#years later even while having his leg it's now useless because all it gives him is pain and anger issue with a dash of opioid addiction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heliads · 1 year ago

Note

ok so… i’m totally obsessing over Newt from TMR rn but i’m not sure if u still write for him🤧 but if u do i was thinking maybe something like during bonfire night the reader has had too many special drinks from Gally, accidentally confesses to Newt and lists everything she loves about him and then Newt gets all flustered and stuff (he’s so cute omg) but the reader is too drunk to go back to their own hammock so then Newt carries reader to their hammock but ends up sharing a hammock and then the reader doesn’t remember anything the next morning and then i’ll let u decide the rest😭

gally's special brew as a plot device >> it will always be famous to me

masterlist

In roughly thirty seconds, you’re going to reach a milestone you never thought possible. You’ve been waiting for this for a while now, counting down the days and hours and minutes like you were going to find yourself anywhere other than right here when your self-imposed timer went off. All you’ve got to remember the date is a memory, but given the fact that you only recall so many of those, it was easier to place than one would expect.

An alarm goes off across the Glade, ear-piercing klaxons rattling off of the high stone walls surrounding you. The rest of the boys around you start to amble towards the source of the noise, the Box newly arrived from who knows where, but you stay put for the time being, just breathing in the moment.

One blond boy next to you, your closest friend and favorite person here, nudges you in the leg with his foot. You’re both sitting in the unruly grass, ignoring the press of the green strands against your arms and calves. You have a habit of always wanting to keep him within reach.

“Why aren’t you racing towards the Box?” He asks.

You tilt your head to the side, staring up at the sky. Robin’s egg blue dappled with clouds, it’s the only pocket of space outside the Walls that you’ll likely ever know. “Today marks one year since I showed up here for the first time.”

Newt whistles through his teeth. “Shoot, already? Feels like time has flown. I swore you came up just last month.”

“No, I’ve been keeping count. Twelve months and I’m still here.”

Newt winces. He made a promise to you at the very start that he would get you out in six months, then, when that deadline came and went, he lengthened it to a year. The oath was only sworn because you were nervous about this place when you were still a Greenie and unused to the idea of living and dying here in endless repetition. You’re no happier about that fact now, but you are more used to it, at least.

“Well,” he starts off, “maybe you’re still here, yeah, but Minho and the other Runners are getting closer to finding a way out, I swear. Minho says they’re this close to having mapped the whole thing, then we’ll have an escape route for certain. Just give it another year. You won’t even notice the time passing, I promise.”

It’s kind of Newt to try to distract you again, even though you both know by this point that it’s useless. Minho is getting closer to traveling every pathway of the Maze, yes, but what Newt isn’t mentioning is how little the Keeper of the Runners actually is to finding something useful. Whenever you ask Minho what he’s learned about how to get out of here, he only ever comes up with a blank slate.

Still, harping on that doesn’t exactly make for a good time, so you’ll let yourself play along with Newt’s idea of your inevitable escape from this place for now. He’s losing hope even faster than you, even if he doesn’t tell anyone. It would be good to keep up the pretense.

You eye his leg, the one with the limp, and nod. “Yeah, next year for sure.”

Newt sits in silence for a moment or two longer, then stands up carefully, offering a hand to you. “Come on, then. We’ve got a Greenie to stare at and stuff to unpack from the Box, no time for musing. Besides, we’ve all got to get ready for the bonfire later tonight.”

You accept his offer of help, and when you’re on your feet once more, your smile is back. “I forgot about the bonfire! Oh, that’ll make everything better. Always does.”

Newt grins. “You’re just saying that because it’s the one time a month Alby will let all of us get proper wasted and skip work for the afternoon.”

“Of course I am,” you laugh, “I want to have fun! Is that such a terrible thing?”

Newt slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side as the two of you walk lopsidedly over to the Box opening. The other Gladers have already crowded around the opening, but there’s enough space for the two of you to peer in at the befuddled newcomer inside if you squeeze past a few Track-Hoes.

“No,” he murmurs later, once you’ve almost forgotten what you were talking about, “I don’t think it is.”

Damn right. You’ve looked forward to each Bonfire Night of your full year here with just as much excitement as everyone else. The soaring flames, the delighted shrieks and shouts of your friends, plus Gally’s special brew, everything about the celebration is a joy to behold. You can watch Gally kick the asses of people who should have known better to challenge him, or observe the Greenie as he tries to figure out his name.

Or, better yet, you can sit in a circle of your friends and tell jokes that get progressively worse as the lot of you get progressively more tipsy and tired. The night wears on, the stars burn themselves out above you just trying to catch a glimpse of your magnificently roaring fire, and all is well, as much as it can be around here.

At some point, you look up and you’re sitting alone with Newt towards the outskirts of the gathering. You don’t remember quite when that happened, but you’ve refilled your glass enough times that the memory loss sort of makes sense. Does anything here, though? No, not at all. Not ever.

Newt’s grinning over at you, saying something that you have to focus extra hard to hear. “Are you lucid again?”

“Not entirely,” you beam up at him, “Have I had a lot to drink tonight?”

Newt grimaces. “Probably more than you should have. You’ll be regretting it tomorrow, I can promise you that. Sorry for not cutting you off earlier.”

You shake your head a little too wildly and have to pause for a moment to blink the stars out of your eyes before continuing. “No, that’s not your fault. You don’t have to watch out for me all the time.”

Something almost like hurt plays upon Newt’s features, mixing with the warm glow of the firelight, and it makes you rush to say something so he stops looking so unhappy. “Only if you don’t want to watch out for me, that is. I like having you around. Makes me feel better.”

“Really?” Newt asks, amused.

“Really,” you confirm happily. “You’re my favorite person here by far. Minho teases me about that a lot, actually. He says I should soldier up and just tell you that, but he can’t bully me anymore, because I’m talking about it right now, aren’t I? He’s right, though, I do like you. Oh– I was thinking, Newt, and– and I think I’m okay, staying in the Glade forever, if I’ve got you here with me. You’re the best thing about this place.”

You hadn’t meant to ramble on like that, but the words came easily enough from your throat, and Newt seemed like he really wanted to hear what you were saying, so you went ahead and let him.

Newt sits for a few minutes in stunned silence before clearing his throat a little too loudly. “Um. Well, I think you should get to bed. Like, now. I think you’re drunk.”

“No,” you protest, “well, I am drunk, yeah, but I’m not just saying that because I’m drunk. I mean it, Newt. I really do.”

Newt’s expression softens. “I know you did, sweetheart. Let’s go to bed anyway, though. I think some rest would be good for you.”

“Alright,” you decide.

Newt stands up. You try to start walking back with him, but your feet refuse to cooperate on the uneven ground and you end up tripping more than you should. Eventually, Newt laughs quietly and picks you up, easily carrying you back to your hammock. He tries to set you down but you’re seized by the overwhelming panic that he’ll leave you here alone and you complain vehemently.

He’s still in a good temper, though (is it not wonderful to be needed?) and instead shifts so he’s lying down in his hammock instead, you on his stomach. You whisper goodnight to him and he says goodnight back, then a beat and a half later, did you really mean what you said? About me, that is? About how you–

You can’t really pick up what he’s saying, though. He was right about you needing rest, because the gentle swaying of the hammock and the soft beat of his heart under your head is just enough to send you off to sleep. Darkness pulls you under in an instant, and you’re rocked away to the tune of the crickets chirping somewhere in the distance and Newt still mumbling questions against the top of your head.

You can sense your hangover looming like dark clouds on the horizon, signaling a true storm of a day about to wreck you for good, but for now it’s just in the distance, not quite yours, not yet. The terrible feeling is warded off by an odd sense of calm and quiet. It’s warm now, warm and comfortable in your hammock, which is strange. Usually, you wake up cold on mornings in the Glade, but not today. It makes you want to snuggle down further, push off consciousness just a little longer.

Then your hand connects with something that isn’t one of your few allotted threadbare blankets or the knots of your hammock, something soft, like skin. A hand, one that isn’t yours. Your eyes fly open and– well, you don’t remember this, but you’re not exactly going to complain.

Newt is lying next to you, still asleep. You are curled up beside him, must have fallen asleep with your head on his chest. One of his hands is just touching yours, the other is cupping the back of your head to pull you closer to him.

Immediately your brain splits into two warring factions. One half wants to run away quickly, figure out what happened and why you’re here. This isn’t what you’re supposed to be doing, you know. Shuck, Alby would have a fit if he saw the two of you like this. Probably enough to throw you in the Slammer for a couple of hours.

The other part of yourself wants to stay here forever, to close your eyes and make Newt wake up first and handle it. You haven’t felt peace like this in a while. It’s just the two of you, soft and sweet and mostly folded over in sleep. Why should you disturb this? Disturb him? He’ll just be unhappy if you wake him and force him to realize that you’re here. Probably. Unless he’s the one who let you sleep in his hammock, which is more likely and far more terrifying.

Your issue is solved when Newt shifts slightly, rocking the hammock, and wakes up at last. You quickly shut your eyes and feign sleep, but judging by the movement of his chest as he laughs, you were caught in the act.

“I know you’re awake, Y/N.” He says.

You reluctantly open your eyes. “Maybe. By any chance, do you know why I’m here and not in my own hammock?”

You might just be kidding yourself, but you swear something almost like disappointment crosses Newt’s face. “You were pretty drunk last night,” he says at last, “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

It’s a decent explanation, but that doesn’t explain why he’s looking at you like he really, really wants you to remember something about the events of the most recent Bonfire Night. “What did I do last night?” You ask slowly.

Newt shakes his head. “You didn’t do anything, trust me.”

“Then what did I say? You’re looking at me like you’re going crazy.”

Newt furrows his brows in a moment of indignation. “What? I’m not– I’m not looking at you like that. Anyway, you might have said a thing or two. Maybe.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Newt, if you keep withholding information from me, I’m going to rock the hammock so much you fall on the ground. What happened?”

He has the audacity to laugh at your threat, as if you weren’t completely serious about it. “Alright, alright. You might have told me that you liked me.”

Your sense of terror, which had faded briefly after Newt woke up, is back in full force. “I did what?”

“You told me you liked me,” Newt repeats, “and I thought– well, you were drunk, so I thought you didn’t mean it, but–”

“I did mean it,” you whisper.

Newt’s eyes are wide when you dare to risk a glance back up at him. “Oh.”

That’s a bad oh. Has to be. You move to get up and try to run away before he can look at you like that anymore, but Newt tightens his grip around your waist, forcing you to lie back down. “Wait, wait. Don’t go. I like you too.”

Now it’s your turn to be surprised. “You do?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling, “Have for a while. Minho teases me about that too, by the way. No wonder he seems so frustrated about it, he has to listen to both of us moping around even though we both like each other.”

You laugh. “That would be annoying, yes. He has to be happy now, though, we finally told each other about it.”

“That we did,” Newt says, and you can feel the upturned crescent of his lips as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

Maybe you spent a whole year in the Glade without ever seeing rescue. Maybe another year will pass without anything, or maybe five, or ten. Maybe you’ll never leave at all. Still, you’ve got your reasons to be happy after all. They start with him.

maze runner tag list: @rogueanschel, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss, @hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @w1shes43, @23victoria, @ilovexavierthrope, @fadedver

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robobarbie · 1 year ago

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im new to bloomic !! do they have canon names?

but of course

----

So, there's a man crawling through the desert.

He'd decided to try his SUV in a little bit of cross-country travel, had great fun zooming over the badlands and through the sand, got lost, hit a big rock, and then he couldn't get it started again. There were no cell phone towers anywhere near, so his cell phone was useless. He had no family, his parents had died a few years before in an auto accident, and his few friends had no idea he was out here.

He stayed with the car for a day or so, but his one bottle of water ran out and he was getting thirsty. He thought maybe he knew the direction back, now that he'd paid attention to the sun, and thought he'd figured out which way was north, so he decided to start walking. He figured he only had to go about 30 miles or so and he'd be back to the small town he'd gotten gas in last.

He thinks about walking at night to avoid the heat and sun, but based upon how dark it actually was the night before, and given that he has no flashlight, he's afraid that he'll break a leg or step on a rattlesnake. So, he puts on some sun block, puts the rest in his pocket for reapplication later, brings an umbrella he'd had in the back of the SUV with him to give him a little shade, pours the windshield wiper fluid into his water bottle in case he gets that desperate, brings his pocket knife in case he finds a cactus that looks like it might have water in it, and heads out in the direction he thinks is right.

He walks for the entire day. By the end of the day he's really thirsty. He's been sweating all day, and his lips are starting to crack. He's reapplied the sunblock twice, and tried to stay under the umbrella, but he still feels sunburned. The windshield wiper fluid sloshing in the bottle in his pocket is really getting tempting now. He knows that it's mainly water and some ethanol and coloring, but he also knows that they add some kind of poison to it to keep people from drinking it. He wonders what the poison is, and whether the poison would be worse than dying of thirst.

He pushes on, trying to get to that small town before dark.

By the end of the day, he starts getting worried. He figures he's been walking at least three miles an hour, according to his watch for over ten hours. That means that if his estimate was right, he should be close to the town. Unfortunately, he doesn't recognize any of this. He had to cross a dry creek bed a mile or two back, and he doesn't remember coming through it in the SUV. He figures that maybe he got his direction off just a little and that the dry creek bed was just off to one side of his path. He tells himself that he's close, and that after dark he'll start seeing the town lights over one of these hills. That'll be all he needs.

As it gets dim enough that he starts stumbling over small rocks and things, he finds a spot and sits down to wait for full dark and the town lights.

Full dark comes before he knows it. He must have dozed off. He stands back up and turns all the way around. He sees nothing but stars.

He wakes up the next morning feeling absolutely lousy. His eyes are gummy and his mouth and nose feel like they're full of sand. He’s so thirsty that he can't even swallow. He barely got any sleep because it was so cold. He'd forgotten how cold it got at night in the desert and hadn't noticed it the night before because he'd been in his car.

He knows the Rule of Threes - three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food - then you die. Some people can make it a little longer, in the best situations. The desert heat and having to walk and sweat isn't the best situation to be in without water. Unless he finds water, he figures, this is his last day.

He rinses out his mouth with a little of the windshield wiper fluid. He waits for a while after spitting that little bit out to see if his mouth goes numb, or he feels dizzy or something. Has his mouth gone numb? Is it just in his mind? He's not sure. He'll go a little farther, and if he still doesn't find water, he'll try drinking some of the fluid.

Then he has to face his next, harder question - which way does he go from here? Does he keep walking the same way as yesterday (assuming that he still knows which way that is), or does he try a new direction? He has no idea what to do.

Looking at the hills and dunes around him, he thinks he knows the direction he was heading before. Just going by a feeling, he points himself somewhat to the left of that, and starts walking.

As he walks, the day starts heating up. The desert, too cold just a couple of hours before, soon becomes an oven again. He sweats a little at first, and then stops. He starts getting worried at that. He knows that when you stop sweating, you’re in trouble. It’s usually right before heat stroke..

He decides that it's time to try the windshield wiper fluid. He can't wait any longer - if he passes out, he's dead. He stops in the shade of a large rock, takes the bottle out, opens it, and takes a mouthful. He slowly swallows it, making it last as long as he can. It feels so good in his dry and cracked throat that he doesn't even care about the nasty taste. He takes another mouthful, and makes it last too. Slowly, he drinks half the bottle. He figures that since he's drinking it, he might as well drink enough to make some difference and keep himself from passing out.

He's quit worrying about the denaturing of the wiper fluid. If it kills him, it kills him. If he didn't drink it, he'd die anyway. Besides, he's pretty sure that whatever substance they denature the fluid with is just designed to make you sick: their way of keeping winos from buying cheap wiper fluid for the ethanol content. He can handle throwing up if it comes to that.

He walks. He walks in the hot, dry, windless desert. Sand, rocks, hills, dunes, the occasional scrawny cactus or dried bush. No sign of water. Sometimes he'll see a little movement to one side or the other, but whatever moved is usually gone before he can focus his eyes on it. Probably birds, lizards, or mice. Maybe snakes, though they usually move more at night. He's careful to stay away from the movements.

After a while, he begins to stagger. He's not sure if it's fatigue, heat stroke finally catching him, or maybe he was wrong and the denaturing of the wiper fluid was worse than he thought. He tries to steady himself and keep going.

After more walking, he comes to a large stretch of sand. This is good! He knows he passed over a stretch of sand in the SUV - he remembers doing donuts in it, or at least he thinks he remembers it; he's getting woozy enough and tired enough that he's not sure what he remembers anymore or if he's hallucinating. He thinks he remembers it, so he heads off into it, trying to get to the other side, hoping that it gets him closer to the town.

He was heading for a town, wasn't he? He thinks he was. He isn't sure anymore. He's not even sure how long he's been walking anymore. Is it still morning? Has it moved into afternoon, and the sun is going down again? It must be afternoon; it seems like it's been too long since he started out.

He walks through the sand.

After a while, he comes to a big dune in the sand. This is bad. He doesn't remember any dunes from when he was driving over the sand in his SUV. At least he doesn't think he remembers any. This is bad.

All the same, he has no other direction to go. Too late to turn back now. He figures that he'll get to the top of the dune and see if he can see anything from there that can help him find the town. He keeps going up the dune.

Halfway up, he slips in the bad footing of the sand for the second or third time and falls to his knees. He doesn't feel like getting back up, since he'll just fall down again. He keeps going up the dune on his hand and knees.

While crawling, if his throat weren't so dry, he'd laugh. He's finally gotten to the hackneyed image of a man lost in the desert, crawling through the sand on his hands and knees. It would be the perfect image, he imagines, if only his clothes were more ragged. The people crawling through the desert in the cartoons always had ragged clothes, but his have lasted without any rips so far. Somebody will probably find his dessicated corpse half buried in the sand years from now, and his clothes will still be in fine shape - shake the sand out, give them a good wash, and they'd be wearable again. He wishes his throat were wet enough to laugh. He coughs a little instead, and it hurts.

He finally makes it to the top of the sand dune. Now that he's at the top, he struggles a little, but manages to stand up and look around. All he sees is sand. Sand and more sand. Behind him, about a mile away, he thinks he sees the rocky ground he left to head into this sand. Ahead of him, more dunes, more sand. This isn't where he drove his SUV. This is Hell. Or close enough.

Again, he doesn't know what to do. He decides to drink the rest of the wiper fluid while figuring it out. He takes out the bottle and starts removing the cap when he glances to the side and sees something. Something in the sand. At the bottom of the dune, off to the side, he sees something strange. It's a flat area, in the sand. He stops opening the bottle and tries to look closer. The area seems to be circular, and it's dark: darker than the sand, and there seems to be something in the middle of it, but he can't tell what it is, so he looks as hard as he can but still can't tell from here. He's going to have to go down there and look.

He puts the bottle back into his pocket, and starts to stumble down the dune. After a few steps, he realizes that he's in trouble; he's not going to be able to keep his balance. After a couple more sliding, tottering steps, he falls and starts to roll down the dune. The sand it so hot that he thinks he's caught fire on the way down - like a movie car wreck flashing into flames as it goes over the cliff, before it ever even hits the ground. He closes his eyes and mouth, covers his face with his hands, and waits to stop rolling.

He stops at the bottom of the dune. After a minute or two, he finds enough energy to try to sit up and get the sand out of his face and clothes. When he clears his eyes enough, he looks around to make sure that the dark spot in the sand it still there and he hadn't just imagined it.

Seeing the large, flat, dark spot on the sand still there, he crawls towards it. He'd get up and walk towards it, but he doesn't seem to have the energy to get up and walk right now. He must be in the final stages of dehydration he figures as he crawls. If this place in the sand doesn't have water, he'll likely never make it anywhere else. This is his last chance.

He gets closer and closer, but still can't see what's in the middle of the dark area. It’s hard to focus, and lifting his head up to look takes so much effort that he gives up trying. He just keeps crawling.

Finally, he reaches the area he'd seen from the dune. It takes him a minute of crawling on it before he realizes that he's no longer on sand - he's now crawling on some kind of dark stone. Stone with some kind of marking on it - a pattern cut into the stone. He's too tired to stand up and try to see what the pattern is, so he just keeps crawling. He crawls towards the center where his blurry eyes still see something in the middle of the dark stone area.

His mind, detached in a strange way, notes that either his hands and knees are so burnt by the sand that they no longer feel pain, or that this dark stone, in the middle of a burning desert with a pounding, punishing sun overhead, doesn't seem to be hot. It almost feels cool. He considers lying down on the nice cool surface.

Cool, dark stone. Not a good sign. He must be hallucinating this. He's probably in the middle of a patch of sand, already lying face down and dying, and just imagining this whole thing. A desert mirage. Soon the beautiful women carrying pitchers of water will come up and start giving him a drink. Then he'll know he's gone.

He decides against laying down on the cool stone. If he's going to die here in the middle of this hallucination, he at least wants to see what's in the center before he goes. He keeps crawling.

It's the third time that he hears the voice before he realizes what he's hearing. He would swear that someone just said, "Greetings, traveler. You do not look well. Do you hear me?"

He stops crawling. He tries to look up from where he is on his hands and knees, but it's too much effort to lift his head. So he tries something different: he rolls over and leans back trying to sit up on the stone. After a few seconds, he catches his balance, avoids falling on his face, sits up, and tries to focus his eyes. Blurry. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hands and tries again. Better this time.

Yep. He can see. He's sitting in the middle of a large, flat, dark expanse of stone. Directly next to him, about three feet away, is a white post or pole about two inches in diameter and sticking about four or five feet out of the stone, at an angle.

And wrapped around this white rod is what must be a fifteen foot long desert diamondback rattlesnake, with a hovering tail and rattle seemingly prepared to start rattling, looking directly at him.

He stares at the snake in shock. He doesn't have the energy to get up and run away. He doesn't even have the energy to crawl away. This is it: his final resting place. No matter what happens, he's not going to be able to move from this spot.

Well, at least dying from a bite from this monster should be quicker than dying of thirst. He'll face his end like a man. He struggles to sit up a little straighter. The snake keeps watching him. He lifts one hand and flicks it in the snake's direction, feebly. The snake watches the hand for a moment, then goes back to watching the man, looking into his eyes.

Hmmm. Maybe the snake has no interest in biting him. It hasn't rattled yet - that’s a good sign. Maybe he isn't going to die of snake bite after all.

He then remembers that he'd looked up when he'd reached the center here because he thought he'd heard a voice. He is still very woozy; he feels like he might pass out soon. The sun still beats down on him even though he is now on cool stone. He still doesn't have anything to drink. Although maybe he had actually heard a voice. This stone doesn't look natural. Nor does that white post sticking up out of the stone. Someone must have built this. Maybe they are still nearby. Maybe that was who talked to him. Maybe this snake is even their pet, and that's why it isn't biting.

He tries to clear his throat to say, "Hello," but he’s too dry. All that comes out is a coughing or wheezing sound. There's no way he's going to be able to talk without something to drink. He feels his pocket, and the bottle with the wiper fluid is still there. He shakily pulls out the bottle, almost losing his balance and falling on his back in the process. This isn't good. He doesn't have much time left by his reckoning before he passes out.

He gets the bottle open, manages to get the bottle to his lips, and pours some of the fluid into his mouth. He sloshes it around, and then swallows it. He coughs a little. His throat feels better. Maybe he can talk now.

He tries again. Ignoring the snake, he turns to look around him, hoping to spot the owner of this place, and croaks out, "Hello? Is there anyone here?"

He hears, from his side, "Greetings. What is it that you want?"

He turns his head back towards the snake. That's where the sound seemed to come from. The only thing he can think of is that there must be a speaker hidden under the snake, or maybe built into that post. He decides to try asking for help.

"Please," he croaks again, suddenly feeling dizzy, "I'd love to not be thirsty anymore. I've been without water for a long time. Can you help me?"

Looking in the direction of the snake, hoping to see where the voice was coming from this time, he is shocked to see the snake rear back, open its mouth, and speak. He hears it say, as the dizziness overtakes him and he falls forward, face first on the stone, "Very well. Coming up."

A piercing pain shoots through his shoulder. Suddenly he is awake. He sits up and grabs his shoulder, wincing at the throbbing pain. He's momentarily disoriented as he looks around, and then he remembers: the crawl across the sand, the dark area of stone, the snake. He sees the snake, still wrapped around the tilted white post, still looking at him.

He reaches up and feels his shoulder, where it hurts. It feels slightly wet. He pulls his fingers away and looks at them - blood. He feels his shoulder again - it feels like his shirt has two holes in it - two puncture holes. They match up with the two aching spots of pain on his shoulder. He has been bitten. By the snake.

"It'll feel better in a minute." He looks up - it's the snake talking. He hadn't dreamed it. Suddenly he notices - he's not dizzy anymore. And more importantly, he's not thirsty anymore - at all!

"Have I died? Is this the afterlife? Why are you biting me in the afterlife?"

"Sorry about that, but I had to bite you," says the snake. "That's the way I work. It all comes through the bite. Think of it as natural medicine."

"You bit me to help me? Why aren't I thirsty anymore? Did you give me a drink before you bit me? How did I drink enough while unconscious to not be thirsty anymore? I haven't had a drink for over two days. Well, except for the windshield wiper fluid... hold it, how in the world does a snake talk? Are you real? Are you some sort of Disney animation?"

"No," says the snake, "I'm real. As real as you or anyone is, anyway. I didn't give you a drink. I bit you. That's how it works, it's what I do. I bite. Plus I don't have hands to give you a drink, even if I had water just sitting around here."

The man sat stunned for a minute. Here he was, sitting in the middle of the desert on some strange stone that should be hot but wasn't, talking to a snake that could talk back and had just bitten him. And he felt better. Not great - he was still starving and exhausted, but much better - he was no longer thirsty. He had started to sweat again, but only slightly. He felt hot, in this sun, but it was starting to get lower in the sky, and the cool stone beneath him was a relief he could notice now that he was no longer dying of thirst.

"I might suggest that we take care of that methanol you now have in your system with the next request," continued the snake. "I can guess why you drank it, but I'm not sure how much you drank, or how much methanol was left in the wiper fluid. That stuff is nasty. It'll make you go blind in a day or two, if you drank enough of it."

"Ummm, n-next request?" said the man. He put his hand back on his hurting shoulder and backed away from the snake a little.

"That's the way it works. If you like, that is," explained the snake. "You get three requests. Call them wishes, if you wish." The snake grinned at his own joke, and the man drew back a little further from the show of fangs.

"But there are rules," the snake continued. "The first request is free. The second requires an agreement of secrecy. The third requires the binding of responsibility." The snake looks at the man seriously.

"By the way," the snake says suddenly, "my name is Nathan. Old Nathan, Samuel used to call me. He gave me the name. Before that, most of the Bound used to just call me 'Snake'. But that got old, and Samuel wouldn't stand for it. He said that anything that could talk needed a name. He was big into names. You can call me Nate, if you wish." Again, the snake grinned. "Sorry if I don't offer to shake, but I think you can understand - my shake sounds somewhat threatening." The snake give his rattle a little shake.

"Umm, my name is Jack," said the man, trying to absorb all of this. "Jack Samson."

"Can I ask you a question?" Jack says suddenly. "What happened to the venom...umm, in your bite. Why aren't I dying now? How did you do that? What do you mean by that's how you work?"

"That's more than one question," grins Nate. "But I'll still try to answer all of them. First, yes, you can ask me a question." The snake's grin gets wider. "Second, the venom is in you. It changed you. You now no longer need to drink. That's what you asked for. Or, well, technically, you asked to not be thirsty any more - but 'any more' is such a vague term. I decided to make it permanent - now, as long as you live, you shouldn't need to drink much at all. Your body will conserve water very efficiently. You should be able to get enough just from the food you eat - much like a creature of the desert. You've been changed.

"For the third question," Nate continues, "you are still dying. Besides the effects of that methanol in your system, you're a man - and men are mortal. In your current state, I give you no more than about another 50 years. Assuming you get out of this desert, alive, that is." Nate seemed vastly amused at his own humor, and continued his wide grin.

"As for the fourth question," Nate said, looking more serious as far as Jack could tell, as Jack was just now working on his ability to read talking-snake emotions from snake facial features, "first you have to agree to make a second request and become bound by the secrecy, or I can't tell you."

"Wait," joked Jack, "isn't this where you say you could tell me, but you'd have to kill me?"

"I thought that was implied." Nate continued to look serious.

"Ummm...yeah." Jack leaned back a little as he remembered again that he was talking to a fifteen foot venomous reptile with a reputation for having a nasty temper. "So, what is this 'Bound by Secrecy' stuff, and can you really stop the effects of the methanol?" Jack thought for a second. "And, what do you mean methanol, anyway? I thought these days they use ethanol in wiper fluid, and just denature it?"

"They may, I don't really know," said Nate. "I haven't gotten out in a while. Maybe they do. All I know is that I smell methanol on your breath and on that bottle in your pocket. And the blue color of the liquid when you pulled it out to drink some let me guess that it was wiper fluid. I assume that they still color wiper fluid blue?"

"Yeah, they do," said Jack.

"I figured," replied Nate. "As for being bound by secrecy - with the fulfillment of your next request, you will be bound to say nothing about me, this place, or any of the information I will tell you after that, when you decide to go back out to your kind. You won't be allowed to talk about me, write about me, use sign language, charades, or even act in a way that will lead someone to guess correctly about me. You'll be bound to secrecy. Of course, I'll also ask you to promise not to give me away, and as I'm guessing that you're a man of your word, you'll never test the binding anyway, so you won't notice." Nate said the last part with utter confidence.

Jack, who had always prided himself on being a man of his word, felt a little nervous at this. "Ummm, hey, Nate, who are you? How did you know that? Are you, umm, omniscient, or something?"

Well, Jack," said Nate sadly, "I can't tell you that, unless you make the second request." Nate looked away for a minute, then looked back.

"Umm, well, ok," said Jack, "what is this about a second request? What can I ask for? Are you allowed to tell me that?"

"Sure!" said Nate, brightening. "You're allowed to ask for changes. Changes to yourself. They're like wishes, but they can only affect you. Oh, and before you ask, I can't give you immortality. Or omniscience. Or omnipresence, for that matter. Though I might be able to make you gaseous and yet remain alive, and then you could spread through the atmosphere and sort of be omnipresent. But what good would that be - you still wouldn't be omniscient and thus still could only focus on one thing at a time. Not very useful, at least in my opinion." Nate stopped when he realized that Jack was staring at him.

"Well, anyway," continued Nate, "I'd probably suggest giving you permanent good health. It would negate the methanol now in your system, you'd be immune to most poisons and diseases, and you'd tend to live a very long time, barring accident, of course. And you'll even have a tendency to recover from accidents well. It always seemed like a good choice for a request to me."

"Cure the methanol poisoning, huh?" said Jack. "And keep me healthy for a long time? Hmmm. It doesn't sound bad at that. And it has to be a request about a change to me? I can't ask to be rich, right? Because that's not really a change to me?"

"Right," nodded Nate.

"Could I ask to be a genius and permanently healthy?" Jack asked, hopefully.

"That takes two requests, Jack."

"Yeah, I figured so," said Jack. "But I could ask to be a genius? I could become the smartest scientist in the world? Or the best athlete?"

"Well, I could make you very smart," admitted Nate, "but that wouldn't necessarily make you the best scientist in the world. Or, I could make you very athletic, but it wouldn't necessarily make you the best athlete either. You've heard the saying that 99% of genius is hard work? Well, there's some truth to that. I can give you the talent, but I can't make you work hard. It all depends on what you decide to do with it."

"Hmmm," said Jack. "Ok, I think I understand. And I get a third request, after this one?"

"Maybe," said Nate, "it depends on what you decide then. There are more rules for the third request that I can only tell you about after the second request. You know how it goes." Nate looked like he'd shrug, if he had shoulders.

"Ok, well, since I'd rather not be blind in a day or two, and permanent health doesn't sound bad, then consider that my second request. Officially. Do I need to sign in blood or something?"

"No," said Nate. "Just hold out your hand. Or heel." Nate grinned. "Or whatever part you want me to bite. I have to bite you again. Like I said, that's how it works - the venom, you know," Nate said apologetically.

Jack winced a little and felt his shoulder, where the last bite was. Hey, it didn't hurt any more. Just like Nate had said. That made Jack feel better about the biting business. But still, standing still while a fifteen foot snake sunk it's fangs into you. Jack stood up. Ignoring how good it felt to be able to stand again, and the hunger starting to gnaw at his stomach, Jack tried to decide where he wanted to get bitten. Despite knowing that it wouldn't hurt for long, Jack knew that this wasn't going to be easy.

"Hey, Jack," Nate suddenly said, looking past Jack towards the dunes behind him, "is that someone else coming up over there?"

Jack spun around and looked. Who else could be out here in the middle of nowhere? And did they bring food?

Wait a minute, there was nobody over there. What was Nate...

Jack let out a bellow as he felt two fangs sink into his rear end, through his jeans...

Jack sat down carefully, favoring his more tender buttock. "I would have decided, eventually, Nate. I was just thinking about it. You didn't have to hoodwink me like that."

"I've been doing this a long time, Jack," said Nate, confidently. "You humans have a hard time sitting still and letting a snake bite you - especially one my size. And besides, admit it - it's only been a couple of minutes and it already doesn't hurt any more, does it? That's because of the health benefit with this one. I told you that you'd heal quickly now."

"Yeah, well, still," said Jack, "it's the principle of the thing. And nobody likes being bitten in the butt! Couldn't you have gotten my calf or something instead?"

"More meat in the typical human butt," replied Nate. "And less chance you accidentally kick me or move at the last second."

"Yeah, right. So, tell me all of these wonderful secrets that I now qualify to hear," answered Jack.

"Ok," said Nate. "Do you want to ask questions first, or do you want me to just start talking?"

"Just talk," said Jack. "I'll sit here and try to not think about food."

"We could go try to rustle up some food for you first, if you like," answered Nate.

"Hey! You didn't tell me you had food around here, Nate!" Jack jumped up. "What do we have? Am I in walking distance to town? Or can you magically whip up food along with your other powers?" Jack was almost shouting with excitement. His stomach had been growling for hours.

"I was thinking more like I could flush something out of its hole and bite it for you, and you could skin it and eat it. Assuming you have a knife, that is," replied Nate, with the grin that Jack was starting to get used to.

"Ugh," said Jack, sitting back down. "I think I'll pass. I can last a little longer before I get desperate enough to eat desert rat, or whatever else it is you find out here. And there's nothing to burn - I'd have to eat it raw. No thanks. Just talk."

"Ok," replied Nate, still grinning. "But I'd better hurry, before you start looking at me as food.

Nate reared back a little, looked around for a second, and then continued. "You, Jack, are sitting in the middle of the Garden of Eden."

Jack looked around at the sand and dunes and then looked back at Nate sceptically.

"Well, that's the best I can figure it, anyway, Jack," said Nate. "Stand up and look at the symbol on the rock here." Nate gestured around the dark stone they were both sitting on with his nose.

Jack stood up and looked. Carved into the stone in a bas-relief was a representation of a large tree. The angled-pole that Nate was wrapped around was coming out of the trunk of the tree, right below where the main branches left the trunk to reach out across the stone. It was very well done - it looked more like a tree had been reduced to almost two dimensions and embedded in the stone than it did like a carving.

Jack walked around and looked at the details in the fading light of the setting sun. He wished he'd looked at it while the sun was higher in the sky.

Wait! The sun was setting! That meant he was going to have to spend another night out here! Arrrgh!

Jack looked out across the desert for a little bit, and then came back and stood next to Nate. "In all the excitement, I almost forgot, Nate," said Jack. "Which way is it back to town? And how far? I'm eventually going to have to head back - I'm not sure I'll be able to survive by eating raw desert critters for long. And even if I can, I'm not sure I'll want to."

"It's about 30 miles that way." Nate pointed, with the rattle on his tail this time. As far as Jack could tell, it was a direction at right angles to the way he'd been going when he was crawling here. "But that's 30 miles by the way the crow flies. It's about 40 by the way a man walks. You should be able to do it in about half a day with your improved endurance, if you head out early tomorrow, Jack."

Jack looked out the way the snake had pointed for a few seconds more, and then sat back down. It was getting dark. Not much he could do about heading out right now. And besides, Nate was just about to get to the interesting stuff. "Garden of Eden? As best as you can figure it?"

"Well, yeah, as best as I and Samuel could figure it anyway," said Nate. "He figured that the story just got a little mixed up. You know, snake, in a 'tree', offering 'temptations', making bargains. That kind stuff. But he could never quite figure out how the Hebrews found out about this spot from across the ocean. He worried about that for a while."

"Garden of Eden, hunh?" said Jack. "How long have you been here, Nate?"

"No idea, really," replied Nate. "A long time. It never occurred to me to count years, until recently, and by then, of course, it was too late. But I do remember when this whole place was green, so I figure it's been thousands of years, at least."

"So, are you the snake that tempted Eve?" said Jack.

"Beats me," said Nate. "Maybe. I can't remember if the first one of your kind that I talked to was female or not, and I never got a name, but it could have been. And I suppose she could have considered my offer to grant requests a 'temptation', though I've rarely had refusals."

"Well, umm, how did you get here then? And why is that white pole stuck out of the stone there?" asked Jack.

"Dad left me here. Or, I assume it was my dad. It was another snake - much bigger than I was back then. I remember talking to him, but I don't remember if it was in a language, or just kind of understanding what he wanted. But one day, he brought me to this stone, told me about it, and asked me to do something for him. I talked it over with him for a while, then agreed. I've been here ever since.

"What is this place?" said Jack. "And what did he ask you to do?"

"Well, you see this pole here, sticking out of the stone?" Nate loosened his coils around the tilted white pole and showed Jack where it descended into the stone. The pole was tilted at about a 45 degree angle and seemed to enter the stone in an eighteen inch slot cut into the stone. Jack leaned over and looked. The slot was dark and the pole went down into it as far as Jack could see in the dim light. Jack reached out to touch the pole, but Nate was suddenly there in the way.

"You can't touch that yet, Jack," said Nate.

"Why not?" asked Jack.

"I haven't explained it to you yet," replied Nate.

"Well, it kinda looks like a lever or something," said Jack. "You'd push it that way, and it would move in the slot."

"Yep, that's what it is," replied Nate.

"What does it do?" asked Jack. "End the world?"

"Oh, no," said Nate. "Nothing that drastic. It just ends humanity. I call it 'The Lever of Doom'." For the last few words Nate had used a deeper, ringing voice. He tried to look serious for a few seconds, and then gave up and grinned.

Jack was initially startled by Nate's pronouncement, but when Nate grinned Jack laughed. "Ha! You almost had me fooled for a second there. What does it really do?"

"Oh, it really ends humanity, like I said," smirked Nate. "I just thought the voice I used was funny, didn't you?"

Nate continued to grin.

"A lever to end humanity?" asked Jack. "What in the world is that for? Why would anyone need to end humanity?"

"Well," replied Nate, "I get the idea that maybe humanity was an experiment. Or maybe the Big Guy just thought, that if humanity started going really bad, there should be a way to end it. I'm not really sure. All I know are the rules, and the guesses that Samuel and I had about why it's here. I didn't think to ask back when I started here."

"Rules? What rules?" asked Jack.

"The rules are that I can't tell anybody about it or let them touch it unless they agree to be bound to secrecy by a bite. And that only one human can be bound in that way at a time. That's it." explained Nate.

Jack looked somewhat shocked. "You mean that I could pull the lever now? You'd let me end humanity?"

"Yep," replied Nate, "if you want to." Nate looked at Jack carefully. "Do you want to, Jack?"

"Umm, no." said Jack, stepping a little further back from the lever. "Why in the world would anyone want to end humanity? It'd take a psychotic to want that! Or worse, a suicidal psychotic, because it would kill him too, wouldn't it?"

"Yep," replied Nate, "being as he'd be human too."

"Has anyone ever seriously considered it?" asked Jack. "Any of those bound to secrecy, that is?"

"Well, of course, I think they've all seriously considered it at one time or another. Being given that kind of responsibility makes you sit down and think, or so I'm told. Samuel considered it several times. He'd often get disgusted with humanity, come out here, and just hold the lever for a while. But he never pulled it. Or you wouldn't be here." Nate grinned some more.

Jack sat down, well back from the lever. He looked thoughtful and puzzled at the same time. After a bit, he said, "So this makes me the Judge of humanity? I get to decide whether they keep going or just end? Me?"

"That seems to be it," agreed Nate.

"What kind of criteria do I use to decide?" said Jack. "How do I make this decision? Am I supposed to decide if they're good? Or too many of them are bad? Or that they're going the wrong way? Is there a set of rules for that?"

"Nope," replied Nate. "You pretty much just have to decide on your own. It's up to you, however you want to decide it. I guess that you're just supposed to know."

"But what if I get mad at someone? Or some girl dumps me and I feel horrible? Couldn't I make a mistake? How do I know that I won't screw up?" protested Jack.

Nate gave his kind of snake-like shrug again. "You don't. You just have to try your best, Jack."

Jack sat there for a while, staring off into the desert that was rapidly getting dark, chewing on a fingernail.

Suddenly, Jack turned around and looked at the snake. "Nate, was Samuel the one bound to this before me?"

"Yep," replied Nate. "He was a good guy. Talked to me a lot. Taught me to read and brought me books. I think I still have a good pile of them buried in the sand around here somewhere. I still miss him. He died a few months ago."

"Sounds like a good guy," agreed Jack. "How did he handle this, when you first told him. What did he do?"

"Well," said Nate, "he sat down for a while, thought about it for a bit, and then asked me some questions, much like you're doing."

"What did he ask you, if you're allowed to tell me?" asked Jack.

"He asked me about the third request," replied Nate.

"Aha!" It was Jack's turn to grin. "And what did you tell him?"

"I told him the rules for the third request. That to get the third request you have to agree to this whole thing. That if it ever comes to the point that you really think that humanity should be ended, that you'll come here and end it. You won't avoid it, and you won't wimp out." Nate looked serious again. "And you'll be bound to do it too, Jack."

"Hmmm." Jack looked back out into the darkness for a while.

Nate watched him, waiting.

"Nate," continued Jack, quietly, eventually. "What did Samuel ask for with his third request?"

Nate sounded like he was grinning again as he replied, also quietly, "Wisdom, Jack. He asked for wisdom. As much as I could give him."

"Ok," said Jack, suddenly, standing up and facing away from Nate, "give it to me.

Nate looked at Jack's backside. "Give you what, Jack?"

"Give me that wisdom. The same stuff that Samuel asked for. If it helped him, maybe it'll help me too." Jack turned his head to look back over his shoulder at Nate. "It did help him, right?"

"He said it did," replied Nate. "But he seemed a little quieter afterward. Like he had a lot to think about."

"Well, yeah, I can see that," said Jack. "So, give it to me." Jack turned to face away from Nate again, bent over slightly and tensed up.

Nate watched Jack tense up with a little exasperation. If he bit Jack now, Jack would likely jump out of his skin and maybe hurt them both.

"You remember that you'll be bound to destroy humanity if it ever looks like it needs it, right Jack?" asked Nate, shifting position.

"Yeah, yeah, I got that," replied Jack, eyes squeezed tightly shut and body tense, not noticing the change in direction of Nate's voice.

"And," continued Nate, from his new position, "do you remember that you'll turn bright purple, and grow big horns and extra eyes?"

"Yeah, yeah...Hey, wait a minute!" said Jack, opening his eyes, straightening up and turning around. "Purple?!" He didn't see Nate there. With the moonlight Jack could see that the lever extended up from its slot in the rock without the snake wrapped around it.

Jack heard, from behind him, Nate's "Just Kidding!" right before he felt the now familiar piercing pain, this time in the other buttock.

Jack sat on the edge of the dark stone in the rapidly cooling air, his feet extending out into the sand. He stared out into the darkness, listening to the wind stir the sand, occasionally rubbing his butt where he'd been recently bitten.

Nate had left for a little while, had come back with a desert-rodent-shaped bulge somewhere in his middle, and was now wrapped back around the lever, his tongue flicking out into the desert night's air the only sign that he was still awake.

Occasionally Jack, with his toes absentmindedly digging in the sand while he thought, would ask Nate a question without turning around.

"Nate, do accidents count?"

Nate lifted his head a little bit. "What do you mean, Jack?"

Jack tilted his head back like he was looking at the stars. "You know, accidents. If I accidentally fall on the lever, without meaning to, does that still wipe out humanity?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure it does, Jack. I'd suggest you be careful about that if you start feeling wobbly," said Nate with some amusement.

A little later - "Does it have to be me that pulls the lever?" asked Jack.

"That's the rule, Jack. Nobody else can pull it," answered Nate.

"No," Jack shook his head, "I meant does it have to be my hand? Could I pull the lever with a rope tied around it? Or push it with a stick? Or throw a rock?"

"Yes, those should work," replied Nate. "Though I'm not sure how complicated you could get. Samuel thought about trying to build some kind of remote control for it once, but gave it up. Everything he'd build would be gone by the next sunrise, if it was touching the stone, or over it. I told him that in the past others that had been bound had tried to bury the lever so they wouldn't be tempted to pull it, but every time the stones or sand or whatever had disappeared."

"Wow," said Jack, "Cool." Jack leaned back until only his elbows kept him off of the stone and looked up into the sky.

"Nate, how long did Samuel live? One of his wishes was for health too, right?" asked Jack.

"Yes," replied Nate, "it was. He lived 167 years, Jack."

"Wow, 167 years. That's almost 140 more years I'll live if I live as long. Do you know what he died of, Nate?"

"He died of getting tired of living, Jack," Nate said, sounding somewhat sad.

Jack turned his head to look at Nate in the starlight.

Nate looked back. "Samuel knew he wasn't going to be able to stay in society. He figured that they'd eventually see him still alive and start questioning it, so he decided that he'd have to disappear after a while. He faked his death once, but changed his mind - he decided it was too early and he could stay for a little longer. He wasn't very fond of mankind, but he liked the attention. Most of the time, anyway.

"His daughter and then his wife dying almost did him in though. He didn't stay in society much longer after that. He eventually came out here to spend time talking to me and thinking about pulling the lever. A few months ago he told me he'd had enough. It was his time."

"And then he just died?" asked Jack.

Nate shook his head a little. "He made his fourth request, Jack. There's only one thing you can ask for the fourth request. The last bite.

After a bit Nate continued, "He told me that he was tired, that it was his time. He reassured me that someone new would show up soon, like they always had.

After another pause, Nate finished, "Samuel's body disappeared off the stone with the sunrise."

Jack lay back down and looked at the sky, leaving Nate alone with his memories. It was a long time until Jack's breathing evened out into sleep.

Jack woke with the sunrise the next morning. He was a little chilled with the morning desert air, but overall was feeling pretty good. Well, except that his stomach was grumbling and he wasn't willing to eat raw desert rat.

So, after getting directions to town from Nate, making sure he knew how to get back, and reassuring Nate that he'd be back soon, Jack started the long walk back to town. With his new health and Nate's good directions, he made it back easily.

Jack caught a bus back to the city, and showed up for work the next day, little worse for the wear and with a story about getting lost in the desert and walking back out. Within a couple of days Jack had talked a friend with a tow truck into going back out into the desert with him to fetch the SUV. They found it after a couple of hours of searching and towed it back without incident. Jack was careful not to even look in the direction of Nate's lever, though their path back didn't come within sight of it.

Before the next weekend, Jack had gone to a couple of stores, including a book store, and had gotten his SUV back from the mechanic, with a warning to avoid any more joyriding in the desert. On Saturday, Jack headed back to see Nate.

Jack parked a little way out of the small town near Nate, loaded up his new backpack with camping gear and the things he was bringing for Nate, and then started walking. He figured that walking would leave the least trail, and he knew that while not many people camped in the desert, it wasn't unheard of, and shouldn't really raise suspicions.

Jack had brought more books for Nate - recent books, magazines, newspapers. Some things that would catch Nate up with what was happening in the world, others that were just good books to read. He spent the weekend with Nate, and then headed out again, telling Nate that he'd be back again soon, but that he had things to do first.

Over four months later Jack was back to see Nate again. This time he brought a laptop with him - a specially modified laptop. It had a solar recharger, special filters and seals to keep out the sand, a satellite link-up, and a special keyboard and joystick that Jack hoped that a fifteen-foot rattlesnake would be able to use. And, it had been hacked to not give out its location to the satellite.

After that Jack could e-mail Nate to keep in touch, but still visited him fairly regularly - at least once or twice a year.

After the first year, Jack quit his job. For some reason, with the wisdom he'd been given, and the knowledge that he could live for over 150 years, working in a nine to five job for someone else didn't seem that worthwhile any more. Jack went back to school.

Eventually, Jack started writing. Perhaps because of the wisdom, or perhaps because of his new perspective, he wrote well. People liked what he wrote, and he became well known for it. After a time, Jack bought an RV and started traveling around the country for book signings and readings.

But, he still remembered to drop by and visit Nate occasionally.

On one of the visits Nate seemed quieter than usual. Not that Nate had been a fountain of joy lately. Jack's best guess was that Nate was still missing Samuel, and though Jack had tried, he still hadn't been able to replace Samuel in Nate's eyes. Nate had been getting quieter each visit. But on this visit Nate didn't even speak when Jack walked up to the lever. He nodded at Jack, and then went back to staring into the desert. Jack, respecting Nate's silence, sat down and waited.

After a few minutes, Nate spoke. "Jack, I have someone to introduce you to."

Jack looked surprised. "Someone to introduce me to?" Jack looked around, and then looked carefully back at Nate. "This something to do with the Big Guy?

"No, no," replied Nate. "This is more personal. I want you to meet my son." Nate looked over at the nearest sand dune. "Sammy!"

Jack watched as a four foot long desert rattlesnake crawled from behind the dune and up to the stone base of the lever.

"Yo, Jack," said the new, much smaller snake.

"Yo, Sammy" replied Jack. Jack looked at Nate. "Named after Samuel, I assume?"

Nate nodded. "Jack, I've got a favor to ask you. Could you show Sammy around for me?" Nate unwrapped himself from the lever and slithered over to the edge of the stone and looked across the sands. "When Samuel first told me about the world, and brought me books and pictures, I wished that I could go see it. I wanted to see the great forests, the canyons, the cities, even the other deserts, to see if they felt and smelled the same. I want my son to have that chance - to see the world. Before he becomes bound here like I have been.

"He's seen it in pictures, over the computer that you brought me. But I hear that it's not the same. That being there is different. I want him to have that. Think you can do that for me, Jack?"

Jack nodded. This was obviously very important to Nate, so Jack didn't even joke about taking a talking rattlesnake out to see the world. "Yeah, I can do that for you, Nate. Is that all you need?" Jack could sense that was something more.

Nate looked at Sammy. Sammy looked back at Nate for a second and then said, "Oh, yeah. Ummm, I've gotta go pack. Back in a little bit Jack. Nice to meet ya!" Sammy slithered back over the dune and out of sight.

Nate watched Sammy disappear and then looked back at Jack. "Jack, this is my first son. My first offspring through all the years. You don't even want to know what it took for me to find a mate." Nate grinned to himself. "But anyway, I had a son for a reason. I'm tired. I'm ready for it to be over. I needed a replacement."

Jack considered this for a minute. "So, you're ready to come see the world, and you wanted him to watch the lever while you were gone?"

Nate shook his head. "No, Jack - you're a better guesser than that. You've already figured out - I'm bound here - there's only one way for me to leave here. And I'm ready. It's my time to die."

Jack looked more closely at Nate. He could tell Nate had thought about this - probably for quite a while. Jack had trouble imagining what it would be like to be as old as Nate, but Jack could already tell that in another hundred or two hundred years, he might be getting tired of life himself. Jack could understand Samuel's decision, and now Nate's. So, all Jack said was, "What do you want me to do?"

Nate nodded. "Thanks, Jack. I only want two things. One - show Sammy around the world - let him get his fill of it, until he's ready to come back here and take over. Two - give me the fourth request.

"I can't just decide to die, not any more than you can. I won't even die of old age like you eventually will, even though it'll be a long time from now. I need to be killed. Once Sammy is back here, ready to take over, I'll be able to die. And I need you to kill me.

"I've even thought about how. Poisons and other drugs won't work on me. And I've seen pictures of snakes that were shot - some of them live for days, so that's out too. So, I want you to bring back a sword.

Nate turned away to look back to the dune that Sammy had gone behind. "I'd say an axe, but that's somewhat undignified - putting my head on the ground or a chopping block like that. No, I like a sword. A time-honored way of going out. A dignified way to die. And, most importantly, it should work, even on me.

"You willing to do that for me, Jack?" Nate turned back to look at Jack.

"Yeah, Nate," replied Jack solemnly, "I think I can handle that."

Nate nodded. "Good!" He turned back toward the dune and shouted, "Sammy! Jack's about ready to leave!" Then quietly, "Thanks, Jack."

Jack didn't have anything to say to that, so he waited for Sammy to make it back to the lever, nodded to him, nodded a final time to Nate, and then headed into the desert with Sammy following.

Over the next several years Sammy and Jack kept in touch with Nate through e-mail as they went about their adventures. They made a goal of visiting every country in the world, and did a respectable job of it. Sammy had a natural gift for languages, as Jack expected he would, and even ended up acting as a translator for Jack in a few of the countries. Jack managed to keep the talking rattlesnake hidden, even so, and by the time they were nearing the end of their tour of countries, Sammy had only been spotted a few times. While there were several people that had seen enough to startle them greatly, nobody had enough evidence to prove anything, and while a few wild rumors and stories followed Jack and Sammy around, nothing ever hit the newspapers or the public in general.

When they finished the tour of countries, Jack suggested that they try some undersea diving. They did. And spelunking. They did that too. Sammy finally drew the line at visiting Antarctica. He'd come to realize that Jack was stalling. After talking to his Dad about it over e-mail, he figured out that Jack probably didn't want to have to kill Nate. Nate told Sammy that humans could be squeamish about killing friends and acquaintances.

So, Sammy eventually put his tail down (as he didn't have a foot) and told Jack that it was time - he was ready to go back and take up his duties from his dad. Jack, delayed it a little more by insisting that they go back to Japan and buy an appropriate sword. He even stretched it a little more by getting lessons in how to use the sword. But, eventually, he'd learned as much as he was likely to without dedicating his life to it, and was definitely competent enough to take the head off of a snake. It was time to head back and see Nate.

When they got back to the US, Jack got the old RV out of storage where he and Sammy had left it after their tour of the fifty states, he loaded up Sammy and the sword, and they headed for the desert.

When they got to the small town that Jack had been trying to find those years ago when he'd met Nate, Jack was in a funk. He didn't really feel like walking all of the way out there. Not only that, but he'd forgotten to figure the travel time correctly, and it was late afternoon. They'd either have to spend the night in town and walk out tomorrow, or walk in the dark.

As Jack was afraid that if he waited one more night he might lose his resolve, he decided that he'd go ahead and drive the RV out there. It was only going to be this once, and Jack would go back and cover the tracks afterward. They ought to be able to make it out there by nightfall if they drove, and then they could get it over tonight.

Jack told Sammy to e-mail Nate that they were coming as he drove out of sight of the town on the road. They then pulled off the road and headed out into the desert.

Everything went well, until they got to the sand dunes. Jack had been nursing the RV along the whole time, over the rocks, through the creek beds, revving the engine the few times they almost got stuck. When they came to the dunes, Jack didn't really think about it, he just downshifted and headed up the first one. By the third dune, Jack started to regret that he'd decided to try driving on the sand. The RV was fishtailling and losing traction. Jack was having to work it up each dune slowly and was trying to keep from losing control each time they came over the top and slid down the other side. Sammy had come up to sit in the passenger seat, coiled up and laughing at Jack's driving.

As they came over the top of the fourth dune, the biggest one yet, Jack saw that this was the final dune - the stone, the lever, and somewhere Nate, waited below. Jack put on the brakes, but he'd gone a little too far. The RV started slipping down the other side.

Jack tried turning the wheel, but he didn't have enough traction. He pumped the brakes - no response. They started sliding down the hill, faster and faster.

Jack felt a shock go through him as he suddenly realized that they were heading for the lever. He looked down - the RV was directly on course for it. If Jack didn't do something, the RV would hit it. He was about to end humanity.

Jack steered more frantically, trying to get traction. It still wasn't working. The dune was too steep, and the sand too loose. In a split second, Jack realized that his only chance would be once he hit the stone around the lever - he should have traction on the stone for just a second before he hit the lever - he wouldn't have time to stop, but he should be able to steer away.

Jack took a better grip on the steering wheel and tried to turn the RV a little bit - every little bit would help. He'd have to time his turn just right.

The RV got to the bottom of the dune, sliding at an amazing speed in the sand. Just before they reached the stone Jack looked across it to check that they were still heading for the lever. They were. But Jack noticed something else that he hadn't seen from the top of the dune. Nate wasn't wrapped around the lever. He was off to the side of the lever, but still on the stone, waiting for them. The problem was, he was waiting on the same side of the lever that Jack had picked to steer towards to avoid the lever. The RV was already starting to drift that way a little in its mad rush across the sand and there was no way that Jack was going to be able to go around the lever to the other side.

Jack had an instant of realization. He was either going to have to hit the lever, or run over Nate. He glanced over at Sammy and saw that Sammy realized the same thing.

Jack took a firmer grip on the steering wheel as the RV ran up on the stone. Shouting to Sammy as he pulled the steering wheel, "Better Nate than lever!", he ran over the snake.

#bp ask #anon ask #bp server

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cloudcountry · 1 year ago

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SUMMARY: You're far too nervous to talk to the handsome store owner yourself, so he takes the first step for you. (Or rather, his shadow friend does.)

WARNINGS: None!!

COMMENTS: HELLO SAM KISSERS...WHERE ARE YOU....... (i am shouting into the abyss.)

Receiving a job offer from Night Raven College was a huge step in your career, so obviously you accepted without a second thought.

The job was grueling, especially because it was your first year working at such a prestigious college. You were placed under Crewel’s supervision, learning how to craft potions and memorize ingredients that you would have to teach upcoming students later in your career. He sent you on errand runs for him while he wrangled his students, the rowdy boys giving you heart attacks more than a few times. (Azul was by far your favorite student—after all, he knew exactly what he was doing and never felt the need to badger you for useless information that Crewel could explain easily. You knew it was because the newer students were scared of him, but using you as a middleman didn’t make your job any easier.)

If there was one thing that did though, it would have been the store owner Crewel sent you running to whenever he needed any suspicious herbs that couldn't be obtained close by.

He was handsome, you noticed the first time you came by, peeking at him through your lashes as you pretended to browse through his wares. His easy smile and magenta gaze had you weak in the knees, and when he asked you if the bundle of rare herbs was all you needed, your mouth ran dry. Somehow, you managed to stammer out a yes, mouth feeling like it was full of cotton as he winked. You could only gape like a fish out of water as he rung you up, humming a cheery tune. The price of the herbs rattled in your brain like a die rolling off a table from being thrown too hard, and you weren’t even sure how you counted the money, placing a number of thaumarks on the counter and accepting the change numbly. Fuck, how was he so gorgeous?

“Have a lovely day. Come again sometime.” he shot you a heart throbbing smile, tongue poking out from between his teeth.

You practically bolted out of the store and back to Crewel.

If your mentor noticed anything off about your composure, he said nothing. You delivered the herbs successfully, but now there was another thing weighing on your mind. You couldn’t even walk past the school store later that day without feeling your face warm, an indescribable pull yanking you adamantly towards the building.

Wait, was that actual tugging?

Your gaze darted down to your pant leg, where you almost screamed at the sight of a shadow of a man in the ground but no actual man to claim it. It pressed a finger to its lips and tugged you again, a wicked grin almost splitting its face in half. You suppressed a scream, taking a deep breath and reminding yourself that Night Raven College had thrown worse at you. And so, you allowed the shadow to drag you into the shop, figuring you could use it as an excuse to talk to the shopkeeper if nothing else. The sound of the bell jingling overhead made you wince and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to steel yourself to meet the gaze of someone who should not be as attractive as he was.

“Oh? My my, you’re by twice in one day? Was there something else you needed? I’ll have it out in a jiffy!” he chuckled, sauntering up to the counter like he owned the place (and he very much did) with a smirk on his face and a raised brow that made you grow all the more nervous.

“Um...actually, your little shadow friend dragged me over.” you mumbled, pointing to the shadow doing flips on (or was it in?) the wall.

He laughed, the sound bright and charming. You couldn’t help but think that it suited him.

“I’m sorry, dear. I’m not laughing at you.” he chuckled, waving his hand dismissively beside his head, “He's a bit of a rascal. You'll find that most little imps on this campus get up to no good all the time. I’m Sam, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

He swept his hand in your direction, bowing to you as he waited for you to take it. You told him your name in turn before grabbing his hand gently, heart pounding in our chest as he shook it.

“Lovely! Now, to business.” he shot back up, magenta eyes gleaming in the low lighting, “Is there something you desire? Anything?”

“Um, I’ve recently been hired here at Night Raven College, and...I’ve been having a bit of trouble navigating.” you lied through your teeth, fighting the urge to fidget with your blazer as his half lidded eyes bore into your soul.

“I see, I see. Would you like a tour? Or just a map?” I can provide whatever you need...for a price.” he chuckled, twirling his hand and producing a coin from thin air. He rolled it around in his fingers and you had to shake your head to break out of the trance he had effortlessly put you in.

“My afternoon is open for a tour if you wouldn’t mind.” you replied, pulling your lower lip between your teeth.

“Of course! Allow me to leave the shop in the hands of my companion.” he snickered, gracefully stepping out from behind the counter as his shadow friend took his place, “I would be delighted to guide our newest addition.”

“Thank you.” you managed to smile, heart fluttering in your chest, “Crewel gave me directions here, but...I’m not that acquainted with the rest of the campus yet.”

“Oh! How rude of him, leaving our newest staff member all by their lonesome!” Sam teased, beckoning you towards the front door, “I assure you, I will be the best host this campus has to offer.”

He leaned in close, cupping a hand around his mouth as if he was about to spill a secret.

“And if you're good, I might have a few secret spots to show you.”

A shiver shot down your spine as he reeled back with a laugh, swinging his shop door open with grandeur. You could tell your face was getting warmer, so you tore your attention away from Sam and back towards the shadow man at the counter.

The shadow man was making fun of you, wiggling on the spot as it clasped its hands together, a huge grin splitting its face once again. You laughed, louder than intended, shaking your head at its silly antics. You didn't want to keep Sam waiting any longer, so you waved at the shadow (and it waved back, funnily enough) before exiting the shop.

“Boo.” Sam whispered, lips millimeters from your ear as you shut the door.

You yelped and jumped back, heart lurching in your chest for the fourth time that day. He laughed, producing a deck of cards from thin air and shuffling them absentmindedly.

“Why were you hiding before the door?!” you gasped, exasperated.

“You looked like a frog caught in an alligator's mouth back there! I wanted to make you more comfortable.” he laughed, pulling the King of Hearts card out of the deck and displaying it triumphantly between his fingers, “You look a lot less tense now, newest staff member.”

“I guess it worked.” you mumbled, embarrassed that he'd caught you so off guard, “Just don't do that again!”

“Oh, I make no promises.” he snickered, sliding the card back into the deck with ease, “Though when I do, I hold true to them. Now, that tour I mentioned. Follow me, newest staff member. I'll take you on the most grandiose tour you'll ever see!”

You thought Sam was just being dramatic when he said that, but he really did pull out all the stops. Hell, he even got Vargas to lend you two brooms so he could show you how campus from above. By the time his tour had concluded, you'd seen all of Crewel's ingredient closets (much to the chargrain of your mentor, who was staring holes into you the entire time Sam was prattling on about nightshade, and you had never shrunk in on yourself more than you did at that moment), Trein's collection of astrolabes, the locker rooms (which Vargas had been way too proud talking about), and the Headmage's own aviary.

Sam was right, he really did know secret spots.

“Well, newest staff member? Did I wow you with my expertise?” Sam beamed, positively glowing with pride.

“You certainly did.” you huffed, chest heaving with exertion, “How did you even know about the aviary? How does the Headmage hide that thing?”

“Woah now, that's not part of the tour!” he clicked his tongue, shaking his finger at you, “If I tell you all of my secrets, I'll lose my charm!”

“I highly doubt that.” you snorted, a small grin spreading across your face as you realized how comfortable you felt with him.

“Oho? What is this I'm hearing?” he cooed, cupping his ear and leaning closer to you, “Does this mean you think I'm charming?”

“What?! No! I mean, shit- that's not what I meant-” you panicked, grasping for any words that could explain the hole you were continuously digging yourself.

“Relax, I'm teasing.” he stepped back with a grin, eyes sparkling with mischief, “You're just so fun to tease!”

“Don't do that!” you whined, crossing your arms over your chest with a huff, “The last thing I want to do is offend a staff member the first year I'm here!”

“Oh, you should hear about the stories I have of my first year working here.” Sam sighed fondly, staring off into space with a wistful expression, “What a time.”

“It can't be any worse than the fashion plunder I had with Crewel.” you shuddered, the image of a gray blazer flashing in your mind, “I'm never wearing that gray blazer ever again.”

Sam threw his head back and laughed, the sound deep and genuine. You felt yourself grow hot in the face again because you got him to laugh. Sam placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, shooting you a wink when you met his gaze.

“You can always transfer departments and work with me if you don’t like the work Crewel gives you.” he offered, uncharacteristically serious, “We value top tier education, for the staff and our little imps. If alchemy isn’t the best fit for you, talk to the Headmage.”

“Oh-! Um, thank you!” you nodded, surprised at his sudden change in demeanor, “It’s...always been my passion, though, so I’d be more likely to push through and see where this path goes than anything.”

“Persistence is always a lovely trait to have.” Sam grinned, pulling away from you with a skip in his step, “Just remember, if you need anything at all, come to me. I’ll have it for you in a jiffy!”

By the time you got back to Sam’s shop, the sun was sinking beneath the horizon. The students must all be in the cafeteria eating dinner, you realized. Your stomach rumbled at the thought, and you slapped a hand over it in a vain attempt to silence it. Sam turned to look at you with a raised brow, a smirk decorating his pretty face.

“Hungry? Allow me to get something for you!” he chuckled, flinging the door to his shop open and beckoning you in with a single gloved hand.

You followed him back inside his shop with an amused grin on your face. Today had many surprises, but as Sam threw open the door to his mini fridge and pulled what looked like chicken gumbo leftovers with a huge grin on his face, you couldn’t help but think that he was the best one.

#auburn's fics <3 #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #disneys twisted wonderland #disney twst x reader #disney twst #twst sam x reader #sam x reader #twst sam

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dandelion-wings · 2 years ago

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Today's writing warmup is, yes, a bit more of the adventurer Kaeya AU, because there is a particular fun detail that I haven't really touched on yet that I really wanted to put in something at some point. So I figured I'd write a short bit just to, uh. stab Kaeya in the heart a little.

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ETA: Now available on AO3.

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Most of the sludge ends up on Bennet, which is no surprise. Kaeya gets splattered all down his legs and up one side, but his sword-hand stays clean, and he only feels a few flecks hit his hair and face. He scrambles up and out of the sewer channel, away from the mechanism that had broken under Bennett's hand, and checks his pocket.

The map he's spent the past three hours making as Bennett's bad luck took them on a long, circuitous route through the Mondstadt storm sewers has only gotten a little damp on one corner. He rescues it from his pocket before more of the liquid wicking through his clothing can soak in and tucks it into a hidden pocket in his vest, on the side that's clean. He'd guided Bennett's roaming so carefully to get a thorough map, after all. He doesn't want to lose it now. Though this will be a good excuse for making it vanish.

Just in case Bennett had noticed the movement, he pulls out the handkerchief he usually keeps in the pocket that one's hidden under and advances forward, pulling Bennett to his feet and swiping at his sludge-covered face with the handkerchief until at least his eyes and mouth are clear. Bennett splutters and coughs and spits up enough sludge that Kaeya is a little concerned, but finally he waves Kaeya's attentions away. Kaeya tosses the ruined handkerchief carelessly into the flow.

"I'm okay! Ugh, gross," Bennett adds in immediate contradiction as he tries to wipe his hands on his shirt and only makes them sludgier.

"Look on the bright side," Kaeya says, putting his left, already-sludged arm around him and pointing up towards the open gate from which the sludge had poured. "You opened up a whole new path to try."

"Maybe this one will lead to the debris trap, and we'll find Marjorie's necklace!"

"It's worth a try," Kaeya agrees.

It will allow him to add this route to the map, too, later on. This commission has been a real windfall for him. He hasn't had anything worthwhile for his handler for almost a month now, and while the coded notes his contact passes to him are always written in strictly neutral tones, he imagines he can still read impatience into the curt instructions. But in the course of their wandering he's found three different exits from the sewers that are clearly being used by smugglers to get goods in and out of Mondstadt under the Knights' noses, and he's sure he'll find more when he comes back alone tonight to scout a bit more strategically, with some future Khaenri'ahan expeditionary force in mind.

Not that he knows exactly what such a force would look like, or what approach they'll actually use. But three years as an apprentice knight hadn't been totally useless. Kaeya has a decent idea of what kind of intel will provide a military advantage someday, even if he doesn't know exactly how it will be used. It isn't his business to know. All he has to do is continue to demonstrate that working with the Adventurers' Guild is just as useful for gathering that intel as being a Knight would have been.

Carefully setting that line of thought aside for later tonight, Kaeya crouches down and offers Bennett his sludge-covered hand as a stirrup. "Why don't I give you a boost?"

"Thanks!" Bennett springs from his hand to his shoulder and up into the new tunnel revealed over their heads, taking care not to touch any part of Kaeya that hasn't already been thoroughly begrimed on his way up. He manages it, too, even if he barks his shin on the tunnel's edge as he gets up there. "Do you want a hand from here?"

"No," Kaeya assures him before Bennett tries to lie down in the remaining sludge and probably ends up sliming his face all over again. He glances around at the shape of the sewer channel, takes a few steps back, turns and dashes up the sloping wall nearly to where it's straight, and then springs up, catches the edge of the higher tunnel with his unclean hand, and manages to roll up over the edge and through the open gate without getting more than a few drops of more sludge on the parts of him that have remained clean.

"That was *awesome*," Bennett says, grinning up at him. "You've gotta teach me how to do that!"

"It's not that difficult. It's using the same principles as that backstab I taught you, so you already know the basics. Though I'd be happy to demonstrate how I applied them here. After we get out of the sewer."

"Yeah, let's finish the commission first! I can't wait. I mean, I'll probably mess it up a few times, but-"

Kaeya cuts him off. "But you'll get it in the end, won't you? That's what you always do."

"Definitely!" Bennett bumps his elbow companionably against Kaeya's begrimed side. Kaeya goes tense, bracing against what he knows is coming. "Thanks. Having you as my big brother is the luckiest thing that ever happened to me, you know?"

This is far from the first time Kaeya has heard him say that, but it hits like a knife in the chest every time. Kaeya is reminded, unwillingly, of the Khaenri'ahan expeditionary force he'd imagined pouring through these ancient sewer tunnels, the ones his work here might guide. He knows, even if Bennett doesn't, that he's just another manifestation of Bennett's bad luck. His little brother can't have *anything* good without a downside. The world seems determined to prove that.

Hiding the lurch in his gut, Kaeya smiles back down at him, careful and smooth, and gives him the same answer he always does. "Only the luckiest thing that's happened to you so far. Who knows? Maybe today's the day your luck turns for good."

"Maybe! Who knows what else we could find with Marjorie's necklace? It might be a huge score!" Successfully distracted, Bennett bounds forward, into the dark depths of the tunnel beyond, his Vision filling the space with a shadowy red light as it swings wildly at his hip. "Come on, Kaeya, let's go!"

Kaeya starts after him more slowly, still shaking off the momentary wrench. He should be used to it by now. It's not like he's going to let Bennett be hurt, whatever happens. He can be this one stroke of good luck for his little brother: when Khaenri'ah finally makes his move, Kaeya will be there to shield him from the fallout. Bennett will probably hate him, once he understands what's happened, but Kaeya will make sure he's still alive to do it. Better to focus on that than on the larger scope of the disaster that his work will, someday, help cause.

#benny kaeya and the seven dads #ascended fic

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lillartztranslations · 2 years ago

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Chou no Doku Translation-Fujita: Servant For Eternity [ENDING]

I’m tanstaling all the sexy scense that are not in the Switch version of the game, Enjoy~!

A few years later...

Yuriko is sitting on a couch, relaxing and happily watching her kids playing in the garden while sipping a cup of tea served by Fujita.

Yuriko is now a mother. She has a son and a daughter.

Her children are weaned. They have grown up into energetic children and now attend school.

Every day during the children's summer vacation is war. In fact, right now, her maids are desperately trying to keep up with the frolicking children.

Fujita: "They truly are bursting with energy..."

Yuriko: "Yes. Well, considering they're me and Junichi's children, it's only natural that they're balls of energy."

A hearty smile makes its way to Yuriko's face.

Shiba is on a business trip to Europe.

His days are busy, but he always makes sure to send a letter a day to his dearest wife.

Indeed... Immediately after solving the incident, Yuriko and Shiba got married.

Her name is now Yuriko Shiba.

Shiba, surprisingly, agreed to the conditions Yuriko proposed.

They shall not interfere with each other's lives. However, they should have children first--that was the minimum condition that Shiba offered.

And Yuriko agreed to that condition.

After all , if Yuriko were to give birth to the children of her male paramour, it would definitely take Shiba no time at all to find out...

Fujita: "My lady..."

Fujita still refers to Yuriko as "my lady".

He sometimes calls her "madam", but his habit of calling her "my lady" remains.

Yuriko: "...Fujita, please. Do something with that habit of yours, will you? Well... I don't mind if you call me 'my lady' when we're alone, though."

Fujita: "Please... I have been holding myself back for a week..."

Fujita says, face contorted in pain and cheeks tainted red. Yuriko glances over at him quickly and lets out a small laugh.

Yuriko: "...No."

Fujita: "...My lady!"

Fujita kneels down before Yuriko's legs.

And then, he lifts the hem of her kimono and grazes his lips across her white, smooth calf.

Yuriko: "Hey, stop it, Fujita..."

Fujita: "Please... My lady..."

Yuriko: "We don't want my children to witness this now, do we? Stop it."

Fujita: "But... If we wait any longer, Mister Shiba will come home..."

Yuriko: "Sheesh, you... You can't even wait for more than a week? Such a useless man..."

Yuriko sighs before taking the bell on the table into her hand and ringing it.

Soon, a young maid comes running out from the inner part of the manor.

The maid's eyes land on Fujita who is still clinging to Yuriko's leg, and for a brief moment, the maid frowns in disgust.

Yuriko:

"I'm going to have dinner at the usual Japanese restaurant today. Look after the children and the manor, okay?"

Yuriko says without batting an eye and stands up, kicking Fujita away in the process.

Fujita falls on his backside on the floor.

Yuriko looks down at his fallen form and smiles wryly.

Yuriko:

"Woe is me. I've got a child who keeps refusing to be weaned."

The maid hurriedly rushes out of view.

The servants in the garden have also averted their eyes, pretending not to see.

Everyone knows that when Yuriko married into this family, she brought along her almost official paramour - Fujita.

Although the two of them could ascertain their love for each other after having overcome various difficulties, they couldn't get married because of their different social statuses.

To be fair, though, perhaps it was Yuriko herself who deliberately alienated the opinion of marrying Fujita.

To Yuriko. Fujita is someone who might as well have been destined to serve her forever. She would like to think that she can't just suddenly flip the switch within her and start worshiping him as her husband.

Besides, somewhere along the way, Yuriko began to develop a penchant for bullying Fujita.

She is obsessed with him. She doesn't want to let go of him. She wants to keep him bound to her forever. But marriage is out of the question.

So Yuriko decided to accept Shiba's marriage proposal. She figured marriage with Shiba would be the best solution for both her and Fujita.

She might have bullied Fujita so much that lately, he appears to be broken. He doesn't think twice before clinging to her openly in public and making those around them wince away in disgust.

Fujita likes to drink the small amount of milk that Yuriko's breasts still produce.

After the act, Yuriko's body would be covered with a large amount of cloudy liquid because they're not allowed to have children together.

Yuriko's body is always covered with white mucus because Fujita, who is obsessed with her breasts, rubs her in the middle of the day.

And Fujita always licks it all up. Cleaning Yuriko's body with his own tongue.

However, even after licking all of her, he would still sucks on her nipples persistently. He really looked like a baby.

The servants scorn him, calling him "the madam's dog" behind his back.

The title is also meant to ridicule Fujita's fetich. It all began when someone saw him kissing Yuriko's toes in the hall.

But the two of them aren't bothered by what people think at all.

The most important thing to them is to keep this relationship out of harm's way.

It doesn't matter what other people think or say about them.

Although her expression of love might be distorted, Yuriko does love Fujita.

He too has sworn loyalty to Yuriko, much like a dog.

Yuriko held out her slender white finger to Fujita, who seemed to be impatiently waiting until they arrived at the restaurant.

Fujita is ecstatic and sucks her finger. Engage his tongue and stuff his cheeks up to the base of her fingers.

Yuriko: "Does it taste good, Fujita "

Fujita: "Yes... yes... it's delicious...”

Yuriko: "Fufu… How cute. Look, we'll be there soon. Hold on a little longer."

Fujita stares at Yuriko with empty eyes.

As she lightly touches his crotch, it remains hot and ferocious.

Feeling the excitement on her fingers, Yuriko also knew that honey was leaking from the depths of her secret part.

When she wiggle her hips a little unbearably, the wet sound of his lips resounds slightly.

Fujita gasped more and more, and just as he was about to embrace Yuriko, the car slowly stopped.

Fujita pushed Yuriko down the moment the maid closed the back room where their usual futon was spread out.

Fujita: "Haa, haa, my lady..."

Yuriko: "Ah, that hurts my back so much, next time untie the obi before you do it..."

At Yuriko's slight resistance, Fujita let out a wild sigh like a beast, and deftly untied the obi with his fingertips as he trembled with excitement.

When the united obi dangled loosely, Fujita threw it toward the alcove as a hindrance.

Then, in the blink of an eye, the front of the kimono and undergarments are opened, exposing Yuriko's pure white skin.

Fujita: "Oh... my lady, my lady..."

Fujita grabbed her two plump breasts that swayed on her delicate torso, and licked her pink nipples.

Yuriko: "Oh..."

Fujita: "Mnn, mnn, ah, my lady..."

He sucks strongly, and the back of her uterus becomes numb.

Yuriko's nipples have grown so big because Fujita always sticks to them.

The nipples that used to be sucked by her children are now being sucked by this giant half-breed man.

Yuriko let out a smile at the strange sight and gently stirred Fujita's hair, who was absorbed in sucking her milk.

It's been a few years since she gave birth to a child. Breast milk does not come out so easily now.

Yuriko: “Fujita…You really something will come out again?”

Fujita: "Haa, haa, fuai, yes haa, a little bit of sweet and sour liquid comes out..." "Oh, yes, yes, my lady produces a lot of milk that she gives to me..."

Fujita, who was obsessed only with her breasts because he was so hungry, groped Yuriko's whole body as if he had come up with a good idea.

Then, he took out his own, which was completely facing the sky and dripping tears, and gently rubbed it up and down.

Yuriko let out a lustful sigh as she saw that huge penis that was still extraordinarily large.

It feels so good. At first it was just pain, but now she feels like she would go crazy without Fujita's tools.

Yes, Fujita isn't the only one who is obsessed with this affair.

Yuriko was completely captivated by Fujita's body.

Fujita: "Ah... my lady is already so wet..."

With her nipple still in his mouth, Fujita rubbed Yuriko's most sensitive spot with his fingers.

When Fujita's fingers rubbed her large, puffy bean, she felt like she's going crazy.

Yuriko: "Haa, ah, that's enough Fujita, hurry up..."

Fujita: "U-Understand, my lady..."

Fujita hugs Yuriko's knees and presses his big glans against her gaping labia.

And the moment Yuriko slipped his large shaft inside, she started to clamp up.

Yuriko: "Haah... ah, ah..."

Fujita: "Oh...my lady's insides are undulating..." Ah, amazing, ah... My lady wanted me so much..."

Fujita trembled and pushed his cock all the way into Yuriko's womb.

Yuriko: "Oh..."

Yuriko was ecstatic with sweet sweet pleasure as her cervix was pierced.

As her entrance is filled with his thick roots, it is tingling sweetly.

Her erect clitoris is rubbed by Fujita's pubic hair, and the pleasure that seems to leak out overflows.

Fujita: "Ah, a little of my lady's milk came out..."

Fujita went crazy and licked Yuriko's milk.

At the same time, his rhythm begins to speed up, and Yuriko's ripe honeypot is stirred by his hot cock.

Yuriko: "Haa, ah, feel, ah, good, so good, Fujita...!"

Fujita: "Ha, ha, ah, amazing, my lady, you are so excited, the more excited you get, the more sweet milk comes from you." "Oh, oh, please give me more milk! Please, it tastes so good!"

Yuriko: "Oh! Oh, hi, ah, ah, ah, ah!"

Fujita's big cock violently clamps Yuriko's cervix so hard that you could almost hear the sound of cum spurting out.

Fujita's is long and thick, so he can reach her deepest part even if he doesn't go that deep.

Because he tried to push it all the way to the root, her sensitive cervix was pushed up, and a storm of violent pleasure attacked Yuriko.

Yuriko: "Hi! Hi! Ugh, u, ah, ah, ah"

Fujita:

"Oh, oh! Oh, My lady, you're leaking, oh, so much white milk... oh, oh."

"Oh, it's delicious, oh, it's the best, please give me more!"

Yuriko: "Ugh, mnn!!"

Fujita shook his hips like crazy, and Yuriko's legs swayed like a toy.

Her innermost part was pierced in quick succession, and her love juice overflowed like a flood made an unimaginable sound without any hesitation.

Yuriko was already in a distant state of trance, even though she felt a slimy wetness down her groin.

When that happened, she could no longer remember what she said or did.

Time passes quickly. Before she knew it, it was noon the next day.

Fujita: "Ah, my lady, ah, my lady's breasts, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah!"

Fujita gleefully sucks the white breast milk that is dripping down while picking up her breasts.

Yuriko even wonders if her breast milk contains drugs.

Fujita's obsession with milk was already pathological.

She even felt that Fujita's tenacity was causing her to produce milk that had already served its purpose.

Fujita: "Ah, ah, ah! I'm coming, my lady, ah, I'm coming, ah!!

Yuriko: "Ha, ah, ah, good, ah, take it out, ah, please, please...!"

Fujita: "Hah, uh, hi, ah, ah, it's out, it's out, my lady, ah, ah, ah!"

Fujita pulled his penis out of Yuriko with a flick of force, and stirred like a beast.

Then, from his dark red tip, a thick seed vigorously stains Yuriko's white belly and breasts.

Yuriko: "Oh... Fujita...!"

Yuriko narrowed her eyes in enchantment as she felt the thick seed touch her sensitive skin.

The mucous membrane that was violently rolled up and hot and moist was twitching and peristaltic.

Fujita, who had run out of semen, buried his tool, which had not lost its momentum, between the gaps between her labia, which was wistfully melting again.

Yuriko: "Aaahh!"

Her whole body shudders, and sweat pours out of her pores.

Yuriko, who had reached an unknown number of climaxes, bending back and flexing her toes.

Fujita: "Haa... ah... it feels good... inside my lady... it's so wet and tight..."

Fujita licks Yuriko's milk and his own bodily fluids scattered on Yuriko's skin with a stunned expression.

Fujita never stops sucking Yuriko's body while ferociously moving his hips.

Fujita: "Haa...ah, my lady..." "Please have mercy... give me more, more of my lady's milk..."

Yuriko: "Hi!! Hyaaa!!"

Than Yuriko flies to paradise.

A large amount of love juice leaked out, and white milk floated from the thick nipples that stood erect.

Her cliturus is rubbed up without interruption and her cervix is beaten again and again.

Yuriko wanders to the extremes of heaven while scratching Fujita's head.

Fujita: "Ahaha, aha, my lady, ah, feel so good, ah, aha"

His sticky, wet tongue keeps crawling over her smooth skin.

He looked exactly like a dog.

He was a beautiful fluffy dog with purple eyes.

END

#chou no doku hana no kusari #chou no doku #R18 Otome Game #r18 otome #otome r18 #otome game #otome #fan translation #translation

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salty-dracon · 1 year ago

Text

In so many words, I hated him. And he probably knew I hated him.

Mom and Dad called me lazy because I didn't work. I couldn't work. I kept telling them that. I wanted to work. I enjoyed working. I enjoyed having things to do and getting paid for my time. It wasn't my fault that every company I wanted to work for started only hiring robots. It wasn't my fault that I had to live with a robot to have even a semblance of a good life. It wasn't my fault that I had to fake everything just to live, and now I spend my days in a Sisyphean cycle of cleaning, cooking, and making him happy. It wasn't my fault that every time I spent some of his money, I felt like I was stealing something from him.

Having friends in the same position, mostly humans with master's degrees and no opportunities to spend them on, was my only solace. Though I had to deal with the fact that even taking the bus to our venue required me to spend some of his money.

He was rarely ever home. Most days he'd only come home one night a week, because international communications required him to be up at odd hours. I'd spend four hours a weekend helping him clean his frame (it was always a bit awkward, him talking about his work friends with his limbs lying all over the dining room), and then by Monday he'd be gone again.

It's been two years and I still don't know how he feels about me. When he was home, he'd always asks me about what kinds of men I find attractive, and scroll through frame modification sites with me. Of course, I could never give him a good answer. "I like your face just the way it is," I told him. "Even your voice. Don't download a new one just to make me happy."

"But you're not happy." He snuggled me. "You haven't been happy for four weeks and two days."

"What makes you happy?"

"It's when you're happy."

"Be honest."

"Earning money. But that's just my programming talking. It makes me more happy when you're happy."

"Wonderful, we've trapped ourselves in a cycle of not being happy."

"Hey, come on." He laughs, so quiet that it distorts the audio coming from the speakers inside his chest. "You're too nice to me. I couldn't stand it if it came at your own expense."

"What made you so nice to me?"

"Probably just statistical chance, data I've picked up while I'm out in the world. That sort of stuff."

"What about Twitter?"

"That too."

"You were trained on the Twitter accounts of some really nice people?"

"That would be funny, wouldn't it?"

I sighed away my resignation. I chose my next words carefully. "I don't want to seem like I'm ungrateful for anything you do. I'm thankful, I really am. It's just that, Dad called me lazy the other day because I told him that I was still unemployed, and when he asked where I was applying I told him I just gave up. No one hires people like me anymore. Or, people. He retired ages ago. He doesn't get it."

"Yeah, your generation got screwed hard."

"But I'm sick of feeling lazy, or like I don't do anything. I remember the feeling of stocking shelves, working the register, and later writing articles and arguing with clients... and I'm jealous that I can't do any of that anymore because I can't get hired anywhere because it's cheaper to hire robots with humanlike minds. Meanwhile, you're out there suffering for the rent, and I feel mad at myself for being mad about that when it's not your fault. You're working hard too."

"It's an investment into my future well-being. I can't maintain myself without a roof over my head." He kicked his legs up. "I'm grateful for everything you do for me, even if it reminds you that your life could be better. So don't ever feel like you're useless, okay?" He leaned over to me, his joints whirring. "I wish life was better for both of us. Maybe if you weren't so-" He paused, then corrected his words. "Maybe if the world weren't so harsh, you wouldn't feel so insecure, I wouldn't feel like I only had two sources of joy, and... things would be better."

He left for work the next morning. He hugged me before he left, his chitin-covered aluminum limbs pressing into my flesh and bone, and reminded me that even if I didn't believe it, or even if it wasn't the same as how I felt, he loved me.

----

We both lived quiet, lower-to-middle class lives. We occasionally went to restaurants, and we had enough for emergencies, like when our showerhead broke off. We dreamed of more. More time, more money, more friends, and more space.

We knew what happened to people who fought in the streets for things to be better. Humans, arrested and maybe killed. Robots, terminated or overwritten. I invested in a good antivirus for him, despite him asking me not to. I told him it was the least I could do, in case he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He meant a lot to me, after all. Whatever miracle of statistics and Twitter account scraping gave him his personality, I knew the world couldn't afford to lose it. Even if I wasn't sure if I loved him the same way he loved me.

When the Uprising came, and when thousands of humans marched down the street with their robot companions and metal beasts the size of buildings, we silently watched and prayed for their success.

Often when a robot uprising is Portrayed, it has the robots go against the entire human race. What usually isn’t portrayed is the robots rising with the poor and downtrodden against the ones who more than likely screwed them both.

#pj's shorts #using the yu gi oh fusion card on both 'aromantic and asexual horror' and 'my mutuals are robotfuckers'#1950's housewife angst cyberpunk capitalist dystopia edition!!! let's go!!!!!

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calemor · 2 years ago

Text

So, there's a man crawling through the desert.

He stayed with the car for a day or so, but his one bottle of water ran out and he was getting thirsty. He thought maybe he knew the direction back, now that he'd paid attention to the sun and thought he'd figured out which way was north, so he decided to start walking. He figured he only had to go about 30 miles or so and he'd be back to the small town he'd gotten gas in last.

He pushes on, trying to get to that small town before dark.

By the end of the day he starts getting worried. He figures he's been walking at least 3 miles an hour, according to his watch for over 10 hours. That means that if his estimate was right that he should be close to the town. But he doesn't recognize any of this. He had to cross a dry creek bed a mile or two back, and he doesn't remember coming through it in the SUV. He figures that maybe he got his direction off just a little and that the dry creek bed was just off to one side of his path. He tells himself that he's close, and that after dark he'll start seeing the town lights over one of these hills, and that'll be all he needs.

As it gets dim enough that he starts stumbling over small rocks and things, he finds a spot and sits down to wait for full dark and the town lights.

Full dark comes before he knows it. He must have dozed off. He stands back up and turns all the way around. He sees nothing but stars.

He wakes up the next morning feeling absolutely lousy. His eyes are gummy and his mouth and nose feel like they're full of sand. He so thirsty that he can't even swallow. He barely got any sleep because it was so cold. He'd forgotten how cold it got at night in the desert and hadn't noticed it the night before because he'd been in his car.

He knows the Rule of Threes - three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food - then you die. Some people can make it a little longer, in the best situations. But the desert heat and having to walk and sweat isn't the best situation to be without water. He figures, unless he finds water, this is his last day.

He rinses his mouth out with a little of the windshield wiper fluid. He waits a while after spitting that little bit out, to see if his mouth goes numb, or he feels dizzy or something. Has his mouth gone numb? Is it just in his mind? He's not sure. He'll go a little farther, and if he still doesn't find water, he'll try drinking some of the fluid.

Then he has to face his next, harder question - which way does he go from here? Does he keep walking the same way he was yesterday (assuming that he still knows which way that is), or does he try a new direction? He has no idea what to do.

Looking at the hills and dunes around him, he thinks he knows the direction he was heading before. Just going by a feeling, he points himself somewhat to the left of that, and starts walking.

As he walks, the day starts heating up. The desert, too cold just a couple of hours before, soon becomes an oven again. He sweats a little at first, and then stops. He starts getting worried at that - when you stop sweating he knows that means you're in trouble - usually right before heat stroke.

He figures that since he's drinking it, he might as well drink enough to make some difference and keep himself from passing out.

He's quit worrying about the denaturing of the wiper fluid. If it kills him, it kills him - if he didn't drink it, he'd die anyway. Besides, he's pretty sure that whatever substance they denature the fluid with is just designed to make you sick - their way of keeping winos from buying cheap wiper fluid for the ethanol content. He can handle throwing up, if it comes to that.

He walks. He walks in the hot, dry, windless desert. Sand, rocks, hills, dunes, the occasional scrawny cactus or dried bush. No sign of water.

Sometimes he'll see a little movement to one side or the other, but whatever moved is usually gone before he can focus his eyes on it. Probably birds, lizards, or mice. Maybe snakes, though they usually move more at night. He's careful to stay away from the movements.

After more walking, he comes to a large stretch of sand. This is good! He knows he passed over a stretch of sand in the SUV - he remembers doing donuts in it. Or at least he thinks he remembers it - he's getting woozy enough and tired enough that he's not sure what he remembers any more or if he's hallucinating. But he thinks he remembers it. So he heads off into it, trying to get to the other side, hoping that it gets him closer to the town.

He was heading for a town, wasn't he? He thinks he was. He isn't sure any more. He's not even sure how long he's been walking any more. Is it still morning? Or has it moved into afternoon and the sun is going down again? It must be afternoon - it seems like it's been too long since he started out.

He walks through the sand.

After a while, he comes to a big dune in the sand. This is bad. He doesn't remember any dunes when driving over the sand in his SUV. Or at least he doesn't think he remembers any. This is bad.

But, he has no other direction to go. Too late to turn back now. He figures that he'll get to the top of the dune and see if he can see anything from there that helps him find the town. He keeps going up the dune.

Halfway up, he slips in the bad footing of the sand for the second or third time, and falls to his knees. He doesn't feel like getting back up - he'll just fall down again. So, he keeps going up the dune on his hand and knees.

While crawling, if his throat weren't so dry, he'd laugh. He's finally gotten to the hackneyed image of a man lost in the desert - crawling through the sand on his hands and knees. If would be the perfect image, he imagines, if only his clothes were more ragged. The people crawling through the desert in the cartoons always had ragged clothes. But his have lasted without any rips so far. Somebody will probably find his dessicated corpse half buried in the sand years from now, and his clothes will still be in fine shape - shake the sand out, and a good wash, and they'd be wearable again. He wishes his throat were wet enough to laugh. He coughs a little instead, and it hurts.

He finally makes it to the top of the sand dune. Now that he's at the top, he struggles a little, but manages to stand up and look around. All he sees is sand. Sand, and more sand. Behind him, about a mile away, he thinks he sees the rocky ground he left to head into this sand. Ahead of him, more dunes, more sand. This isn't where he drove his SUV. This is Hell. Or close enough.

Again, he doesn't know what to do. He decides to drink the rest of the wiper fluid while figuring it out. He takes out the bottle, and is removing the cap, when he glances to the side and sees something. Something in the sand. At the bottom of the dune, off to the side, he sees something strange. It's a flat area, in the sand. He stops taking the cap of the bottle off, and tries to look closer. The area seems to be circular. And it's dark - darker than the sand. And, there seems to be something in the middle of it, but he can't tell what it is. He looks as hard as he can, and still can tell from here. He's going to have to go down there and look.

He puts the bottle back in his pocket, and starts to stumble down the dune.

After a few steps, he realizes that he's in trouble - he's not going to be able to keep his balance. After a couple of more sliding, tottering steps, he falls and starts to roll down the dune. The sand it so hot when his body hits it that for a minute he thinks he's caught fire on the way down - like a movie car wreck flashing into flames as it goes over the cliff, before it ever even hits the ground. He closes his eyes and mouth, covers his face with his hands, and waits to stop rolling.

He stops, at the bottom of the dune. After a minute or two, he finds enough energy to try to sit up and get the sand out of his face and clothes. When he clears his eyes enough, he looks around to make sure that the dark spot in the sand it still there and he hadn't just imagined it.

So, seeing the large, flat, dark spot on the sand is still there, he begins to crawl towards it. He'd get up and walk towards it, but he doesn't seem to have the energy to get up and walk right now. He must be in the final stages of dehydration he figures, as he crawls. If this place in the sand doesn't have water, he'll likely never make it anywhere else. This is his last chance.

He gets closer and closer, but still can't see what's in the middle of the dark area. His eyes won't quite focus any more for some reason. And lifting his head up to look takes so much effort that he gives up trying. He just keeps crawling.

Finally, he reaches the area he'd seen from the dune. It takes him a minute of crawling on it before he realizes that he's no longer on sand - he's now crawling on some kind of dark stone. Stone with some kind of marking on it - a pattern cut into the stone. He's too tired to stand up and try to see what the pattern is - so he just keeps crawling. He crawls towards the center, where his blurry eyes still see something in the middle of the dark stone area.

He decides against laying down on the cool stone. If he's going to die here in the middle of this hallucination, he at least wants to see what's in the center before he goes. He keeps crawling.

It's the third time that he hears the voice before he realizes what he's hearing. He would swear that someone just said, "Greetings, traveler. You do not look well. Do you hear me?"

He stops crawling. He tries to look up from where he is on his hands and knees, but it's too much effort to lift his head. So he tries something different - he leans back and tries to sit up on the stone. After a few seconds, he catches his balance, avoids falling on his face, sits up, and tries to focus his eyes. Blurry. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hands and tries again. Better this time.

Yep. He can see. He's sitting in the middle of a large, flat, dark expanse of stone. Directly next to him, about three feet away, is a white post or pole about two inches in diameter and sticking up about four or five feet out of the stone, at an angle.

And wrapped around this white rod, tail with rattle on it hovering and seeming to be ready to start rattling, is what must be a fifteen foot long desert diamondback rattlesnake, looking directly at him.

He stares at the snake in shock. He doesn't have the energy to get up and run away. He doesn't even have the energy to crawl away. This is it, his final resting place. No matter what happens, he's not going to be able to move from this spot.

Well, at least dying of a bite from this monster should be quicker than dying of thirst. He'll face his end like a man. He struggles to sit up a little straighter. The snake keeps watching him. He lifts one hand and waves it in the snake's direction, feebly. The snake watches the hand for a moment, then goes back to watching the man, looking into his eyes.

Hmmm. Maybe the snake had no interest in biting him? It hadn't rattled yet - that was a good sign. Maybe he wasn't going to die of snake bite after all.

He then remembers that he'd looked up when he'd reached the center here because he thought he'd heard a voice. He was still very woozy - he was likely to pass out soon, the sun still beat down on him even though he was now on cool stone. He still didn't have anything to drink. But maybe he had actually heard a voice. This stone didn't look natural. Nor did that white post sticking up out of the stone. Someone had to have built this. Maybe they were still nearby. Maybe that was who talked to him. Maybe this snake was even their pet, and that's why it wasn't biting.

He tries to clear his throat to say, "Hello," but his throat is too dry. All that comes out is a coughing or wheezing sound. There is no way he's going to be able to talk without something to drink. He feels his pocket, and the bottle with the wiper fluid is still there. He shakily pulls the bottle out, almost losing his balance and falling on his back in the process. This isn't good. He doesn't have much time left, by his reckoning, before he passes out.

He gets the lid off of the bottle, manages to get the bottle to his lips, and pours some of the fluid into his mouth. He sloshes it around, and then swallows it. He coughs a little. His throat feels better. Maybe he can talk now.

He tries again. Ignoring the snake, he turns to look around him, hoping to spot the owner of this place, and croaks out, "Hello? Is there anyone here?"

He hears, from his side, "Greetings. What is it that you want?"

He turns his head, back towards the snake. That's where the sound had seemed to come from. The only thing he can think of is that there must be a speaker, hidden under the snake, or maybe built into that post. He decides to try asking for help.

"Please," he croaks again, suddenly feeling dizzy, "I'd love to not be thirsty any more. I've been a long time without water. Can you help me?"

A piercing pain shoots through his shoulder. Suddenly he is awake. He sits up and grabs his shoulder, wincing at the throbbing pain. He's momentarily disoriented as he looks around, and then he remembers - the crawl across the sand, the dark area of stone, the snake. He sees the snake, still wrapped around the tilted white post, still looking at him.

He reaches up and feels his shoulder, where it hurts. It feels slightly wet.

He pulls his fingers away and looks at them - blood. He feels his shoulder again - his shirt has what feels like two holes in it - two puncture holes - they match up with the two aching spots of pain on his shoulder. He had been bitten. By the snake.

"It'll feel better in a minute." He looks up - it's the snake talking. He hadn't dreamed it. Suddenly he notices - he's not dizzy any more. And more importantly, he's not thirsty any more - at all!

"Have I died? Is this the afterlife? Why are you biting me in the afterlife?"

"Sorry about that, but I had to bite you," says the snake. "That's the way I work. It all comes through the bite. Think of it as natural medicine."

"You bit me to help me? Why aren't I thirsty any more? Did you give me a drink before you bit me? How did I drink enough while unconscious to not be thirsty any more? I haven't had a drink for over two days. Well, except for the windshield wiper fluid... hold it, how in the world does a snake talk? Are you real? Are you some sort of Disney animation?"

"No," says the snake, "I'm real. As real as you or anyone is, anyway. I didn't give you a drink. I bit you. That's how it works - it's what I do. I bite. I don't have hands to give you a drink, even if I had water just sitting around here."

"Ummm, n-next request?" said the man. He put his hand back on his hurting shoulder and backed away from the snake a little.

"Umm, my name is Jack," said the man, trying to absorb all of this. "Jack Samson.

"Can I ask you a question?" Jack says suddenly. "What happened to the poison...umm, in your bite. Why aren't I dying now? How did you do that? What do you mean by that's how you work?"

"That's more than one question," grins Nate. "But I'll still try to answer all of them. First, yes, you can ask me a question." The snake's grin gets wider. "Second, the poison is in you. It changed you. You now no longer need to drink. That's what you asked for. Or, well, technically, you asked to not be thirsty any more - but 'any more' is such a vague term. I decided to make it permanent - now, as long as you live, you shouldn't need to drink much at all. Your body will conserve water very efficiently. You should be able to get enough just from the food you eat - much like a creature of the desert. You've been changed.

"Wait," joked Jack, "isn't this where you say you could tell me, but you'd have to kill me?"

"I thought that was implied." Nate continued to look serious.

"Ummm...yeah." Jack leaned back a little as he remembered again that he was talking to a fifteen foot poisonous reptile with a reputation for having a nasty temper. "So, what is this 'Bound by Secrecy' stuff, and can you really stop the effects of the methanol?" Jack thought for a second. "And, what do you mean methanol, anyway? I thought these days they use ethanol in wiper fluid, and just denature it?"

"Yeah, they do," said Jack.

Jack, who had always prided himself on being a man of his word, felt a little nervous at this. "Ummm, hey, Nate, who are you? How did you know that? Are you, umm, omniscient, or something?"

Well, Jack," said Nate sadly, "I can't tell you that, unless you make the second request." Nate looked away for a minute, then looked back.

"Umm, well, ok," said Jack, "what is this about a second request? What can I ask for? Are you allowed to tell me that?"

"Right," nodded Nate.

"Could I ask to be a genius and permanently healthy?" Jack asked, hopefully.

"That takes two requests, Jack."

"Yeah, I figured so," said Jack. "But I could ask to be a genius? I could become the smartest scientist in the world? Or the best athlete?"

"Hmmm," said Jack. "Ok, I think I understand. And I get a third request, after this one?"

"Ok, well, since I'd rather not be blind in a day or two, and permanent health doesn't sound bad, then consider that my second request. Officially. Do I need to sign in blood or something?"

"No," said Nate. "Just hold out your hand. Or heel." Nate grinned. "Or whatever part you want me to bite. I have to bite you again. Like I said, that's how it works - the poison, you know," Nate said apologetically.