up still bleeding. Usually by the time they made it to her, someone had bandaged them, someone had cleaned them up.

The boy was curled up around some kind of dark green bag, clutching onto it, and when he shifted hearing her voice, Nat watched his fingers close even more tightly around the rough canvas fabric.

“’m sorry,” the boy whispered, in a voice surprisingly deep for his delicately wrought looks. Clearly a Romantic, she thought, but this one looked like he’d been stabbed. “Think I'm… s-sick… please, just st-stay with me, Mr. Owen, please…”

Nat swallowed, reached out to lay a hand across his forehead. Mr. Owen.

Must be the owner’s name. Hope this isn’t an owner’s work - this poor thing has lost quite a bit of blood…

She didn’t crinkle her nose or pull back at the sticky sweat, only took in the heat that seemed to be boiling just under the surface. Some of that curly hair was plastered to his forehead, bits of leaves and sticks stuck in it from where he’d been lying, apparently for some time. 

“Sick…” He rasped, leaning into her touch, pushing his forehead against the palm of her hand, shivering a little and managing a faint, tremulous smile at the touch. She didn’t react to that, either, although it seemed like confirmation that he was definitely a pet on the run.

“I think you’re more than sick, sweetheart,” she said, low and soft. Not threatening, not cajoling, just a calm, even tone. “We need to get you into the house, take a look at…” Her eyes dropped down to the bloody mess that made up the chest of his sweatshirt. “…that.”

If he was the kind of sick that had him throwing up blood, that definitely wasn’t a good sign.

“Jack…” He managed the word, drawn out too long, taking one syllable and turning it into two, to three. “I can’t go back f’r him yet… Jack, Jack might b’hurt…”

“Don’t worry about him just yet, honey,” She said softly, trying to think. Maybe another pet from the same home? Bonded pairs that got split up never did well… it had been years and Nine still acted like a shadow grieving the one he’d lost…

Stop it, Nat chided herself. ‘Bonded pair’ is company language. You mean the ones that are friends, that care for each other. He left someone behind, that’s all.

She glanced over her shoulder back towards the house. Krista stood on the front steps, biting her thumbnail, watching them with wide eyes.

“Krista, love,” Nat called. “Can you go grab Jake and Trev? We’ll have to carry this one.” Krista nodded quickly - the rescues mostly obeyed any order thoughtlessly until they were further along in recovery - and ducked back inside.

Nat turned back to the boy, only to jump when she realized his eyes were open. Wide blue eyes, a little glassy, barely seeing her. Even with his chalky pale skin, even with the sweat that seemed to coat him like dew, even with the blood…

“Jesus Christ, you’re gorgeous,” she said softly. “I could swear I’ve seen you somewhere before… where did you come from?”

“Please,” the boy whispered, reaching out to grab onto her wrist. There was dried blood on his hands and Nat swallowed, hard., at the heat and odd strength of his grip, even as his hand shook. “Please. Jack n-needs help. S’my… my fault… him and, and… both of them, s’my fault…”

He started to cry, tears leaking out, making tracks in the layer of dirt and grime and dried blood on his face.

"Hoo boy,” Nat said softly. “You’re a mess, aren’t you? The guys will help me get you inside and we can talk a little more about what happened to you once you feel better. Can you help me understand why you’re bleeding?”

The boy nodded slowly, dazed, and pulled down the neckline of his sweatshirt.

Nat, who had seen a lot in her time helping the rescues and who had grown up working alongside her dad in the fields and with the cattle, recoiled in disgust from the sight - and the smell. 

He hadn’t thrown up the blood - it had come from the open fucking wound that stretched from the ball of his right shoulder all the way across his collarbone, where it ended just over his breastbone. She could see the remains of some kind of bandage, but it had long since fallen apart and it wasn’t exactly doing him any good right now. “What the f-”

Behind her, the screen door slammed open and she heard the guys talking to each other as they thumped down the steps and headed her direction. The boy heard them - he flinched and looked in that direction, hazy eyes unable to focus.

Trev made it first - Nat heard his quick intake of breath as he saw, too. “Nat?” His voice shook, just a little - Trev had plenty of scars and this couldn’t be easy for him to see, either. “Is, um-… Krista said you needed help?”

Jake was on his heels - Jake who looked like a linebacker but was more of a lamb, a lib volunteer that Nat had always been able to rely on.

While Trev nervously backed up, Jake simply dropped into a crouch next to her, meaty forearms resting on his legs in an unconscious echo of Nat’s posture. “New rescue?” He asked, mildly, as though he didn’t see the blood, the shredded and destroyed skin across the boy’s chest, bandages so soaked in blood that you could barely tell them apart from the wound itself, and his bleary, unblinking eyes.

“New rescue,” Nat confirmed. “And he’s been fucked up all to hell. Sounds like he left some other pets behind when he ran - I’m guessing he ran because of that mess.”

“Nooooo…” The boy’s voice trailed off until the word was more of a whimper. “No, didn’… I didn’ want to, had to… I had to…”

“Sssshhhhh.” Nat ran a hand back through the sweaty, dirty hair, and the boy shuddered and made a noise low in his throat, the pathetic little gratitude-sound so many rescues came out of captivity with, the desperate thankfulness for any touch that didn’t hurt. “Ssssshhhh, sweetheart, just calm down. We need to deal with the bleeding before we can deal with anything else.”

“Got that right,” Jake muttered, considering. He was unfazed by the blood, absolutely calm in the face of the deepest violence, and that was one reason Nat kept him close at hand. “Trev-”

Trev, standing just behind and to the left, flinched and shook his head. “No, Jake, I’m… I’m sorry b-but, but you know I don’t l-like blood, that much… so much blood… is, is he okay?”

“He’s rocking one hell of an infection, from the sight and smell of things,” Nat said heavily. “He’ll be all right, though, I’ve got some strong antibiotics in the spare room and I’ll call our doctor to come over and check him out-”

“No!” The boy grabbed her again, eyes wide and white-rimmed. “N-No, no, no doctors, no clinics, no no no, please, please-”

Nat swallowed, hard, glancing at Jake, gently freeing herself from the boy’s grip. “Well, that tells us something, doesn’t it?”

Jake nodded, short and firm. Something like fury entered his usually placid, kind face, took the blocky jaw and turned it to solid stone.

Trev spoke, a little tremulous. “Wh-what does it tell us, Nat? I don’t un, understand.”

“He’s Whumpees-R-Us, that’s what it tells us - and whoever owned him used their onsite clinic, which means he’s local, so…” Nat’s voice trailed off as it sunk in exactly why the boy looked so familiar to her.

She’d seen his picture on TV a couple of days ago, some press conference his owner gave with Karen fucking Renford standing next to him - and if Nat never saw that bitch again, it would be too soon. She’d seen a face just like his, only a few years older, at nearly every multiple-lib-group meetup she’d ever been to.

Vincent Shield the goddamn movie star slinking in with sunglasses and hats and big scarves to keep anyone from knowing who he was and giving their locations away.

This was Vincent Shield’s perfect fucking clone - this was Owen Grant’s runaway Romantic, that’s who this was.

This was fifty thousand dollars in reward money for anyone who gave a tip that led to him being recovered - recaptured - and returned to - dragged back to - his owner - the piece of shit treating him like property. This was a runaway Romantic pet - a traumatized rape victim fighting for freedom - and if anyone knew he was here, Nat’s whole operation was in danger, just like that.

“Shit,” Nat whispered. “Shit shit shit.”

Her heart began to pound inside her chest, and she looked up sharply, taking in the mostly-empty street, everyone still inside their houses as the sun began to fully rise. This kid was on every news channel, the company spending tons of money to get plenty of airtime proving that people like Nat were the villains, stealing sweet happy pets away from their loving owners - and here was one big risk half-conscious and giving off a sick smell and impossible body heat under the bushes in her front yard.

If she was smart, she’d do nothing. Leave him here, give him maybe some antibiotics and stuff for the road and tell him to move along, he was too recognizable. He looked exactly like Vincent Shield, just like all the rumors said, now that she was close to him and could really get a look at his face.

Some of the others had seen him in some video or something, but Nat wasn’t much for technology and she hadn’t seen any of it herself. She didn’t like watching videos of pets in captivity - made her sick to her stomach. She preferred nursing them back to remembering they were human.

But this one could get her raided, could bring the thing she’d spent eighteen years building crashing down on all their heads. She could go to prison once they figured out how many fugitives she’d harbored, how much of the company’s hard fucking work she’d undone.

It was the least she could do - she’d been one of the ones to build the fucking company in the first place.

“Nat?” Jake asked, his voice uncertain. “Nat, I don’t like that expression you’ve got going right now.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not a good one. This is, uh, this is… this boy’s trouble on two legs, Jake.” At his confused expression, she shook her head. “This… is Owen Grant’s boy.”

A moment for realization to sink in.

Then Jake’s face went white.

“Holy fuck,” He breathed. “Yeah, I got a call from another shelter about him. Jenna said he’s a fucking mess and he’ll fuck us all over, that he’s in fucking love with his owner. Fuck fuck fuck, shit, he’s going to fuck us over, Jenna said he wants to go back. That he really is still in love with the sick fuck that owned him.”

“That’s not new. Krista was, too, when she first came.”

“Yeah, but… shit, Nat. What do you think? What do you want to do?”

“Wh-what do you want to do?” Trev echoed. “What do we do?” The poor love did a lot of echoing when he got scared - his owner had apparently done a lot of forcing him to repeat things when he was bad- had the good sense to question his situation. Nat tried to calm her expression back down to its usual patient warmth.

“Don’t worry, Trev - I’m sorry, when I called for you I didn’t realize what we were dealing with. You take Krista and get back inside, I’ll take care of this with Jake. Thanks for coming out, you’re a huge help, you’re always so reliable for us. I really appreciate you. Can you please stay in the back rooms until we’ve helped this poor boy?”

Trev nodded quickly, tight little jerks of the head with a smile of sheer relief, and then backed away from them and all but ran back into the house, Krista right on his heels with only a quick worried glance over her shoulder.

“Think they’ll be holed up in their rooms before we ever get this kid back inside?” Jake said - not a question, really, just a statement of fact.

“Yep,” Nat replied. Her mouth tasted bitter, suddenly. The boy was still watching them, his eyes shifting from one to the other and failing to focus.

“She’s out of charge,” The boy said in a voice like a hoarse rasp. He didn’t seem to have heard anything they had said to each other, or didn’t hold onto it long enough. “I can’t wake her up. Need t’ charge her. Listen, listen, I don’… I don’ want to stay, I’m sorry… jus’, um, some medicine and I’ll… go… ‘m sorry, I can’t, I’m dangerous… I’m, I’m dangerous, I’m sorry, Jack, I’m so sorry-”

Nat and Trev glanced sidelong at each other, and Nat finally just gave a firm, short nod, and reached out her hands. “We can talk about that inside, sweetheart. Let’s get you into my house, I can clean you up, okay?“

Fuck it all, she’d never turned a rescue away before, and she’d be damned if she’d start now.

Fuck you, Renford, and all you fucking soulless pieces of shit, for what you’ve turned these poor kids into. I made a mistake, twenty years ago, when I helped you lie to them. I won’t make another.

“Then I… I gotta go back t’Jack,” The boy said, in a voice that suggested he was arguing with her - or someone, anyway - inside his head, an argument Nat hadn’t actually been privy to. “He, he, he helped me… he helped… I got them both hurt, I got them both-… fucking, feels like my veins are on fire… h-hurts… I got him hurt. I got Jack hurt.”

“Do you know where Jack is?” Nat asked, keeping her voice low and gentle, monotone, but her eyes moved back and forth, constantly checking the street for signs someone was watching them. She saw nothing, and Jake was looking, too. No one was paying attention to them, at least not right now.

“I don’ know… hope, hope he’s okay, hope he’s… I j-just, I shouldn’t have… he was just, he was nice… he helped me… Shit, h-hurts-”

“I understand. I’m sure it does hurt,” Nat said, brushing at his hair again, watching the boy shift around under her touch, trying to press into it even though she was a total stranger and he had no way to know she wasn’t exactly as dangerous as whatever he had left behind. The shit they’ve done to them to make them this way… “Listen. We can’t fix the hurt until you come out from under my plants, sweetheart. Can you move by yourself?”

“Th… think so.” The boy nodded and shifted slowly, pushing himself out on his stomach until he was out from under the bushes. Jake had to pick him up from there - he couldn’t seem to stand on his own, let alone walk. He tried and fell, tried and fell, and finally Jake simply scooped him up, sweeping an arm under his knees and behind his back. 

He hung limp in Jake’s arms like a ragdoll, blue eyes focused on the backpack right up until Nat slung it over one shoulder - “Fuck, what’s in here, kiddo, this feels heavy” - and then he finally drooped, tucking his head under Jake’s chin, his forehead pressed against the side of Jake’s neck.

“Jesus fuck, this kid is burning up, Nat,” Jake said, a little worriedly, as they walked back towards the house.

“Yeah, well, a giant gaping infected chest wound will do that to you,” Nat said calmly enough. “I need to make some phone calls. Can you take over the medical stuff until Dr. Masood gets here to look him over? I don’t think our in-house shit’s going to help him do anything more than hold it off. I’ll call him first, and then make some more calls, so you’re den dad until I’m done.”

“Who are you calling?”

“Everyone. As of the second I step foot back inside my house, we are on full lockdown - no contact, less risk that way if this kid is what Jenna says he is - and I want them all to know why. Nobody but the ones who’ve already met him gets to know his name or details, Jake… just that we’ve taken in a risky one and we need a couple weeks to figure out where we stand.”

“Got it. House on lockdown until you tell me otherwise.” Jake shifted the boy in his arms, who whimpered in pain and clung to him more tightly, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt. “You think he’s really going to turn us in?”

“No,” Nat said flatly. “I think he would have gone back already or turned himself in by now, hurting like this. You don’t just walk around with something like that under your shirt unless you’re really fucking determined. But I don’t need the others on the phone lecturing me about taking him in, either. This boy needs help? We’ll give him help. That’s what we goddamn do.”

Jake nodded, firmly, a hint of a smile on his broad face. “That’s why I choose to stick with your house, Nat. I like that you don’t turn ‘em away.”

“Yeah, well. Tell me how much you appreciate that when this kid gets us up to our necks in trouble.”

Jake glanced down at the boy’s face - eyes clenched shut tightly, breathing in harsh, shallow little gasps so that his chest moved as little as possible. “I don’t think he will.”

“Hmph. Jenna clearly thought differently.”

Jake hesitated, then said softly, “I feel for her, but you know it wasn’t really him Jenna was kicking, right?”

“Yeah. I know. What do you think Nine was up to while they were throwing this kid out just for being what WRU trained him to be?”

“I imagine he was sitting in the fucking attic, Nat, that’s the only thing he ever does.”

“Fair. Nine definitely keeps to himself…” Nat stopped on the small front porch, wood creaking beneath her feet, turning to look at the boy who still stared at her, blue eyes unblinking. “You know what… I’m gonna call Vince myself. He should know what happened, he’s been a wreck ever since they announced the kid was missing after that whole… mess with the-… you know. He’s been absolutely sure Grant killed him and is using the whole runaway thing as a coverup for the murder.”

“You sure about that?” Jake blinked at her. “Maybe call Tara instead, Vince can be kind of… emotional-”

“No.” Nat shook her head. “I’ll call Vince. Honestly - Tara might already know he’s popped up and been turned away, if Jenna called you she definitely made a whole damn round of calls to everybody. Maybe this won’t be a surprise.”

Jake cracked a grin at that. “Oh, man. I bet Tara had her half-deaf from yelling at her for it, too. I can hear her voice. ‘Hey, you want a great way to get a pissed-off pet to get your safehouse raided, how about kicking it out for no reason, Fucknuts McGee? Get your shit together, Jenna, or you won’t have a fucking safe house to go home to’. Tara hates when people are shit to the Romantics.”

Nat couldn’t help herself - she laughed, and the boy in Jake’s arms startled and then settled back down, whimpering again. “That sounds like her. God, we’d be half of what we are without her fire. But… still. Jenna’s just scared. We’re all a little scared, if we’re smart. Helping rescues that might not want the help is… it’s a risk we take.” She sighed, and reached out, brushing hair from the boy’s forehead. His eyes fluttered slowly open, hazy and unfocused, drifting over her face and then snuggling himself harder into Jake’s arms.

Poor thing. A total stranger who could just be the next one to hurt him, and he still clings hard to any sign of kindness, even if it’s false. I’m partially responsible for this - for all of them - right from that first poor boy I helped sign their fucking contract.

She could still remember the first one she had lied to, remember the name he’d signed on his contract. Isaac Thompson. Sweet guy, worried, thought he was signing up for a self-help program for his anxiety…

Nat swallowed back the bitterness of the memories.

She knew, after all, what had happened to Isaac Thompson. She’d seen him since, what was left of him. It wasn’t like there was anything she could do for him, not now. Her first great crime couldn’t be forgiven… but she could work to the bone to find atonement through all the others that had come after him.

“Have to help Jack,” The boy whispered. “Will you help me go back to him?”

“In a little while. Honey, before we get started helping you… what happened to you?”

He blinked at her, then looked down, as if becoming aware of his absolutely blood-soaked shirt for the first time, then wrinkled his nose - maybe he hadn’t known how he smelled from the infection until just then.

Then he smiled. 

It was a soft, dreamy smile, and it made Nat’s blood run cold - underneath the shivering, frightened, soft hurting boy they’d found in the bushes she saw the first sign of something made of furious anger underneath.

“I happened,” The boy said softly.

“You did this to yourself?”

“He promised,” The boy said, his voice cracking and broken. “He promised me and he lied, and he said I could see him again and it would be okay, but it, it wasn’t, and… he lied about everything. I… I couldn’t… I couldn’t be lied to anymore. There wasn’t anything left to believe him.”

Nat slowly nodded. “What did he do, honey?”

The boy shook his head. “He lied.” His lip began to tremble, and when he spoke his voice was airy, breathless, but thick with tears. “S-So I cut his fuh-fucking lies out.“

Then he began to cry, hoarse cracking sobs that made fresh blood well up, tears rolling down his face, leaving tracks that dried too quickly against the feverish heat of his skin.

All Nat could do was nod one more time and open the door so Jake could carry him in. Jake held him close, whispered soothing, soft, comforting nonsense words to him.

Jake didn’t flinch away from the smell of the infection, or the fever. He didn’t mind, it seemed, the blood that smeared along his own shirt, the sweat from the boy’s skin that was left as a film on his. Nat loved Jake - and her rescues did, too. 

He was the strong pillar of comfort that the Romantics needed, without expecting or wanting anything out of them in return. He was the perfect introduction to a world where you deserved to ask for comfort without having to worry that comfort meant giving away your body one more time, in a life where you didn’t remember a time when someone wasn’t taking it anyway.

By the time they’d laid some plastic out on the couch and put the boy down on top of it, he had slipped back into semi-consciousness, babbling to Jake, seeming to think he was someone else entirely, some name that rang as familiar in Nat’s mind but wasn’t anyone she knew, she didn’t think. He seemed to think Jake was another pet, but that was common - there hadn’t been another in Owen’s household, but that didn’t mean the boy had never met any.

She stepped into the kitchen, taking a deep breath, putting her hands briefly up over her face. She was alone - for once, Nat was perfectly and totally alone - and she let the guilt knock her over like a wave, let it run up and down her body, filling in all the empty places with a chorus of this is your fault, you helped them make this happen, you were one of the first employees, you you you you you.

She allowed herself only a few seconds - maybe a full minute - of the guilt. Self-pity, in her life, was a kind of luxury. Then she shook herself all over, set it to the side, and walked over to the cell phone lying on the kitchen counter, picking it up, looking at her contacts list. A series of numbers without names or labels, the burner phones they all bought and passed around to make sure no one number was associated with an address anyone might actually use it at.

You can’t be absolved for the things you’ve done, Natalie. You were the Pied Piper, once, and you can’t ever wipe away that it’s your fault, in part, that all these poor kids have lost their minds in the deepest, most complete sense of the word.

No… you can’t make the past any different. You can only make the choice to try and rebuild the foundations you helped that bitch learn to tear down.

She had a lot of phone calls to make now. First, though…

“Hey,” Nat said into the phone when the first number she called picked up. “Yeah, it’s me. Look, uh… Vince, is Tara with you? No? No, that’s okay, this is really a call for you anyway. You might want to, uh, to get ahold of her after you hear-”

A pause.

“Yeah, okay. Look. I have… some weird fucking news.”

Nat glanced over her shoulder, to see the boy in the couch holding tightly to Jake’s hands, and Jake leaning over to listen to him with an expression of reassuring total focus on his face.

“Weirder than that. Vince…”

The boy pushed himself up on his elbows, saying something slurred and urgent to Jake that Nat couldn’t quite hear. Jake slowly leaned forwards and rested his forehead against the boy’s, whispering back.

Nat smiled, just a little. God, she loved Jake. Couldn’t do the work she did without people like him.

Jake, who knew when a rescue needed to be left alone, or just talked to, or knew how to balance affection just right when the Romantics filtered in, touch-starved and terrified. Jake, who had a perfect instinct for when someone needed to be shown that you could even be touched in ways that weren’t designed to break you all over again.

“… Vince. Owen Grant’s boy is alive, and he’s in my living room.” There was a pause, and in the pause Jake smiled into the boy’s face and gently laid his hands back down. Nat felt tears prick her eyes. Even after eighteen years of trying to save them, sometimes it hit her with real force that while she couldn’t undo all the damage that had been done, she could keep trying.

Then Vince’s voice caught her off-guard - or not his voice, but what he said - and Nat froze.

“How long until you can see him? Have you lost your fucking mind? Are you drunk? It’s seven-thirty in the-…. You are drunk. Jesus. Vince. Sober up and call me back if you still think… no. Sober up first. If you still want to see him, tell me after… I don’t think it’s a good idea, but-… Fine. Okay. Goodbye.”

She hung up the phone, trying to think as she punched in Dr. Masood’s number next.

The wrong kind of attention and this boy could get her put in prison, her rescues hauled back to hell to be repaired or retrained or God forbid, refurbished. People like Jake would get put in jail for aiding and abetting if they were lucky, but Jake had a kind of fresh handsomeness to him and Nat was fairly sure he’d never see the inside of a jail cell… no, if this went south Jake would wake up in a white room, wearing a white shirt and black shorts, and since he knew all the tricks it might take a while, but soon enough he’d be a number and not a name.

Especially now that they had proof that it was happening already…

No.

She couldn’t live her life in fear of what could happen if she did the right thing. She could only keep trying.

They had to keep trying.

She couldn’t make up for Isaac Thompson and all the others, but she could keep trying to make up for it until the bitter end. Maybe, one day, it would feel like she had done even close to enough.

“Dr. Masood? I need you to come make a house call.”

[wordsablaze]

#17: Gangs and Grounds

Match of Magic What if destiny chose soulmates through literal aesthetic matches? What if education fused with impossibility and reality faded away? Dan and Phil must unite, work together and help each other live the best of all the worlds they can…

(Phil POV)

I’m still getting over the fact that Dan’s seen my videos - actually watched me - so I don’t notice Will and Luke until they’re yelling at us.

Dan steps in front of me as they approach us, apparently without thinking, his arms like a shield in front of mine. I smile, quickly hiding it to avoid it being noticed.

Luke scoffs at Dan, “Yeah, yeah, that’s not what we’re here for.”

“Then what are you here for?” I ask, knowing that Dan’s internally panicking a little.

“We met some of your friends.” Will grins, flashing us with a devilish grin.

“I’m sure you’ll have heard of them. Just some people, oh, what were their names?” Luke steps forward, both of us tensing.

I can’t think what friends he’s referring to. Dan’s maybe? But then he wouldn’t have addressed me, would he? Which friends does he mean?

Phil?

I don’t know…

Hey, that’s okay.

“Oh, got it!” Will laughs, “Two guys, actually: David and Evan.”

I could swear the blood solidifies inside of me, my heart missing a beat as my mind freezes and something cold drops inside my stomach, solidifying the butterflies and shattering them across my skin. Dan frowns as he feels me tense up and moves his hand so it’s brushing against mine.

“Who?” he asks.

“They’re what you pair of pansies might call gangsters.”

Phil? You know them?

Sort of. They’re not – not good.

Damn. I’m sorry.

“We were wondering whether you’d like to join us.” Will asks in mock politeness, a shark-like grin on his face.

I finally relax a little as I realise Dan’s still here with me and I’m not stuck at the bus stop or anywhere by myself. There’s two of us.

“Why would we do that?” I ask, bolder than I ever thought I could.

Will looks somewhat shocked, “You don’t want to?”

“I think I have better things on my bucket list.” I murmur, only Dan catching it.

He coughs to cover up his laugh and scowls at Will, “What’s your point?”

“I think you’ll want to come, Philip.” Luke tells me, pointedly ignoring Dan.

I flinch at the name, having left it behind me. I haven’t been called Philip in a long time.

Not unless…

My eyes widen.

Will laughs, “Yeah, Matthew’s asked for you.”

I shake my head, “I'm…I’m not-”

“I think you misheard us. You’re. Coming. With. Us.” Luke practically growls.

“We’re not leaving the school.” Dan practically growls back, a fierce feeling of protectiveness radiating off him.

Will shakes his head, “You don’t need to come into this, you insignificant-”

“Hey, don’t call him that.” I interrupt, frowning.

You’re not insignificant, don’t worry.

Thanks.

Dan turns his attention back to Will and Luke, “You’re not taking him anywhere.”

“And who are you to stop us? A puny little year ten.” Will sneers.

“Luke’s a year ten.” Dan retorts, still glaring at them.

“I’m neither puny nor little.” Luke replies, “And I have a friend with me.”

“I have better than a friend; I have Phil.” Dan declares, then frowns, both of us slightly confused as to what they’re hoping to achieve. Dan abruptly moves back, stepping on my foot. I wince a little.

Now who’s clumsy?

Sorry! It’s just … You see Ian too, right?

I don’t think before pulling him back a little, frowning as Ian joins us, dumping his bag under a tree.

Dan frowns, still standing his ground as I’m standing mine, “You’re in with them?”

“You bet ya.” Ian replies, rolling up his sleeves.

We both take a step back but closer to each other. But suddenly I’m spinning and something’s crashing into my face - I think a fist judging by the familiar impact - and I’m falling and the grass is growing and Dan’s gone from beside me and –

Shit! Phil?!

You can stop thought yelling, I’m good.

I hear Dan chuckle as I cough, sitting up and running my tongue over the tear in my bottom lip from where I bit it. Dan’s being held in Luke and Ian’s arms, Will grinning at me. His lip curls in disgust and he looks over my head.

“Thanks, man. I’ve wanted to do that for a while.” he admits, laughing.

I frown, not understanding who he said that to, before finally noticing Evan, who winks at me, “Me too.”

I don’t move until Luke and Ian let go of Dan and he’s rushing to kneel beside me, pulling me up, providing me with a ballast as I stand beside him.

Evan grins, “Want to skive school?”

“No.” I reply, my voice surprisingly strong. Dan secretly smiles with something akin to pride.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” Evan smiles at the other three, “Yo, who got the biggest car?”

He’s awful at grammar.

Give him a break. Not everyone can English as well as you can.

You can, Mr Articulate.

He smiles wordlessly, pure thanks pouring from his eyes as we’re pushed towards Will’s car. We both climb inside the seven-seater, in the back so we aren’t spotted while they drive. Will sits in shotgun while Evan drives, Ian and Luke in the centre seats, trading texts so they don’t talk over the other two. Apparently they don’t much status either.

I’ve never been actually told to bunk before.

You’ve bunked off before?

I didn’t say that…

Dan winks at me and takes my hand in his, our fingers slotting between each other’s like they were made purely for entwining. I smile but I can’t stop myself worrying about why we’re going anywhere with them.

Dan yells in surprise as we stop without warning, clutching my hand harder. Evan grins and shifts into a parking gear, before turning the engine off and walking round the back. Dan and I disentangle our hands and watch him open the boot. He yanks my arm and I practically fall out, stumbling. Dan’s exit is a little more graceful but still filled with stumbling as Evan pushes him out of the way.

Dan glances at me with a frown.

Are you hurt?

No, you?

Nah.

Will scowls at Evan, “Dude, you almost ruined my car.”

“Hardly matters.” Evan waves his hand nonchalantly, “Follow me.”

We’re sandwiched between two pairs of people: Will and Evan in front of us and Ian and Luke behind us, so Dan and I have no choice but to follow and go wherever we’re being led. As it is, we’re led inside what looks like a stagnated building but is actually a massive space that looks similar to the grounds near…

Dan, we’re in my neighbourhood!

Phil? Don’t panic. It’s okay.

I shake my head, recognising the building I hadn’t fully noticed earlier. It’s the building where all of Drake’s gang members are recruited. They might not be a legitimate gang but they act like they are, which is just as bad if not worse. I’ve only been inside here a few times but now I can see they’re all stood in front of a small makeshift platform made out of stray planks of wood or discarded furniture.

On the platform stands Drake, a few of his friends, Matthew, who I’m not too surprised to see, and someone I’m absolutely shocked to see: Dylan.

“Phil, don’t stop moving.” Dan whispers to me.

I blink, realising I was stood still.

Ian chuckles behind me and David bangs into us from the side. I accidentally step on Dan’s foot as he pushes me and Dan curses, jumping. David makes a disgusted face but greets Evan with a grin.

“Yo, how long left?”

“Couple minutes?” Evan guesses.

Dan and I exchange a baffled look, walking until we’re pretty much right beside the platform, with the perfect view – if we’d have wanted to watch this. Dylan looks agitated, glancing around every so often. He catches my eye, looks around, and then literally stops moving at all for a second, his eyes widening. He turns back to me, glances at Dan, and frowns at the two of us.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he mouths, no sound escaping his lips.

He doesn’t ask me who Dan is but I’m sure he can guess from just looking at us. Evan and Will stand either side of me, with Ian and Luke on either side of Dan. The two of us frown at being separated but I figure out why when I feel their grips on my arms. I try my best to pull away but their hold remains firm as they wickedly smirk.

Phil? What’s happening?

I think someone’s being recruited.

Is it your brother?

I’m momentarily shocked by the fact that he recognised my brother but it only takes a split second to remember he watches YouTube.

Which one?

I sigh, slumping a little as Dan does the same, both of us waiting.

Not long after, Drake clears his throat so loud he must have hurt his larynx and claps his hands, “Y'all gonna be thinking 'bout why I asked ya to come, right?”

There’s a general response of agreement and Drake laughs, clapping a hand on Matthew’s shoulder, “I’ll let 'im tell ya.”

“Yeah, go Matt!” someone yells.

Matthew steps forward and glances at me before starting to speak, “As y'all know, I promised everyone a newb.”

My eyes widen as he reveals himself to already be a full member of the gang. Dylan throws me an apologetic look but I shake my head, a soft 'no’ slipping from me as I tense again.

Evan smiles and tightens his grip again as he whispers, “Figured it out, snob?”

“Don’t call him that.” Dan half growls at Evan.

“Shut up, kid.”

Dan, stop.

Why should I?

Because there’s no need for you to get hurt.

He smiles softly and stops glaring at Evan, relaxing a little.

“So, I got us my little bro.” Matthew continues, looping an arm around Dylan, who tenses, but our eldest brother only continues, “Now all he needs is the tattoo and we’ve got a member. Y'all agree?”

There’s a round of cheers as Dylan glances to me yet again, “Sorry.”

Even though he properly says it, I can’t hear it over the whistles and cheers. Then someone’s walking up the middle, someone with a box of ink and a tattoo gun, and grinning at Drake, “The usual?”

“You bet,” Is the response he gets, so he settles beside Dylan.

How can he be okay with getting a tattoo? He hates needles…

“…but hold back on the painkillers.” Drake adds, locking eyes with Dylan as he says it.

I scowl and struggle against Evan and Will, both of them shaking their heads. Dylan makes a pained sound as he watches the tattoo guy get his equipment ready.

Phil? Phil, don’t try to –

Whatever he was trying to tell me is cut off when Dylan flinches.

“No!” I yell, trying to get to him.

Evan pulls me back and Will strengthens his grip to the point where I’m sure it will bruise. Dylan shakes his head at me but I wince as tears sting the base of his eyes.

“Stop it!” I yell again, glaring at Matthew, who innocently beams at me,

“What’s the matter, Philip?”

“Shut up.” Dylan glowers darkly but Matthew only laughs:

“You’re one of us now. That means you answer to me, get it?”

“Mathew, stop!” I shout, kicking at Evan, who only kicks me back and causes my left knee to starts shouting as well, mostly at Evan, but also cursing at pretty much everyone else. The both of us have never felt so out of place but we try anyway.

It doesn’t work.

Dylan ends up with a matching tattoo and everyone is either laughing or cheering, high-fiving each other around us. Dylan groans as he clutches his arm and the plaster currently covering the tattoo. He whispers something to Matthew, who sighs and reiterates it to Drake.

Drake laughs, “A'ight the lot of ya! Bugger off!”

Slowly but surely, everyone else disperses, even Evan, Will, Ian and Luke. I’m left in the room with Dan, Dylan, Drake and Matthew. Dan is next to me in an instant, smiling as best he can, his dimples showing themselves whether or not he knows it.

I grin back at him and Drake faux vomits, “I’m out. Matthew, if you kill 'em, you’re dead.”

Matthew nods and a spike of fear curls around my spine as he raises his eyebrows.

Dylan shakes his head, catching my gaze as he sighs. I frown, not at the tattoo or the gang, but the look of total defeat in his eyes. His sunken expression is the worst thing I could imagine on him.

Matthew snorts, “One of us now, huh?”

“I hate you,” I tell him even though he was addressing Dylan, “I hate you.”

Before I can move, Dan can swear or Dylan can intervene, Matthew’s pushed me backwards and I’m falling, my hands automatically cupping behind my head so I don’t get a concussion again.

Matthew snarls as he lands above me, “You best not forget, Philip.”

Dylan’s face fleetingly slides into view as he angrily yanks Matthew off me, the two of them glaring at each other while Dan pulls me up.

I’m shaking; I know I’m shaking.

I know Matthew and Dylan are fighting; I’m aware of Dan’s hands on mine but I can’t focus on anything other than Matthew’s angry crimson eyes and the threats they’ve both sent, as well as acted upon, before. It’s like my eyes are shielded with a colourless foil, the world buzzing around me but unfocused, smudged.

Can you feel my hands?

I can sense, actually sense, the kind concern in Dan’s voice. It’s as if he unveils the cloudy confusion that is my memories, just enough to thought talk me five words.

Five small words.

Five words that bridge a way back to Dan.

Five words that bridge a way back to Dan’s fingers interlinked with mine, his warm palms and his cold fingers.

Five words that bridge a way to his knees pressed against my feet because he’s kneeling in front of where I hadn’t realised I’d tucked my knees up.

Five words that let me narrow my thoughts down to the boy who’s neither talking nor writing but I can somehow read exactly what he’s trying to tell me anyway.

Five small words that can ground me to Dan and let me escape from the memories inside my mind.

Five small words.

Phil?

Dan.

Hey Phil.

Hey.

You okay?

Okay.

Want to get up?

Okay.

Three, Two, One…

And then he’s pulling my hands, I’m lifting my arms and we’re both standing again. He smiles up at me, cocking his head to one side so one of his dimples seem to be extra cute, like it’s suddenly become seventeen feet deep or something.

The two of us are turn to see where my brothers are when Dylan reaches for us, almost grabbing Dan but changing his mind when Dan steps back, and pulling my free wrist, all three of us starting to sprint.

It doesn’t last long.

Dan slows down as soon as we’ve navigated our way outside so I only manage to pull him into one of the older, abandoned bus stops before I’m tired as well.

Dylan scowls at the both of us, “Philly, come on, we need to move.”

Dan glances at me, his cheeks tinged with a pale lava red, and nods slightly, winking. I beam back at him with a resolve to ignore the fresh ache in my thighs, pulling myself and, at some points, Dan along with me. Dylan stays a metre or so ahead of us, only allowing us to stop when we’ve reached my house.

Dan groans and literally just falls into a slump, leaning against the wall and bracing his hands on his knees with his shoulders curved over.

I smile fondly at him but end up in pretty much the same position myself, one arm thrown across my abdomen as the combination of a probable bruise from Matthew ramming into me and my own running presents itself as a problem.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for us to recover, at which point Dylan’s already called Henry. Dan’s eyes widen as he sees Henry and he frowns, glancing around as if he hadn’t realised where he was before now.

It takes him all of a few seconds to gasp, “Oh, shit.”

“Dan!” I nudge him, albeit smiling.

“Sorry Phil.”

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