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wing-ed-thing · 3 years

Text

Group Project (Shino x Reader x Kisame x Temari)

Request:

Word Count: 2,282

Tags/Warnings: Language, Alcohol Mention, Gender Neutral Reader @brokennerdalert @narahanabi

Notes: I have never written for Temari before. I think I got her spot on tho. This was actually too fun to write. Enjoy, y’all.

The only time that worked for everyone was 10 o’clock. Which, by the way, sucked ass. At least, that was what Kisame said in the groupchat just ten minutes before you dragged yourself out of your dorm and into the rain. You trudged through the puddles, holding your jacket closed over your body to protect your backpack-encased laptop. Shino had a night lab. The earlier he finished his work the earlier he could leave. Temari had been insistent about that. She had some sort of circle and you remembered Kisame asking her why she couldn’t just skip for the week only to be met with a passive aggressive response. And Kisame himself had hockey practice. Even the sports houses were off campus, only impeding your scheduling efforts.

When you got to the longue, Temari had already set up all of her belongings. She sat herself in a cluster of four shallow armchairs and spread out a flurry of papers on the long coffee table. With the packed schedule that she threw into the chat, you wondered how she got there so quickly. Temari looked up at you with one long, slender brow raised.

“Oh good, at least you’re here.” Unsure, really, of what to make of her backhanded compliment, you sat down in the chair across from her and wordlessly unpacked your laptop.

You never liked general classes. At the end of the day, you worked on a few big, group projects, ultimately learned nothing, and your grade depended on the work ethic of others. You glanced over at Temari. She likely didn’t even have the same major as you. Granted, that was probably the point of the class, but nonetheless, it weighed on your already drooping eyes knowing that you’d have to pour so many late night hours into a project that would amount to nothing.

You pulled up your school account and sifted through your notifications.

“I signed us up for a research question. I thought that censorship in the classroom was an easy and relevant one. I don’t know about you, but I’m not about to get into the intricacies of drones at this time of day.” You couldn’t help but nod. Temari sure pounced on top of things quickly and for that, you were thankful to have received an easy prompt.

“Sounds great,” you mused and the heavy door from the outside to the longue slammed shut. You glanced over your shoulder to find Kisame, still in athletic clothes grinning as he approached.

“Well this is bullshit, isn’t it?” Those were the first words to come out of his mouth and you could practically hear Temari groan in exasperation. Kisame plopped down in the armchair beside you, offering you a wink as he did. “What kinda professor assigns a project on Tuesday only for it to be due Thursday? Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

You averted your eyes back to your screen, pretending to sort through your notifications. You hummed in response, too easily flustered and too tired to process. Temari’s fingers flexed over her own keyboard.

“It’s the beginning of the semester. It’s to test out organizational skills and teamwork,” she managed through half-gritted teeth. You looked between your two teammates, wondering what exactly happened between them that made them so hostile to each other. You made a mental note to not get in the way of whatever that was. Kisame scoffed, sitting back in the arm chair and reaching for his own computer.

“I don’t really care what it is and why it is. What I care about is that I’m wasting my Wednesday night…”

“Ah, yes, Wednesday night,” Temari repeated mockingly, “Because I know that I like getting plastered in the middle of the week.” Kisame leaned towards you on his left arm cushion.

“Soy Sauce over there is just sore that her brother picked a fight with one of my boys and lost. Sasori’s a short guy too, you should link with us sometime.” You heard Temari scoff.

“Yeah, like Kankuro would lose to any of the thugs you hang around—”

“Who are you calling a thug?” Temari met Kisame’s pointed glare. Even so, he sank farther into his seat, lifting one ankle to rest on his knee. “Though, I think it says something that you knew exactly what I was talking about—” He punctuated every word with a smug swing of his head before Shino walked in.

“Nice to see that things are lively in here.” He made his way across the lounge before plopping down next to Temari. A white piece of cloth hung out from his backpack, something that Temari didn’t miss as Shino prepared his materials.

“That’s a hazard.” She bit the inside of her lip.

“Don’t listen to her. She’s been grumpy since before you came here,” Kisame quickly explained, much to Temari’s disdain.

Looking across from you, you almost wished that you had just been paired up with Shino. You didn’t know him that well, but he seemed smart, capable and overall, quiet. Temari had drive, but her approach felt intense. Meanwhile, Kisame seemed like he couldn’t care less about the project. Or perhaps, it was more that he couldn’t care less about Temari.

“So the paper,” you began out of sheer nervousness. “And the presentation…” The three sets of eyes turned to you. You glanced at the clock. You had already wasted more than a half hour.

“Let’s be real here, a five page research paper is nothing,” Temari said, also crossing her legs. “It’s the presentation that we should worry about.” Kisame let out a breath.

“Well, here I was about to say the opposite.” He turned his neck to the side and you heard a few audible cracks. “What about we split it up if the paper is so easy for you?”

“I’m not just doing the paper by myself. Besides, I’d need to find sources and by the time I’ve found sources and written everything up, I’ll have done most of the work.” Temari wrinkled her nose at your partner next to you. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what you were banking on.”

“Here.” Shino’s low voice broke through the room. With one exaggerated click on his keyboard he looked up at the three of you. “I just put a list of sources in the shared doc. There’s ten of them which should be more than enough. I pulled a few articles and a few academic papers which should meet the criteria from the rubric.”

Temari blinked down at her computer, furiously switching tabs. Her lips formed a round ‘o’ shape.

“Nice work, Shino,” you praised only to receive a shy nod. “I think if we take an anti-censorship stance, it’ll make out work easier given the time that we have to finish. Maybe Temari, you can start the paper and I can start the slides.”

“I can help you with that,” Kisame offered and you typed his email into the share box.

“I’ll help Temari with the paper,” Shino said with another nod.

“Start with the counterarguments. I’ll work from the top, you work from the bottom.” Temari gestured widely to Shino’s screen and you let out a relieved sigh. Maybe you’ll be able to get all of this done after all.

Time flew during the late hours of the night. You didn’t know what it was about the nighttime that made time feel quicker than usual. Soon enough, the clock struck one. Temari plucked ferociously at her laptop and it surprised you that Kisame hadn’t asked her what she was punishing her keyboard for. Shino, on the other hand, liked to stand. About an hour ago, he had stood up from his seat, and with one foot on the low level of the coffee table, kept at writing his part of the paper. Temari and Shino didn’t speak much. Rather, their side of the table mostly sounded of clicking.

Meanwhile, you and Kisame were having a great time. He made you laugh much to Temari’s annoyance, but knowing that you were getting your parts done, she didn’t comment. Despite his outward physique, Kisame had a sense of style when it came to design and organization. You flew through fonts and images quickly and by the time you had cleared the first few slides, even you were impressed by how professional it looked. The clock read two o’clock.

“This was your conclusion, right?” You turned your screen in your hands to face Temari. She squinted over and her eyes lit up.

“Actually, that’s a way better wording. Imma just steal that…” She clicked some more. “That’s some great work.”

“It was actually all Kisame.” And to your surprise, he didn’t gloat. Instead, he remained eerily focused. Temari glanced at him before glancing away.

“Like I said, great work…” she muttered.

“We’re almost done with the slides,” you announced, “Do you guys need help with the paper?” Shino shook his head. You found that he preferred non-verbal answers.

“We’re wrapping up over here, too,” Temari answered.

“Good, because I’m fuckin’ starving.”

And with the one mention of food, you all looked up at each other.

***

There was only one place open this late at night and it was one block away from campus. Fast Food, of course, but no one in your group complained. The dining halls were closed and most of you didn’t keep your rolling pantries stocked with anything worth eating at two in the morning, so you packed up your things.

It felt odd walking down the road with this group of people. You chattered amongst yourselves about anything other than your assignment.

“Me? I’m a biology major. I want to study beetles but I have to get my undergrad before I can do anything really specific.” By far, Shino had to be the most interesting of you all. You made your way off of campus, the restaurant in your sight. And as the walk continued, so did your conversation.

“I’ve wanted to try the new place that they opened up by admissions but they’re always closed when I try to go.” Temari pouted and you crossed the street together. You wondered if spending four straight hours having to communicate with any three people could make talking to them this easy.

“Marine biology?” You stared up at Kisame. “I don’t think I would have guessed.” He let out a hearty laugh that sent a few birds flying.

“Oh yeah, they have us go out of labs for the whole day. And when I say the whole day, I mean the whole day. I’ve always loved the ocean, but I think I’d have to transfer if I had to wake up at seven and come back at eight for more than one day a week.” Kisame reached for the handle, only for it not to budge in his grip. He tried again.

“Are they closed?” you asked, getting slightly agitated at the prospect.

“No.” Shino cupped his hands around his eyes as he stared through the window. “Wet floor signs are out. This must be the time that they clean the dining room.” Shino hardly had to finish his sentence before Kisame was already on his way to the drive thru.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Temari yelled after him as she jogged to catch up. “You can’t just walk through the drive thru.”

“Sure you can.” Kisame stood directly in front of the speaker with his hands in his pockets. “There are no cars around and even if there were, they’d have to take our order to get us out of the way… Hello?” The speaker crackled and Kisame shot a pointed look at the rest of you before moting for you to come closer to order.

“What can I get you?” the apathetic worker droned.

“Can I get a number nine?” Kisame started.

“Oh me too,” you whispered to him, not entirely sure why you spoke with such a hushed tone. He crossed his arms with a smirk.

“Make that two number nines? One large—” He stepped back to let Temari come up to the speaker.

“May I please get a number six with extra sauce, please? And, uh, a number seven too, please.” Like Kisame before her, Temari stepped to allow Shino to talk.

“Two number forty-fives, one with cheese and a large soda.”

With nowhere else to sit, you claimed a spot in the empty parking lot. Temari ended up paying. You put up a fight, but she insisted. You were secretly convinced that she was loaded anyway.

“You two got a lot of food.” Kisame handed you your fillet burger. Temari hummed, taking one of her backs and folded it behind her.

“One’s for my boyfriend,” she said, and before Kisame could get out a snarky comment about how Temari could ever land a boyfriend, Shino answered,

“I just usually eat all at once. Can’t usually grab dinner while doing night labs.” You all grimaced to yourselves. You knew the feeling of skipping meals because of your schedules.

You looked out at the city. Your school sat on a hill just outside of the twinkling lights. You found comfort in the blinking that came from below and your surroundings made the atmosphere feel completely still.

“You know, if we have a choice, we should just stick together for the rest of the semester.” Shino’s monotone voice cut through the air. You turned to the rest of them. Temari shrugged.

“It’s less of a gamble since we know each other, I suppose. I know that most of you won’t mess up our assignments…” You and Kisame nodded along, both stuffing your faces with french fries.

The decision was unanimous.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes:

Shino’s lab coat was in with his regular supplies which is technically a hazard when working in chem and bio labs since lab coats should be sealed.

Not all fast-food places well take your order without a car, but if you block the line they’ll give in (that’s what I did). Don’t blame me if you get arrested for doing that though.

"I'll have two number 9s, a number 9 large, a number 6 with extra dip, a number 7, two number 45s, one with cheese, and a large soda."– Melvin "Big Smoke" Harris

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abbysfrenchbraid · 3 years

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Kissed by a Wolf - Chapter 1

Masterlist / Playlist for reading

The f!reader is a servant to an English lord, when one day Eivor raids their village and takes the reader and others with her as prisoners.

For this chapter there is a big content warning for graphic violence, suicide, death, abuse, and blood. If you want to know what exactly happens regarding to specific triggers, feel free to message me and I'll let you know or give you a censored version.

Inspo Picture by @anaakeart

Chapter 1: Cutting Ties

You were kneading dough on the big wooden kitchen table when Henry rushed in, out of breath and red-faced from the cold outside. He was the head of the servants and had been tasked by your lord to prepare a feast for tonight. You had been cooking since before sunrise and everyone in the village was excited for tonight. Lord William’s wife and daughters were decorating the house and preparing an enormous bonfire in the center of the village. Delia, one of the daughters, was supposedly getting engaged tonight, forging important alliances with the neighbor shire.

“How are you holding up, Y/N? Everything according to schedule?” Henry asked, placing a friendly hand on your shoulder and squeezing it in reassurance.

You wiped your sweaty forehead with your upper arm before taking a knife to cut intricate little patterns into the dough, William’s emblem in the middle of them. This was the last loaf of bread, two dozen were already cooling off in the corner.

“Everything seems to be going well so far,” you said, “is the bonfire ready?”

Before Henry could answer, you heard loud sobbing in the corridor, accompanied by footsteps coming closer. The door sprang open and Delia stumbled into the kitchen, holding her cheek and crying inconsolably. Henry was quick to help her to a chair before dipping a towel into the water basin and holding it to her face.

“Did he hit you again?” he asked with a tenderness in his voice that made you look up at them. Delia had laid her hand on top of his and looked at him through a veil of tears, only managing to nod in response. She grabbed his linen shirt and pulled him closer, burying her face in his side.

Oh no. This wasn’t good.

“I told him I don't want to get engaged to some old, wrinkly toad. He screamed at me, saying I had no worth to him and the only way to put daughters to use was to marry them off. I couldn’t help myself, I said that I loved someone else and he struck me four times for it. I can’t be seen like this tonight!”

She was right. A bruise was already forming on her cheek and brow bone, no one would take a battered bride. William had always wanted sons. Because his wife hadn’t given him any, he let his anger out on her and his daughters as he pleased. He was a tyrant, but there was nothing anyone could do. He was the lord.

You used a wooden shovel to put the last loaf of bread in the stone oven, then you left the unlucky couple alone in the kitchen and tried to find Eda, Delia’s sister. You met her in the stables, her head pressed against the neck of her beautiful red mare. She was mumbling to her and the horse stood perfectly still, seeming to listen and provide comfort to the young woman. You announced yourself by clearing your throat and Eda turned to look at you. Her face was tear-streaked. Oh, what a day.

“Miss Eda?” you tried to keep a light tone. “Your sister isn’t well. I think it might be best for you to come and take a look at her.”

Eda gave you a solemn nod, rubbed over the mare’s soft nose in parting and followed you back to the kitchen. As you entered, you could see that Delia had stopped crying and Henry was applying a salve to her face. The air was filled with the scent of mint and lavender alongside the wonderful smell of freshly baked bread.

“Oh, sweet sister.” Eda rushed to Delia’s side and cupped her face in her hands. “What have you done?”

Delia pressed her lips together and Henry helped her out.

“She told Milord that she wouldn’t marry anyone for him. He was furious.”

“Damn this place.” Eda suddenly blurted out. She stood up and balled her hands into fists. “He can’t treat us like this, we’re his daughters, his own flesh and blood. He can’t just sell us off like cattle!”

You and Henry exchanged a quick glance, both holding your breaths. She was right, but you were not allowed to make any remarks of that kind. Delia started crying again, but Eda slammed her hand on the table in frustration. You knew the feeling too well.

Suddenly Henry straightened up. “Y/N, what’s that smell?”

Fuck. The bread.

Quickly you pulled it out of the oven, but it was already coal-black and hard as stone. You threw it on the table. The kitchen immediately filled with the stench of burned grain. How much could go wrong in one day? You couldn’t picture it getting any worse than this.

You were in for a surprise.

The door suddenly banged open and the small frame of Lord William, II. of his name, entered the kitchen.

“What is this? Are you all conspiring against me? Sitting around while I do all the work! Unforgivable!” he bellowed, pointing his fingers at each one of you.

“Delia, stop this madness, you ungrateful wench! You have the opportunity to honor this house and here you sit, moping and wailing! I should sell you to the Danish savages!”

Delia cried out in horror and ran out of the kitchen. No one dared to follow her.

William’s gaze fell on the burned bread on the table. His face became even redder than before, a thing you had not thought possible. With one step he was in front of you, grabbing your shoulder with icy, piercing fingers and shaking you.

“You useless, stupid girl! I do not pay you to burn my hard-earned grain! Do you know how much I am paying for this day? This will cost you your week’s earnings, mark my words!”

He let go of you and was about to turn to Eda when you answered: “There are two dozen perfect loaves with your emblem ready for this night. I was taking care of your wounded daughter.”

Before you had even the chance to regret this remark, he had whirled around and struck you with the back of his hand. He hit you so hard that you flew back against the shelves, tearing down vases of onions and carrots with you in a terrible cacophony of Eda screaming, clay breaking, and the ringing in your ears. His seal ring had caught your cheekbone, blood instantly beginning to flow down your face and neck. You were paralyzed for a second, struggling to breathe as you lay between the broken pots and vegetables and stared at William, still in disbelief at what had happened.

There was a flicker in his eyes, just the hint of realization that he had gone too far. He huffed and turned on his heel, then he was out the door.

Henry fell to his knees next to you and tried to pull you up to a seated position. You could feel the blood spreading downward through the fabric of your dress and warming your chest. Eda was still paralyzed, staring at you from the table.

“Miss Eda, a cloth, please!” Henry commanded. She caught herself and grabbed Delia’s cloth before rushing to your side. Henry gently dabbed the wet fabric on your cheek and while Delia began cleaning your neck and chest with another towel.

“Y/N? Can you hear me? How are you feeling?” he asked, trying to suppress the panic and concern in his voice. You looked at him and managed to croak: “I’m alright.”

“Good. This is going to need stitches, and quickly.” He stood up and grabbed a bottle of brown liquor from the top shelf, handing it to Eda. “Give her this. She’ll start feeling the pain in a minute.”

He rummaged around in a small chest next to the door and found a needle and thread. You took the opened bottle from Eda’s hands and quickly gulped down a good amount before it could start to burn in your throat. Your head started spinning almost immediately.

“I had to do this a lot when I was in the army. I’ll try to be quick.” He gave you an apologetic smile as he crouched down next to you, then he went to work.

Eda left at some point to look for Delia, taking the bread with her to give it to the pigs. Henry had helped you up and sat you on a chair in the corner before starting to clean up the terrible mess. You slowly came back to yourself and to reality, feeling dizzy from the blow and the liquor but glad about the fog in your mind finally clearing up.

After an hour or so, you got up and back to work, starting to assort the cheese and meat platters and sending after a few other servants to carry them to the table. Henry helped you at first, but then he had to go and make sure everything was set and ready. After there was nothing else to do in the kitchen, you went to your chamber to change into your more formal clothes.

A metal plate was hung on the wall next to your door to serve as a mirror. As you stood in front of it and held a candle up to your face, you didn’t recognize yourself. Your left eye was swollen almost completely shut, your cheek was a dark, almost black purple and the wound was held together by four stitches. It was still seeping blood occasionally, but when you wiped it off there was no real difference.

You took off your dusty, flour-stained linen dress and managed to put on your black dress with the white apron and bonnet. This evening would stretch forever and sleep seemed years away. Now you were really wishing for another swig of that cheap servant’s whiskey.

The feast began without any further incidents. Lord Wulfred from the shire north of yours had actually come and was sitting next to William and opposite your Lady at the head of the table. You stayed in the shadow, keeping an eye on the table and advising the other servants to get more wine or bring more cheese at times. Delia sat next to Wulfred, a man in his fifties, almost as wide as he was tall. His grey beard was yellow around his mouth and food got stuck in hit as he ate. His promised bride looked miserable. You could see she was holding hands with her sister next to her, trying hard to keep her composure.

As the meal came to an end and the table had almost vanished under a heap of gnawed off bones, crumbs, cheese rinds, and fruit stones, William rose from his chair, holding a bronze cup in his hand.

It got silent in a matter of seconds. Delia’s face was as white as snow, her fingers desperately clinging to her sister. Wulfred was gulping down beer and it was trickling out of the corners of his mouth into his beard. Poor Delia.

“I have assembled you all here tonight because there is a special occasion, one that calls for a second celebration very soon.” William was relishing in the attention of his guests and savoring every word. “As some of you may know, my eldest daughter Delia has now reached an age where there is more to do for her than sitting around all day and eating me out of house and home.” He laughed and all the men in his audience joined in, hollering and raising their cups in approval while the few women at the table smiled politely.

“It is for that very reason that Wulfred and I have come -”

There was a bang outside and you could hear men’s voices yelling, sounding alarmed. William’s face distorted into a sour grimace, angry about the ruined tension. Another loud noise, now downstairs inside the house, caused a few people to jump up from their seats.

“Everybody calm down. Henry, see what’s going on,” William said and motioned to the door. Henry gave Delia a short, but deeply meaningful look, then he vanished into the dark corridor. Now you could hear metal clanking outside and finally, someone rang the alarm bell. Everyone stirred now, some people running to the windows or pulling weapons.

Wulfred got up with difficulty and waddled to one of the windows as well. He stuck his head into the small frame and immediately snapped back around. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, an arrow pierced his head from the back, the bloody tip sticking out in front of his surprised eyes. He fell to the floor with a thump and let out a last huff, then he lay still and one of the women started shrieking in horror.

There was noise on the stairs now and suddenly Henry reappeared, his shirt torn down the middle and a gash on his shoulder. He shut the door behind him and called to the other servants who immediately pushed a big chest in front of it, barricading the entry for the moment.

“Milord, Vikings are attacking the village. Their leader is a colossal woman. It must be the She-Wolf from Norway.” He was breathing heavily and braced himself on one of the chairs to keep himself standing up.

Something was ramming the door in a slow, steady rhythm. The heavy chest moved ever so slightly with every new blow. You whistled to get the other servants’ attention and waved them over into your corner. You were terrified, but you tried to seem calm and collected so the others wouldn't panic.

“We are not their targets, we have nothing to our names. If you want to fight, fight. I will not risk my life for this tyrant. Everyone who wants to live can stay here with me.” No one moved. You nodded. “Thank the lord. Now let us sit down, fold our hands, and pray.”

With a deafening crash, the door exploded into the room and a tall, broad-shouldered woman with long blonde hair and gruesome black paint around her eyes jumped through the hole in the wood and over the chest. Four men followed, swords drawn. The she-wolf let her eyes wander over the faces in the room, the men with their daggers and swords, the women behind them and William in the middle. Then her gaze fell on you. You had told all the other servants to sit behind you, bow their heads and show their empty hands in their laps while you sat before them, willing to do whatever it took to protect your chosen family. You locked eyes with the Viking woman and your blood froze in your veins as she narrowed her eyes for a second, then she turned to William.

“Are you Lord William, master of this shire?”

Delia and Henry were slowly crawling along the wall toward you and managed to sit down next to you without getting too much attention. Their fingers were intertwined, tears were streaming down Delia’s face and Henry held her close as he watched the scene in front of you unfold.

“I am.” William proudly lifted his chin. “Who are you, Viking whore, to come into my house uninvited?”

The men behind the she-wolf laughed, but she just lifted an eyebrow and laid her hand on the handle of her sword. It was still sheathed. She seemed incredibly calm during all this.

“This is no longer your house. The decision is yours: die at the hands of my men or give up now and come with us as prisoners.”

The stare she gave William pierced him like a spear, making him writhe underneath its sting and making you hope to never become the target of her wrath.

William shook his head and huffed, then he lifted his sword.

“We will not cower before you, Viking whore. For England!” he bellowed and the other men repeated the war cry before storming towards the small group of warriors.

The woman unsheathed her sword in the blink of an eye and the men behind her jumped forward to meet the English guests. You saw the chance immediately. Slapping Henry‘s knee, you nodded toward the opening in the door. He alerted Delia and she silently agreed. Both of them crawled on all fours, staying low and going along the walls until they had reached the door and quickly climbed out. You wished them the best of luck and said a prayer in their wake. You couldn't leave the others behind. You would stay, no matter what happened, no matter how terrified you were.

The fight was quick, one of the Vikings caught a sword to his arm and bled from a mean gash but the others stayed unharmed. They killed their opponents in a matter of minutes and did not shy away from killing some of their wives who had also drawn knives in hopes of defending themselves. In the end, there was only your group and William’s wife with two other women left. And Eda, standing in a corner all alone.

The two women fell to their knees and swore to follow and to serve if their life was spared. Your Lady however stayed standing up, her chin raised and her eyes filled with terrible sadness and immense pain.

“I have served all my life. I have endured beatings, rape, and being treated like an animal.” Eda whimpered next to you as she realized what was about to happen. Her mother pulled a tiny dagger from her sleeve and held it gently in her hand. The she-wolf motioned for her men to wait.

“I will not bow my head to anyone else. This suffering has to end.“ She gave a loving, sorrowful look to her daughters, then she turned the dagger toward herself and drove it into her chest. Eda cried out and tumbled towards her mother, catching her mid-fall and cradling her head in her lap as blood began to pool on the floor.

The Viking woman turned to you and took a few steps in your direction. She looked down at you with a curious twinkle in her eye. You clenched your fists, asking God for assistance.

„And who are you?“ she asked, her deep voice suddenly much kinder. You forced yourself to breathe in and straighten up.

„We were Lord William‘s servants. We have no love left for him. We will go with you freely.“ You held out your empty hands for her to see. „I am not your enemy.“

She took one of your hands and pulled you up, not letting go of your hand as she stared into your eyes. You let out a shaky breath, but held her gaze.

„You're still English,“ she said before letting go of you and taking a few steps back, not turning from you. Of course she wouldn’t trust you.

„Bind them and take them to the ship.“ she ordered her men, then she pushed the heavy chest away from the door like it was nothing. She simply pulled the door frame, which was in shambles, out of the wall and let it fall to the ground. Then she was gone.

#eivor #lady eivor #ac valhalla #eivor x reader #lady eivor x reader #f!eivor #f!eivor x reader #eivor fanfiction #female eivor #ac valhalla fanfiction

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joonie-beanie · 4 years

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The OM! Characters as Retail Workers/Positions from my old job

Full disclosure: I’ve only had 1 retail job, and it was at a Homegoods. I worked there for 3+ years during college. Because I’ve only had this one experience, my below hc’s for the boys may be a little...specific to my previous job, and not universal traits that come with all retail jobs.

Also I’m not including Luke because thattttt is child labor.

This is probably a very self-indulgent headcannon. Oh well.

Lucifer:

(One of) the store managers. Specifically the assistant manager.

Nice to customers to their face, but will fantasize about stabbing them once they leave.

Asmo once walked past the manager’s office and witnessed Lucifer professionally apologizing to a bitching customer over the phone, only to slam the receiver down moments later, sighing and mumbling “what an idiot.”

Very watchful of his staff. Do not slack off while he’s working....unless he likes you. In which case, he will take a moment to chat with you and give himself a much needed break.

If he doesn’t like you, well...make yourself busy, or else you’ll get a stern talking to, and likely written up. Lucifer already has too much work to get done--he doesn’t want to babysit his staff.

Quietly schedules the people he likes to work during his shifts whenever he can, since he knows he can trust them to do their work. Not to mention, he enjoys their company a lot.

His favorite crew to have is Beel, Asmo, and Satan (and MC). Their schedules, of course, don’t always line up, but when they do he seriously thinks that he has the dream team.

Mammon:

Cannot be trusted to actually organize the store, so he gets stuck at the registers.

However, the managers quickly realize that he's shit at anything front-end related aside from counting money (the man likes his money), and that he's prone to pulling out his phone when no one is around, so Lucifer forces him to work the floor.

They start trying to give him more backroom shifts (because if he's not doing his work, they'll be able to tell easier).

HOWEVER--because Mammon is such a money lover, he’s very aware of every piece of expensive merchandise in the store. So if a customer attempts to switch tags, or peels the price tag off hoping to pull a quick one on the cashier, his coworkers always call him up so he can take a look.

Seriously, the amount of people that try to buy the $100+ gem rocks for $9.99 is crazy.

He feels very proud of himself whenever he manages to stop a customer from getting away with it.

He’s not the best worker in general, but the mangers would be lying if the said they didn’t appreciate his knack for remembering the expensive items.

Levi:

Cash office.

Prefers to sit in the locked office by himself, listening to music on his phone as he runs checks the register balances from the previous day.

If he's not doing cash office, he's probably out gathering carts, or compacting boxes in the back.

Whatever keeps him away from the bulk of customers.

Whenever the managers need him to go help out on the floor, he gets permission to not wear his apron.

He seriously does not want anyone to talk to him. He just wants to work in peace.

Of course, if he’s seen organizing, or stocking shelves, customers tend to assume he’s an employee anyway--even without the apron.

Levi legitimately jumps anytime someone calls out to him and asks if he works there, and if he can help them.

Oh, and he always brings his Switch to work and plays games on his lunch break. Do not talk to him if he’s playing his game--he will get mad at you.

Satan:

Flow & mark-downs.

He's basically an all-rounder, but is superior to the others in putting out new merchandise (flow). He knows where things go, and how they should be organized.

Secretly gets annoyed when customers ask him for help when he's in the zone, but is very good at faking a smile.

Will do what’s asked of him without any lip in return.

However, rude customers should beware of him, because his anger tends to flip on like a switch. If a customer is badmouthing him, or one of his coworkers--he has no issue telling them they’re a fool, and that they should just leave instead of causing issues.

He gets in trouble with management for doing this, but honestly has no regrets.

Definitely has regular customers that he is enemies with.

Gets left in charge of the store if the managers ever need to step away for their lunch break, or otherwise.

Asmo:

Lead cashier.

Super charming, great customer service voice.

Always gives a good impression on the phone, and manages to make peppy announcements.

If there’s ever a fundraiser going on, and the cashiers are supposed to ask for donations, Asmo is guaranteed to rake in the most.

He is very good at calming a customer if they're upset--apologizing and and being so sweet and polite that it’s nearly impossible to stay mad.

However, if they're rude to him, or his apologies go on deaf ears, he has no problem politely telling them to fuck off.

If he’s not at the registers, he’s probably off in the bath section--smelling soap--or the candle section--sniffing literally every candle in existence.

He’ll also be sure to get a whiff of whatever candle/soap a customer has brought to the register to purchase.

Runs off to visit other stores in the mall/strip when he’s on his break. (Aka. he spends way too much of his paycheck shopping).

Beel:

Back room - heavy lifter.

Dude spends most of the day in the stock room emptying the truck and building furniture.

Seriously can move big things with very little effort. He once carried an entire couch out onto the sales floor buy himself.

While other coworkers may need to use carts or flatbeds to move larger items, Beel can legit just throw them over his shoulder and continue on his way like he’s not carrying anything at all.

He looks intimidating but is actually super friendly.

Will always work extra hours if you ask him to. Will also come in for extra shifts if you ask him to.

He always feels so guilty if he can’t accept, or needs to call off.

The type of coworker that goes out to buy snacks on his break, and ends up buy snacks for the rest of the staff. He just leaves them on the break room table with a note that says “Eat up :)”

Belphie:

Closer - Sales Floor.

The managers tried to work him on morning or midday shifts, but he was continuously too groggy, and ended up knocking things over on accident.

Hes more energetic at night, so they put him on the sales floor (since he’s honestly...not the best at the register. Don’t get me wrong, he can work the register as well as anyone else, but...he just...doesn’t sound friendly. (Lucifer: “Belphie...at least try to sound like you’re not working here against your will when talking to the customers. You applied for this job.”))

He honestly doesn't mind organizing merchandise, but gets annoyed if he ends up doing the bulk of the work. (Whether it’s because they’re short staffed, or because his coworkers are slacking).

Has no problem telling customers to gtfo when it’s closing time.

If people are still in the store 5 minutes after closing, he’ll follow them around until they finally take the hint and leave.

Always stops for fast food on his way home after work because making himself a meal sounds like too much effort.

Diavolo:

Store Manager.

Is very kind to all of his employees, but will also have hard conversations with them if there’s an issue regarding their performance that needs to be addressed.

However, he always does his best to maintain good relationships with everyone he works with.

Will buy lunch for the staff on busy weekends, even if he has to pay for the food himself. He wants to let his employees know that they’re appreciated, and while he’s the type to give verbal affirmation of a job well done, a luncheon doesn’t hurt either.

Even if customers are bitchy, he never raises his voice, or yells. He handles complaints like a champ.

If the customer physically or verbally abuses one of his workers, however...he will threaten to call the police. Do not fuck with his work children.

If his employees ever find him sighing, or looking like he’s stressed, then they know he’s definitely having a rough day. Please work hard, and help him out, and he’ll very much appreciate it.

Barbatos:

The 4th key. (Basically a manager)

Some workers are scared of him because he always seems to be in a good mood--even if the store is packed, and things get overwhelming.

A very by-the-book type. While Lucifer and Diavolo may allow for some things to get overlooked, or for there to be a lapse in proper procedure, Barbatos is not like that. Rules are rules, and they shall be followed.

Honestly is a very nice guy, but working a closing shift with him can be the worst. Especially if Diavolo is the opening manager the next day.

He will keep his staff there after closing as long as he needs to for the store to be in an acceptable condition. (The worst part is that Diavolo honestly is so easy going that if Barbatos had just opted to say “we were very busy and didn’t have the time to get everything done”, Diavolo wouldn’t blame him. Shit gets crazy).

Alas, Barbatos wants to please Diavolo and takes his role very seriously.

At least he brings in homemade baked goods for the staff sometimes. (His good cooking usually makes up for all the times he has kept them late).

Solomon:

Another all rounder. Usually get scheduled on midday shifts to bridge the gap between the openers, and closers.

Is very good at keeping up his “customer service” facade.

However, once there are no customers around his smile will fall, and he’ll mumble complaints under his breath.

“Why does one couple need 15 candles?” “Lady, I don’t care about your chihuahua’s sleeping habits--just buy the pet bed already.”

Will always tease his coworkers if he gets along with them. Bickering with Solomon can become a very entertaining past time if he likes you.

Whenever new crystals, or rocks come in, usually he’ll spend a while inspecting them. Apparently he can tell which ones are real, or fake. (And he always ends up buying the real ones).

He’s the type of coworker that will sneak up behind you and scare you when you’re not paying attention. Just because he can. (Fight him, he loves it).

Simeon:

One of the sweetest staff members, but he’s prone to getting flustered and making mistakes.

If he’s on registers, he’s so busy trying to start a conversation with the customer that he’ll short them on their change.

Luckily, the customer is either patient in waiting for the manager to come up and open the register, or doesn’t care about the 22 cents Simeon forgot to give them.

He loves reorganizing the towel section of the store the most. Getting to stand there and refold towels almost feels like meditation to him.

Always goes out of his way to ask the customer if he can help them with anything, or if they’re finding everything alright.

Is prone to accidentally cutting himself when something sharp breaks. (It has literally gotten to the point where if a ceramic plate or something glass breaks, the managers have instructed Simeon to call someone else to clean it up, rather than doing it himself.)

Honestly, in the end, he’s a fabulous worker tho.

#i have so many stupid stories from my retail job lmao #om!#obey me #obey me headcanons #lucifer #mammon #levi #leviathan #satan #asmo #asmodeus #beel #beelzebub #belphie #belphegor #diavolo #barbatos #simeon #solomon

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the-alice-of-hearts · 3 years

Text

Kids Again Ch 4

He's always running with no one to keep warm

Two years she watched him run the rooftops and do his best to live up to the image that Bruce had, it wore heavy on him.

She saw him get more reckless, and hurt more often. It was like he was running in circles, he was trying so, so hard to be better. She couldn’t even tell if he knew that’s what he was doing. So she stayed in his head as much as she could, making sure that he didn’t die on her.

Marinette came to class with bags under her eyes. Her friends watched her up her coffee intake, she moved everyday like she knew something bad was going to happen. She got quieter, more clumsy. She would be there one moment and then in Gotham the next. Kim walked next to her, made sure he was ready to catch her. Alix went with Marinette any place the boys couldn’t. They watched over her; made sure that she didn’t get hurt.

“Mari?” Alix had asked her in a small voice one day, “when did you sleep last?”

The four of them were lying on her floor, working on homework like they always did. Kim and Nino looked over to see her response.

“What day is it today?” Marinette stalled for time, hoping that it hadn’t been too long. They got overprotective when she went too long with sleeping, and it wasn’t something she wanted to deal with today. Unfortunately it looked like they weren’t going to answer until she did. She sighed loudly, “I think I got a decent amount on thursday. Slept almost 5 hours before... waking up.”

Kim reached over to hug her, they all knew what was unsaid. She woke up in pain, scared, and hurting.”

Nino came closer as well, “Netté, today is wednesday.” He reached out and held her hands, “go to sleep. We will watch out for you. He usually naps before patrol anyways yeah?”

She rubbed her eyes, “yeah... he does… but we still have homework to finish.”

Alix grabbed the papers that Marinette was reaching for, “and we can finish our own work then help you with yours after you nap.”

Marinette bit her lip trying to stay alert enough to protest, “you’ll fail english without me.”

Kim laughed and tapped his fist on her head, “at the rate you’re going we’ll fail with you too. Please em gái, take a nap. Just a short one will do.” ((Vietnamese: little sister))

---

With that they convinced her to go lay down. The three of them looked at each other, Alix spoke up first, “what do we do if…”

“If he dies.” Nino picked up the train of thought, “I don’t know that we can do anything.”

“I swear to any of the gods listening, if he hurts her, I will kill him myself.” Kim looked at Mari. She was sleeping heavily, but he could see her start to toss and turn. “He’s already giving her nightmares.”

“All we can do is be steady for her. She needs us to be strong, so we will be. Alix, do you think your dad will let you stay here for a while?” Nino had started planning out all of this weeks ago.

Alix nodded, “yeah I think he’s about to go to an excavation site soon anyways. My brother would be glad to not have to look after me.”

“Good. Kim, can you run interference with the teachers? This is hard enough on her, we don’t need her to have extra stress on her plate.”

“Yeah I can take care of that.” Kim was still looking at her so he saw when she finally let out a sigh and settled down, “how do we make her sleep though?”

“I can help with that.” Sabine had climbed up to check in on then and heard the conversation taking place, “We have her with a therapist, and it will be easy enough to get her prescribed meds for her anxiety and to help her sleep. It’ll just be a matter of making sure she takes them.”

Nino nodded at her, “We can make sure she’s taking them in the morning. I have to take mine each morning and evening on a schedule as well as needed for worse times. I can help there.”

Sabine smiled at him, “thank you Nino, that would help a lot. Alix you can stay here as long as you want, but if it gets to be too much please let us know.” She took on a stern voice, “You shouldn’t have to bear this alone. None of you are to take on more than you can handle. I know you want to help her, but you’re all kids too. I’m not above banning you from the house if I think you are putting too much stress on yourselves.” She reached out to grasp Nino’s hand, “I mean it. I know you know very well what she is going through, but your mom and I have a deal.”

Nino smiled back, “yes ma’am. I promise.”

Sabine stood up from where she had sat near them, “With that settled, who wants to help me bring up some food for everyone. You all should eat, and Marinette will need to eat when she wakes up.”

Kim offered to go help her. After they left Nino turned to Alix, “you have to make sure she’s taking her meds at night. She won’t want to, and she will try to hide it. But you have always known us better than we know ourselves. You have to make sure she takes them.”

Alix nodded at him grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze, “You know I will. Found family, right?”

“Found family.” he repeated the vow.

---

Marinette stopped talking one day. She was getting sleep, but she still wasn’t in Paris enough. So she stopped talking. If she didn’t say anything then people noticed less when she left in the middle of a conversation.

No one else at school noticed. Well no one but Chloé, but even she knew that this was off limits for teasing. Chloé may have become a bitch to Marinette for no known reason, but she knew the limits on what was too far.

Mariette went silent so Kim got louder. The three hoped that if the teachers were focused on him being a clown that they wouldn’t notice Marinette not participating in class. Kim and Alix started a ‘rivalry’, making sure that any eyes that might stray to Marinette would land back on them. Nino had Marinette sit next to him so he could take notes for her, and nudge her if a teacher was looking at her. He also had the worst job, making her actually take her anxiety meds. Alix and Kim played distraction, Nino played mother hen.

Marinette from a year ago would still have complained. She would have reminded them that she was a big girl and she could take care of herself. This wasn’t Marinette from a year ago, this was their best friend so scared for her soulmate’s life that she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

---

Then something unexpected happened.

Marinette spoke up during their study session unprompted for the first time in weeks, “He’s not Robin anymore.”

Alix sharply looked up from where they had been laying, “What?”

They all hesitated waiting for Marinette to continue, “Bruce saw his stitches, he... well he blamed Jason.” She scoffed at the thought, “like the asshole didn’t drive him into his recklessness.”

“Netté, what happens now?” Nino was always the first one to speak up.

“Bruce said that he was wrong, that he shouldn’t have trusted Jason as Robin. He ran away. He’s stronger now, so being on the streets isn’t as dangerous. But he’s back out there. He went to one of his old hideouts. I don’t know what he’s doing next…” she trailed off and they all waited for her next thought.

The boys had both moved closer, Alix was still laying on their back looking up at Marinette. They all knew that when her thinking face came out they needed to wait for her to speak up.

She took a deep breath, “I need you guys to help me get him here. I know it’s a lot to ask, and I totally understand if you can’t help me, but it’s just-“

“How are we going to do that?” Kim asked her, cutting her off. They were all willing to do whatever it took to make Marinette smile again.

She stared at him for a moment, her mouth in a perfect O, “you’ll really help?”

Alix nudged her leg, “found family right?”

Marinette smiled at that, “yeah, found family.”

She laid out her plan. It would take them all because it involved smuggling Marinette to Gotham, and her parents would notice if she started acting unusually in front of them.

It only took a week to get things together. Alix had convinced their dad that they were looking into a historical artefact in class and wanted to prove their teacher wrong so they needed to go to America with Marinette as a witness. He bought the story easily, believing Alix when they told him they needed to take Marinette specifically because she knew the city better. Reminding him that her soulmate grew up there. So with two plane tickets the plan was finally in motion. Kim had been bringing his gym bag empty to the group study sessions so that Mari could pack clothes in it. Nino had a suitcase that he had smuggled out when his parents weren’t home. All of it was slowly collected at Alix’s house. Since their dad was still out of town they only had to drop home to take care of their plants, so it made it a really easy place to keep things.

Then it took another week for their departure date. For the entire two weeks Marinette had been so focused on going to Gotham that she didn’t notice that Jason had been blocking her. Later she would know that he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

They were at school the day before they would be on their way to Gotham when Mari checked in on Jason, making sure that she could find him. Hoping that he was in a place that she would easily be able to find him. He wasn’t. He wasn’t even in Gotham. He was in a desert, with a woman. She looked a little like Jason, but his mom had died… and this wasn’t Catherine.

Marinette looked up at Kim with fear in her eyes, “Something is wrong.” she said it quietly. With Alix’s hearing, Kim’s ability to read lips, and Nino sitting next to her it was easy to be sure that they all knew something was happening.

Kim acted fast, shooting a rubber band at Chloé made her stand up and start yelling. That provided enough distraction for Alix to get over to Marinette’s other side. With Nino and Alix surrounding her, and Kim playing distraction she was able to completely follow Jason. It wasn’t good, he was with the woman. He called her mom, guess that explained why he wasn’t in Gotham. When Joker appeared Marinette gasped.

_____________________________________

She was loud enough that Rose and Juleka looked over at her. Alix shielded Marinette’s body as much as they could, trying to make sure that no one could see her face. The terror on it shouldn’t be seen by anyone else. They took care of each other, and Marinette would be mortified if she found out someone else knew what she was going through. But not even with the combined efforts of all three of their strengths could they keep the attention off of her when the screaming started.

It was like listening to a horror movie. Marinette’s screams ripped through the classroom. If you asked anyone to describe it they would tell you it was like being in a room that was filled with terror.

“Everyone get out!!” Chloé yelled loudly. Alix looked up at her in surprise, not expecting Chloé of all people to help. Between Chloé and Kim they got the classroom cleared in less than a minute. “I’m gonna stand outside the door so no one comes in. Just, take care of her yeah?” with that she walked out of the room and closed the door. They could see her shadow still there. True to her word no one came in the classroom. Unfortunately everyone in their hall could hear the screams.

“Netté, please. You have to listen to my voice. You have to come back, come back to Paris. You don’t want to see this. Please come back to us.” Alix finally clued back into Nino’s voice. He was trying to get her to come back, but it didn’t seem to be working.

____________________________

Marinette wasn’t listening to Nino, she was caught in this moment. Watching Joker beat Jason, his blood spilling out on the floor. Then something happened that opened everything. Her mother had once told her that some soulmates could talk to each other in times of crisis, and this would count as one.

She could hear Jason’s voice, ‘please let me pass out, please let me pass out, she doesn’t deserve to see this, please whatever deity might be listening let me pass out!’

Then she heard others in the link, ‘Jay bird! Please tell me you’re there! Little wing I’m trying to get there faster, but you have to wake up. There’s a bomb, you have to get up. Jay you have to get up now! You have to go to the door.’

“Jason please! Please wake up. We need you, we need you to wake up. I need you!” Marinette didn’t realise she had spoken out loud, but she would feel that her friends were all holding her.

‘You don’t really know me, but please live for us. We all need to meet you one day.’

“Jason you have to get to the door.” She was sobbing now.

‘Jay, wake up!’

He started moving, crawling towards the door. For a moment she had hope that he would make it. She could feel everyone pleading with the gods to just get him out of there alive. Then he tried the door, it was locked. He didn’t have enough strength or time to get out of there, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never got to love you Marinette.’

If she hadn’t already been in Kim’s lap she would have fallen to the ground. All the energy in her body was gone. It was like a huge chunk of her had been ripped out.

“Mari, can you hear us?” she heard Alix’s soft voice.

“Netté, we need you to talk to us.”

Her sobs had turned into a hysterical laugh, “he’s dead!” She looked at Nino, still crying but becoming worse by the moment, “the fucking clown killed him!”

Kim was running his hands through Marinette’s hair, all three of them waited for her to break back down. They had gone through it with Nino, they would be just as steady for Mari.

After her laughing turned back to sobs Kim wrapped his arms around her again. Holding her tight, “we’re here for you em gái. We’re here.”

“He’s dead… Jay’s dead…” she sniffled turning to press her face into Kim’s chest, “and his last thought was of me.”

Nino and Alix had moved in and were hugging her now too. “Netté, I promise, it gets easier.”

#maribat #jasonette #soulmates #Kids again fic

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pickalilywrites · 3 years

Text

i'm still alive ^^

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

How to Be a Good Coworker

Erejean. Zombie Detective AU.

Chapter 4.

11442 words.

Read on Ao3!

For the past week, Eren has been bumming it out at Jean’s house. Every other day, he visits the basement in the bookstore Annie works at so that he and his friends can compare notes, but not much progress has been made in terms of finding his killer. While everyone else’s suspect lists remain empty at every meeting, Annie’s list manages to grow every time they see each other.

(“Are you just writing down the name of everyone in town that you can remember?” Armin asks her at one point after taking a closer look at her list.

“Yes,” Annie replies without blinking.)

Eren’s beginning to think that they’ll never find his murderer, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe his murder was a one-time thing and whoever killed him regretted their actions so much that they vowed never to kill again. Maybe they’re repenting for their sins right now. Maybe there isn’t a killer lurking in the town and turning people into zombies and they’re just doing all this extra work for nothing. Eren knows that the possibility of this is highly unlikely, but he honestly wants to shove all this business about his murderer in the back of his mind now that he has more pressing things to worry about.

After visiting his mother the other day, Eren’s phone has been blowing up every morning and night with texts from his mom. She’s always asking him how he’s doing, if he wants to visit soon, and what he had for breakfast or dinner. His answers are nearly always the same: fine, maybe when he finds the time, and just whatever Jean had gotten from his mom or a nearby restaurant. He always has to take pictures of Jean’s meals to send to his mom and assure her that he’s eating properly, although all the oil and spices make him want to gag. Even being near them makes him feel nauseous. Jean likes to point out that Eren’s choice in food isn’t any much better, but Eren begs to differ. The fact that the meat he eats isn’t loaded with any seasonings or extraneous flavors makes his food superior already, but Jean always rolls his eyes whenever Eren begins his rant on the greatness of raw meat.

Eren shreds into a piece of pork shoulder. It’s not his favorite cut of pork. Although the cut of pork might be more forgiving on Jean’s wallet, it’s tougher than Eren prefers. Maybe Jean doesn’t see a difference because he’s never thought about how different it is once the meat is cooked. Pork shoulder is similar to other cuts when they’re cooked. You could substitute it with pork butt or a pork leg and still get the same tenderness, but only if you braise it. When it’s uncooked, it’s tough as shit, Eren thinks as he gnaws on the meat in dissatisfaction. He’d rather be eating some pork belly right now with meat so fatty that it’s practically melting on his tongue. The thought of it makes Eren drool and the piece of meat in his mouth nearly falls out.

Someone knocks at the door and Eren freezes. Jean is already out for work. He’s too organized to leave anything at home, so there isn’t any reason for him to come back. Jean’s mother is even more organized and knows Jean’s schedule even better than Jean probably does, so it wouldn’t make sense for her to come here either.

Cautiously, Eren gets up from his seat and makes his way to the front door as quietly as possible. He doesn’t even breathe as he peers into the peephole, his cheek pressed against the door. He’s more than surprised when he sees Annie Leonhardt standing on the other side. Or maybe he shouldn’t be.

“Did you forget that I was supposed to pick you up today?” Annie grumbles as soon as Eren opens the door. She doesn’t even bother to say hello. Then again, Annie has never been one to waste time with meaningless greetings. She breezes past Eren and plops down on Jean’s couch, quite comfortable even though this isn’t even her apartment. When she sees Eren staring at her, she raises her eyebrows and gestures towards his half-eaten breakfast. “Don’t just stand there gawking. Finish your disgusting food. We have places to be.”

Eren sniffs and swings the door shut. It’s strong enough to shake the tiny apartment, but Annie doesn’t even flinch. “It’s not disgusting,” Eren mumbles as he shuffles over to the dining table. Hastily, he wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and grimaces when he sees traces of blood smeared across his skin. He really does need to listen to Jean about eating properly. It’s fine if it’s just Jean, but if it's Annie or any of their other friends, it’s embarrassing even if they also know about Eren’s condition.

The TV buzzes in the background as Annie flips through Jean’s Netflix account. Every once in a while she’ll smirk or snort at Jean’s choice in TV shows.

“Aren’t you invading his privacy?” Eren asks through a mouthful of pork shoulder. He nearly chokes trying to swallow it down. It’s as tough as shoe leather.

Annie points at Eren with the remote and gives him an icy stare. “Eren, we all know everything about each other. It’s the curse of being friends with you guys. I know every single anxious thought running through Armin’s mind at any given moment, I know you’re a zombie and all your weird zombie cravings, and I know just how much Reiner loves Bertholdt,” Annie says. “I’m pretty sure Jean doesn’t care that I’m browsing through his Netflix profile right now.”

Eren makes a face. Everything Annie has said is true, but it still feels wrong. It’s not like he can argue against Annie, though, so he shuts up, finishes the rest of his breakfast, and quickly washes his plate and utensils in the sink. Jean has said that he doesn’t mind if Eren just leaves his dirty plates in the sink, but it feels weird to have Jean wash plates smeared with blood that aren’t even his. Once he’s done, he slips into Jean’s room to change while Annie watches The Walking Dead, which feels kind of inconsiderate considering the circumstances.

“I’m ready,” Eren announces, stepping into the living room space. He’s dressed in black slacks and a mossy green turtleneck that covers his neck. Jean had done some quick shopping for Eren after work one day, so these clothes fit much better than the ones Eren had been borrowing from Jean. Eren has a tan peacoat thrown over his ensemble. He looks much nicer than he ever did for any of his internships back in college. Maybe he should let Jean pick his outfits for him more often.

Annie looks him over and frowns. “Aren’t you two awfully domestic?” she asks before clicking the TV off. She leans forward, elbows on her knees with her cheek resting in one hand. “Jean picked out some really nice clothes for you. You actually look better than you ever did when you were alive.”

Eren wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t think he’ll ever appreciate that joke. “How do you know he picked out these clothes?” Eren asks.

“Because you could never pick out clothes that look that good,” Annie replies. She ignores Eren, who’s spluttering and clearly offended, and shrugs on her coat. She wraps a fluffy white scarf (no doubt another one of Armin’s creations) around her neck and looks back at Eren. “Let’s go. I don’t want to have to look after you all day.”

“I told you guys I didn’t need you to walk me to and from work,” Eren mumbles, but he shuffles after Annie as she walks to the door.

“It’s more for the benefit of everyone else in town. You know, so you don’t eat them on accident,” Annie says. She says it casually, but Eren still winces. She gestures for Eren to follow her out the door. “Lock the door, too.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Eren rolls his eyes but does as he’s told. He even gives the handle a little jiggle to make sure he’s locked the door properly. When he slips the keys into the pocket of his slacks, he looks up to see that Annie is already descending the stairs. “Wait for me!” he squawks.

Despite being the smallest out of their group of friends, Annie seems the least afraid of letting her guard down around Eren. Armin, of course, is always anxious and has always been that way since before Eren had become zombified. Reiner, despite his jokes, still visibly tenses around Eren if he gets too close and Jean is always watching Eren with a cautious eye. Annie, however, shows her back freely to Eren. Had it been anyone else, Eren would be touched, but he knows for a fact that Annie is only relaxed because she can easily take Eren down with her eyes closed even in his zombie form. In a way, it makes it a little easier for Eren to be around her than some of their other friends.

The walk to the news building is long and silent. It’s something that should be expected. Annie is not one for conversation even with her friends. Eren knows this quite well considering the fact that they’ve both known each other for nearly their entire lives. Still, it doesn’t stop Eren from trying to make conversation because there’s nothing more than awkward lulls of silence.

“So, do you have any leads?” Eren asks. He shoves his hands into his pockets. He wonders if he should have put on gloves to hide how ugly and boney his fingers are. Maybe he’ll ask Armin to knit him some mittens. “It’s pretty hard for me to investigate myself since we’re trying to limit the amount of time I’m outside, but if you have anything …”

“I have many leads,” Annie replies. She turns her head slightly to face Eren and it makes it a little easier to hear her, although her voice is still muffled by her scarf. Almost the entire lower half of her face is covered by the scarf. Only her icy blue eyes and light blonde hair peeks out. “In fact, it might delight you to know that my list of suspects has only grown longer.”

It takes every ounce of self-restraint that Eren has to not let out a huge sigh. “I thought Armin specifically told you to stop adding names to that list,” Eren says. He reaches up to rub his eyes tiredly. “I think he told you to shorten that list and focus on people that might have actually wanted to kill me. Or turn me into a zombie.” For a brief moment, he wonders if those two things are the same.

Annie shakes her head. “You two are gravely underestimating the number of people in this town that would have wanted to kill you at least once in their lives,” Annie says with a cluck of her tongue. “It would be a disservice to our investigation to shorten that list. Besides, isn’t it better to leave every stone unturned?”

Eren eyes her wearily. He’s far too tired to argue with her. He strongly suspects that Annie isn’t taking this investigation seriously if she’s just writing down anyone’s name that comes to mind. Maybe he should be glad that she’s enjoying this in some sick, twisted way. At least someone’s having fun.

“Annie!” someone calls. It surprises Eren and it seems Annie too by the way she jumps slightly at the voice. When they turn around, they see a young girl with her dark hair in pigtails bundled up in a puffy winter coat that makes her look twice her size. When the girl smiles, she looks just like Reiner. “Are you coming to play?”

“Hi, Gabi!” Annie says. Her tone is much brighter than it usually is. She casually steps in front of Eren so that she’s now between him and the young girl. Crouching down slightly, Annie reaches out to pat Gabi on the head. “Nope. I’m just walking with my friend today. I’ll come visit you and Reiner at school if I have time, though.”

The young girl looks slightly disappointed and sticks her lower lip out in a pout. It’s been a while since Eren has seen Reiner’s niece. She’s grown quite a bit. She’s grown taller since the last time Eren’s seen her and her cheeks are nice and plump. The cold has made them look even rounder and rosier, and Eren thinks about how soft and smooth her skin looks. She reminds him a little bit of a newborn calf with her large eyes and young flesh. If he dug his teeth into her skin, he bet it would be like biting into cream and taste just like …

“Eren …?” the child asks. She’s staring up at him with those large brown eyes of hers.

Even with Annie standing firmly between them, Eren gulps nervously. Before he can open his mouth and say “hello,” a loud voice interrupts from behind.

“Gabi! Come give your Uncle Reiner a hug!” Reiner’s voice booms. It startles Eren, nearly making him fall backward. When the zombie turns to see Reiner, Reiner is holding open his arms for his niece, who gladly jumps into them. Reiner scoops Gabi up easily and spins her around, pressing a kiss against the crown of her head.

“Uncle Reiner!” Gabi squeals, giggling as Reiner gives her more kisses before putting her down behind him. She’s safely behind the wired gate of the kindergarten. She’s too busy smiling and giggling to notice the tense smile on her uncle’s face.

“Go play with the other kids before class starts, Gabi,” Reiner says. He gives her a pat on the head and watches as she runs off. When he turns back to Eren and Annie, he has a stern look on his face. It’s the kind of expression teachers and principals wore whenever Eren had been caught for causing trouble. Seeing it on Reiner’s face is just as bad. “You brought a zombie near my school?”

Unlike Eren, Annie doesn’t seem as ashamed. Maybe it’s because she never frequented the principal’s office as much as Eren had. “It was the closest way to the newspaper company,” Annie says, “and I had it handled. If Eren even started to lunge for Gabi, I was going to kill him.”

Eren squeaks.

“Gee, thanks,” Reiner says with a roll of his eyes. He leans against the gate, his arms crossed firmly across his chest. “I’d appreciate it if you took Eren on a different route on his way to work, though. As much as I know you could kill Eren with a single blow, I don’t want my students to watch you kill him if they happen to be around.”

Annie thinks for a moment, nibbling on her bottom lip, and then nods. “I’ll take him a different way starting tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Reiner sighs. His face relaxes into a bright smile that’s just a little bit apologetic, although Eren is really the one that should be apologizing. Reiner reaches out to clap Eren on the back a little too roughly. “Congrats on the job, Eren. Are you excited for work?”

“Ah, I suppose,” Eren mumbles. He fidgets with the edge of his sleeves. “I mean, I like the idea of earning money so I can stop mooching off Jean.”

“You should mooch off of him,” Reiner says with a grin. “He’s your boyfriend. Shouldn’t you enjoy the fact that he’s spending money on you?”

Eren knows he’s only joking but he can feel his face redden anyway. “It’s not like it’s for real. He only did that so our moms wouldn’t be suspicious about why I’m living with him instead of returning home.”

“Still,” Reiner says with a dreamy sigh, “kind of romantic, don’t you think? It’s like a fake dating trope in real life, and you know how that ends.”

“This is real life, Reiner,” Eren reminds him.

Reiner dismisses Eren with a wave of his hand. “Things that happen in fiction can happen in real life!” Reiner says. “And even if it isn’t real, don’t you think it’s quite touching that Jean would fake date you just to keep people from discovering your secret?” He gestures to all of Eren, which makes the zombie feel dirty somehow.

“It’s just because he’s my friend,” Eren says.

“I would never pretend to date you,” Annie tells Eren, “for any reason.”

“... thanks, Annie.” Eren clears his throat and steers the conversation back to its original topic. “It’s just … impractical to have Jean earn money for both of us, especially since I’ll be living with him for the foreseeable future. It only makes sense that I get a job and this one seems perfect for me, although I don’t know why Jean doesn’t want me to work there.”

“Because he wants to be your sugar daddy,” Reiner says at the same time Annie says, “Because of Mikasa Ackerman.”

Eren shoots Reiner a glare and then turns to Annie, whose frown is deeper than usual. “What’s the deal with Mikasa Ackerman?” he asks. “Did they date or something? I asked Jean the other day, but he was acting funny.” To be honest, the thought of Jean dating Mikasa makes Eren feel weird. On one hand, it makes perfect sense if they dated and that’s why Jean feels awkward about Eren working with her. On the other hand, Eren finds that doesn’t particularly like the idea of Jean dating Mikasa, but he can’t exactly say why.

Both Reiner and Annie shake their heads.

“It’s because she’s the worst,” Annie says, which only gives Eren more questions than answers.

The zombie opens his mouth and then closes it. He points at Annie, waggling his finger around her. “Okay, what’s the deal with you and Mikasa Ackerman?” he asks. Eren raises an eyebrow curiously. “Did you date her?”

“No, God! Don’t be disgusting. It’s nothing!” Annie says, throwing her hands up. “There’s no deal with me and Mikasa. I just don’t like her! Do I need a reason to dislike someone? Can’t I just dislike them for no reason?”

Eren frowns. It’s not that Annie needs a reason to dislike someone. She hates a majority of people she meets for no real reason. Sometimes there are reasons, but they’re often trivial: someone breathing too hard, someone blinking too much, someone smiling too often. Eren would definitely believe in Annie disliking someone for no reason, but the way she vehemently dislikes Mikasa makes it difficult for Eren to believe that it’s for no particular reason.

“It’s because Mikasa called Mina cute once,” Reiner says. He leans with his shoulder against the wired fence and it creaks slightly from his weight. Even as Annie shoots the schoolteacher a glare, Reiner just smiles back with a lopsided grin, clearly amused. “Mina giggled and Annie was furious for the rest of the night. She’s still mad.”

“That’s not it!” Annie splutters, throwing her hands up. It’s comical how she looks when she’s fuming and bundled up so tightly like a fluffy bundle of yarn. Well, it would be funny if Annie were a less terrifying person. “Why do I have to like her just because everyone else does? I just think she’s overrated, she and her stupid sword and bobbed haircut!”

“You know, most people would consider those things very cool,” Reiner says.

“I don’t!” Annie snaps.

“Okay, so I understand why Annie dislikes her, sort of,” Eren says. He’s mostly lying. Like Reiner, he also finds Mikasa’s sword and bobbed hair very cool. In fact, he finds Mikasa similar to Annie because they are both terrifying but very cool, but it’s not something he wants to say out loud. “But what about Jean? As far as I know, Jean doesn’t have an irrational dislike of swords or bobbed hair.” He ignores Annie, who shoots him a death glare that probably would have killed him if he weren’t already dead.

Reiner’s eyes turn skyward as he thinks. “Mmm, I’m not sure if Jean dislikes her. Isn’t it more that he doesn’t want you to get too friendly with Mikasa?” he asks.

“Well, I guess,” Eren says. Now that he thinks of it, there wasn’t any particular malice in Jean’s voice when he spoke about Mikasa. The makeup artist sounded more irritated than angry. “But why wouldn’t he want me to meet Mikasa?”

Reiner thinks some more. He must think of something because his expression brightens and he says, “Maybe it’s because -”

At that moment, Annie coughs loudly. It’s a fake cough, Eren knows, because Annie has never gotten sick in her entire life. When the zombie turns to look at her, she’s shaking her head with a dark expression on her face but she abruptly stops when she sees Eren watching.

“Why did you do that?” Eren asks.

“Do what? I didn’t do anything,” Annie says, feigning innocence. She grabs Eren a little too tightly around the wrist and tugs him towards her. To Reiner, she says, “Okay, we should let you attend to your students now. Let’s go, Eren.”

Reiner looks as if he’s about to say something else but glances down at his watch and notices that he’s about two minutes late. He bids both Eren and Annie goodbye before rushing towards the classroom and ushering his students inside so that they can begin class. Eren and Annie watch until Reiner has rounded every last kindergartner into his room and shuts the door.

“You know, I may not know why you did that, but I will find out,” Eren says, pointing a finger at Annie.

“Well, good luck with that. I’m sure it’ll go well considering how far you’re getting along investigating your own murder,” Annie says, looking down at Eren’s finger amusedly. She turns her back and begins walking down the sidewalk again. She doesn’t wait to see if Eren is following her, but the zombie does pad along after her after a few beats. “I’m sure you will find out about Mikasa eventually, but I will warn you: you won’t like it.”

“Why? Because you don’t like her?” Eren snorts. With his long legs, it’s quite easy to catch up to Annie. “Is it because we’re friends and you expect me to hate everyone you hate? I hope you know how tiring that is considering how many people you hate.”

Annie rolls her eyes. “Please, I can hate everyone just fine without your help,” she tells him. She walks with her hands held behind her back, her pace slow and relaxed like she’s not in a hurry. Eren wonders if she’s purposely taking her time so that she can come to work late. “I’m just telling you now, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

It sounds ominous and makes Mikasa seem more mysterious than Eren’s first impression of the newcomer. He could ask more questions, but he knows that Annie probably won’t give him a satisfying answer or if she’ll even answer at all. He’s not sure what Annie’s warning is or how helpful it is. What could Mikasa possibly have done to make Eren dislike her when he didn’t even know her prior to becoming a zombie? Maybe if Eren discovered Mikasa was the person responsible for turning him into a zombie, Annie’s warning would make perfect sense but the thought of that just makes Eren snort because there’s just no way. In the end, he decides that it’s just Annie’s dislike of Mikasa that’s causing the blonde to make such negative claims about the journalist.

The two of them end up at the gate of the newspaper building. It feels a little embarrassing for Annie to have walked him the entire way there. It’s like she’s dropped him off at kindergarten, but Eren knows he shouldn’t complain.

“Thanks for walking me here,” Eren mumbles, his feet shuffling on the ground.

“No worries,” Annie says. Her hands are folded across her chest and she looks reluctant to leave him, but Eren doesn’t know if it’s because she’s genuinely concerned about him or because she doesn’t want to go to work. He highly suspects it’s the latter reason. Annie tosses her head so that her bangs are no longer in her eyes and she frowns when she sees the figure standing at the front of the building. “Ugh, your coworker is waiting to greet you, I see. Better not keep her waiting but … just try not to be her friend. Just … be her coworker and keep things professional.”

Weird advice, Eren thinks. “Uhh, okay,” he laughs. He gives Annie an awkward salute and begins to walk towards Mikasa. “I’ll do that. Have a good day, Annie!”

He expects her to leave immediately, but he’s surprised that she watches him until he and Mikasa enter the building.

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

Being introduced into his new workplace is … strange, to say the least. It’s strange because Mikasa introduces Eren to people who he’s known his whole life, people who had invited him to work with them after they found out he graduated with a degree in journalism but Eren had turned them down in the hopes that something better would soon come his way. Something better never did, but these people still smile at him and welcome him to the office because it’s easier to do that than hold a grudge against someone in a small town.

Mikasa shows him around the small box of an office, introducing him to everyone and laughing easily with them as if she’s the one that had grown up in this small town her whole life and not Eren. It makes Eren a little jealous and he wonders just how much he had missed while he was gone. Mikasa tells him a little bit about the articles they’ve covered in his absence — nothing interesting, just more missing visitors, some news about the pasta place on the street corner getting an honorable mention in a reputable food blog, and a cat that got repeatedly stuck in a tree for two weeks straight. There are, however, a few newspaper articles about Eren, but Mikasa quickly glosses over them as if to save Eren some embarrassment.

“And here’s your desk,” Mikasa says, gesturing to the cube next to hers. It’s a tiny thing, just four walls and a desk with a standard computer and a few cabinets to hold his things. It looks exactly like Mikasa’s. The only difference is that she has a few papers here and there, but her desk is strangely barren. Even their coworkers have a few knick-knacks or pictures to personalize their desks, but Mikasa’s is void of anything that would give a stranger a peek into her personal life. She’s either incredibly private, neat, or boring.

“Ah, thanks,” Eren says. He should probably be excited, but he feels a little tired looking at how dull his desk is. Maybe he should buy a plant to liven up his workspace.

“No problem. It’s a pleasure to be working with you, Eren,” Mikasa says cheerfully. “Even if you did lie to me right when we met.”

A huge pang of guilt hits Eren in the chest. It makes him wince. “Sorry,” he mumbles, and he really is. There isn’t really any good explanation he can give to Mikasa for lying, but she hadn’t asked him about it when he had come in this morning either. Maybe Annie is completely wrong about Mikasa and Eren’s new coworker is just a really nice person who doesn’t care about strange falsehoods. “I … I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have lied. I just … was kind of nervous about returning here. It’s not like my current situation is exactly glamorous.”

Her brown eyes are warm when she smiles. They’re kind, understanding. “Hey, don’t worry. We all have our problems. Let’s just hope this is another good beginning for you and hope for the best,” Mikasa says to Eren. She gestures for Eren to follow her and they begin walking to the supply closet they had passed by earlier. Mikasa throws open the door and starts searching through its contents. Unfortunately, the whole thing is a mess. “I hope you don’t mind getting right down to business today. I’ve wanted to write this article forever, and it’s kind of perfect that you’re here now because you know the hills better than I do.”

“Ah, that’s fine,” Eren says absentmindedly. He starts searching the closet alongside Mikasa, although he’s not exactly sure what they’re looking for. He shoves aside boxes of paper clips and sets a bunch of mismatched folders on the top shelf so that he can look through the shelves better. “What do you have in your article so far?” Eren asks mostly to make small talk, but he realizes that Mikasa might have information that could prove useful to Eren and his friends.

“Mmm, nothing substantial. Just what I told you the other day when we met — people are disappearing here, zombies appear, and your town seems to have an upsetting amount of occurrences compared to other locations that report zombie sightings,” Mikasa replies. She pauses for a minute, biting her lip as if she’s deciding if she should continue. After a moment, she says in a lowered voice, “It could be that … someone is creating zombies on purpose and their prime area of operation is this town.”

Eren blinks. It’s the very same hypothesis that Armin had proposed. If Mikasa thinks it’s a possibility too, maybe Eren and his friends are headed in the right direction.

“Oh, here it is,” Mikasa says. She plucks a camera out from behind boxes of pens and highlighters and plops it into Eren’s hands. She grins at him. “Are you ready for your first field investigation?”

Eren gulps and then nods. Working with Mikasa might bring him even closer to discovering the identity of his murderer and their motives. This job may have been a blessing in disguise.

“Ready,” Eren says.

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

The trek up the hills is a lot more difficult than Eren remembers. The hills are steeper, the path windier, and the winds chillier. He doesn’t remember it being this tiring walking up the hills even when he had been a child playing in the woods. He thinks it has to do with the fact that he’s lost quite a bit of muscle mass since becoming a zombie, which his many layers of clothing easily disguises. The camera around his neck hangs like a weight that only feels heavier and heavier with every step he takes.

Although Eren seems to be having a difficult time up the mountain, Mikasa seems fine. While Eren drags his feet, Mikasa takes each step as energetically as the last. She’s several steps ahead of him, and Eren’s sure she’ll disappear from view soon if she keeps that same pace. Every once in a while, she’ll turn around and smile at Eren, stopping so that he can catch up a little bit, but then take off again. Clearly, these two-second breaks that she takes are purely for Eren to catch up. Mikasa doesn’t need them to catch her breath at all.

“Have you seen a lot of zombies here since you’ve arrived?” Mikasa asks Eren as they continue up the hill. They’re nearing the top, but Mikasa isn’t the least bit breathless.

I see one every time I look in the mirror, so you could say I see one every day, Eren thinks, but he’s not stupid enough to say it out loud. He watches how Mikasa’s sword dangles from her hip. “I haven’t really … gone out a lot since I’ve come back,” Eren pants. At least he’s not lying. Eren’s been lying to everyone so much lately that he’s always relieved on the few occasions he can tell the truth.

“Mm,” Mikasa hums. For once, she slows her pace and lets Eren catch up to her so that they can walk side-by-side. “Ah, settling in does take time even if you’re returning home. You’ll probably see more zombies soon enough, so it’s probably good you haven’t been out much.”

If she only knew.

Eren wonders if he should put some more distance between himself and Mikasa. It’s always dangerous being around people, and Mikasa is the closest he’s been to a human without his friends around to hold him back. He can’t tell much about her body type — if she’s more lean muscle or if she has a good amount of fat underneath her skin — because he’s only seen her bundled under layers of clothes. He supposes he should be grateful to the chilly fall weather for that. Still, it makes him wonder what he’ll find if he peels back the layers of cotton and wool. Tough muscle like that of a deer? Soft, tender meat like that of a newborn calf? Succulent, juicy flesh like that of a fattened goose? Eren could dream about it all day, but the glimmer of Mikasa’s blade peeking out from its hilt always reminds him that it’s a bad idea.

The top of the hill gives them a decent view of the forest below, but the autumn foliage makes it difficult to see very much. Beyond that lies the town, quiet as it always is. It really is a nice place. If zombies weren’t popping up now and then, Eren would bet people aside from amateur detectives would come here just to experience how charming and quaint it is.

“I think we should go our separate ways here,” Mikasa says to Eren, which surprises him. “You should go and explore one side and take pictures of anything that you find interesting. I’ll let you know if I see anything on the other side. Sound good?”

It doesn’t sound good to Eren. It sounds weird. He thought they would be working on this whole zombie article together, and it makes him nervous that Mikasa would want to work separately. Maybe that’s just how she operates. Maybe she’s an independent collaborator. If so, Eren should just agree and do his best to take pictures. Mikasa doesn’t know him at all, and Eren does not plan on letting her know that he’s a terrible person to have on group projects. He’s going to be a good coworker and do his assigned work even if it means he has to do it alone.

“Sounds good!” Eren says cheerfully.

He had been enthusiastic about getting a job, but the work is a lot less exciting. Yes, Eren wants to find the reason why zombies are somehow drawn to this particular town as much as Mikasa does. Because of his situation, he’s probably even more motivated than Mikasa because finding the reason might also lead him to the person who had killed him and resurrected him as a zombie, but the work is admittedly demoralizing because it’s incredibly difficult to find evidence of zombies.

What is there to capture on camera that hasn’t been seen already? People in this town already know of zombies. They know what zombies do, and they’re hardly threatened. Some people even get dogs to chase zombies off their yard because they can’t be bothered to do it themselves and even a chihuahua does a decent enough job. The things zombies leave behind are even more boring.

Eren doesn’t know what to take pictures of. He takes a few shots of the forest, trying to remember what his professors had said about the rule of thirds and lighting and shutter speed during the few classes he had taken for his photography minor. There’s a picture he takes from a nearby stream that looks rather nice, almost like it can be hung in an office or put on a postcard, but it’s probably not remarkable enough for a local newspaper article about zombies.

Finding photographic evidence of a zombie is pointless though. The few pictures Eren does snap could just be grasping at straws: odd footprints that are dragged out across the dirt path, pieces of fabric caught on the branches of shrubbery, smears of blood against the trunk of a tree. There’s a possible non-zombie explanation for all of this though. The footprints could be from a tired hiker and not from a zombie. Both tend to drag their feet across the ground. The fabric could also be a hiker or maybe even a hunter whose clothes got stuck in a bush. The blood smear is a little more exciting, but it’s possible that it came from an injured animal or someone who fell during a hike. These photographs are so pathetic that Eren would rather lie and say he didn’t capture anything at all than show them to Mikasa.

Eren does entertain the thought of telling Mikasa he had managed to take no photographs. It would just be another small lie piled up on his ever-growing pile. Considering how many lies he’s told so far, adding another one shouldn’t be that big of a deal, but it still makes him feel bad.

What makes things worse is that Mikasa has been nothing but nice to him. He still has no idea why Jean and Annie want him to stay away from Mikasa so much. From what he can tell, Mikasa is a decent person. She gave him his first job, didn’t say very much about him lying to her, and entrusted him to work with her on a project she’s excited about. Telling her that he didn’t get any work done wouldn’t feel bad just because he’d be lying to her again, but Eren would also feel like he let her down by helping her progress her work.

Eren frowns as he flips through the photos on his camera. He wonders if he should delete them. It’s probably what Jean and Annie would do since they’re so opposed to Mikasa, but what would Armin do?

Armin is a worrywart, first and foremost. Getting too involved with Mikasa and risking her knowing that Eren is actually a zombie is definitely something to avoid. Mikasa probably won’t hesitate to kill Eren if the sword swinging from her hip is anything to go by. But then again … Mikasa seems quite smart and driven from what Eren has seen of her. If she’s out to find the reason for the zombies cropping up in this town, then he does not doubt that she’ll find something and any information could prove useful in his own investigation into the matter. After careful consideration, Eren is quite certain that Armin would willingly work with Mikasa and only withhold the necessary details, like the fact that Eren is actually a zombie, but anything that helps Mikasa helps the greater good.

Eren turns his head and opens his mouth to call for Mikasa, but he hears her call his name first.

“Eren!” Mikasa’s voice rings loudly through the forest. It’s enough to make the birds take flight from the trees where they had previously rested, their wings fluttering as the trees shake and leaves rustle. “Eren, come here!”

“Coming!” Eren calls back. He follows her voice, which leads him off the path towards the other side of the hill. Eren wonders what she could have seen. He hopes it’s not another zombie. He doesn’t know what he would do if he came face-to-face with another one of his kind in his current state. For a brief moment, he thinks she might have seen the carcass of an unfortunate hiker that had stumbled across a zombie. The thought horrifies Eren, but the fact that his stomach growls from just the idea horrifies him even more.

As he gets closer, Eren’s steps become a little slower, a little more cautious. He really doesn’t want to see what Mikasa had stumbled upon. He closes his eyes. The zombie takes another tentative step, sniffing the air for anything unusual. The stench of rotting flesh doesn’t fill the air. The smell of sweet blood doesn’t waft to his nostrils. It really just smells like … the crisp fall air.

Eyes open now, Eren takes a few more steps and sees Mikasa with her back turned towards him. She’s looking at something, and Eren’s eyes slowly follow her gaze to … a large hole in the ground. It’s a very familiar hole, Eren realizes, because it’s the same one he dug when he had crawled out of the ground.

“It’s quite deep,” Mikasa murmurs. She drops down to inspect it closer, reaching down to touch the dirt. She gathers some in her hand and lets it fall from her fingers. “I would say .. six feet deep. That’s deep enough to bury a body.”

“Ah, do you really think so?” Eren asks. He kicks at the ground, knocking some dirt into the hole as if doing so would undo what he did. “It looks a little bit shallower than that. Maybe like … five feet and … six … inches?” He sounds like an idiot and he knows it, but he can’t help. He’s afraid that Mikasa will somehow figure out the truth: that this hole isn’t just any hole, but an Eren-shaped hole that he had popped out of when he had come back from the dead. Granted, the shape isn’t anything like him. It’s all in his head. In reality, the hole is kind of a blob shape because he hadn’t been very neat when he had dug himself out.

“No, it’s deep deep,” Mikasa says. She stands up and brushes her hands off. The reporter takes a moment to observe the curious hole and then gestures at it. “Take a few pictures of this at different angles. We should probably report this, whatever this is.”

“Er, okay,” Eren says as he fumbles for his camera. It takes him far too long to focus the lens and find the right button to snap the pictures. “What do you think … what do you think this is?” he asks nervously.

Mikasa gives him a smile. “Are you sure you want to hear? Fair warning: I’m going to sound like a conspiracy theorist,” Mikasa says.

“N-no,” Eren stammers. “I want to know.” It’s not really that he wants to know. He’s afraid of just what Mikasa knows, but he also needs to know what thoughts are floating around her head.

“I think this is where zombies come from,” Mikasa says simply. She kicks a little bit towards the hole. “I’ve been doing some research … I believe this is part of the process of turning people into zombies. I know people here don’t really think about it but … the pattern between missing persons and zombies that appear are striking. It’s not just the fact that zombies oftentimes wear the same clothing that was last seen on people who were reported missing, but the time frame between when people go missing to when they’re … zombies, I guess you could call them, is pretty consistent. It’s about a year.”

“A-a year?” Eren gulps. He hopes Mikasa doesn’t put two and two together. He hopes she hadn’t read the papers about him going missing in the local newspaper archives. He hopes she believes his lie about taking off suddenly without letting anybody in town know. He hopes she doesn’t remember the fact that he was gone for approximately a year.

“Mmm, yeah. A year,” Mikasa says with a nod. “I think these holes are … well, this is the first one I’ve seen, but maybe there are more like it.”

“You think there are more?” Eren asks. The thought makes sense. He doesn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him sooner.

“I think if we dig around we’ll find out, but I doubt the townspeople would be happy about digging up the hills just to find out if zombies pop out of the ground,” Mikasa laughs. She looks thoughtful again, her head slightly tilted as she continues to piece together points Eren can’t quite see yet. “I think maybe … the process of becoming a zombie requires that a person dies, be buried in the ground, and be reanimated. Maybe the reanimation steps are a bit more complicated. Maybe it’s something that happens before the body is buried and takes place while the … body is buried underground.”

It’s sounding awfully familiar. Eren should be thrilled. Some of these things Mikasa is bringing forth are the same things Armin had also said during their meetings. The one-year gap between missing persons reports and their corresponding zombie appearance is new, though. It’s definitely something he should mention at the next meeting or even bring up in the group chat, but Eren can’t help thinking that the more information Mikasa gathers about zombies, the closer she is to figuring out that Eren is a zombie too.

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

Thankfully, Eren and Mikasa don’t run into anything else interesting in the hills. It’s disappointing for Mikasa, but it’s a relief to Eren. It’s difficult to hide just how happy he is about how the day ended up. He was able to take some compelling (at least to Mikasa) pictures without giving himself away, and his zombie grave was interesting enough that he didn’t have to show Mikasa the other pathetic pictures he took earlier. Maybe the standards he has for himself are low, but Eren would say that he’s currently killing it at his new job.

“I honestly expect this piece to be rejected,” Mikasa confesses as they’re walking back to the office. “I think the evidence is compelling, but it does sound like a piece that belongs to one of those fake science newspapers.”

As dangerous as it is to have Mikasa discovering more about zombies and potentially finding out the truth about him, Eren knows discouraging her work only slows his own investigation so he gives her a small smile and says, “It’s zombies. Reanimated corpses that don’t have any business walking the earth. Anything you propose is going to sound ridiculous, but you have a better hypothesis than most people. I think it’s worth a shot to put it out there.”

Mikasa looks surprised for a second and then smiles. “Thanks, Eren. That’s very kind of you.”

The two walk together in silence, crisp autumn leaves crunching beneath the soles of their boots. Mikasa doesn’t say much else as they return to the office. Occasionally, she’ll comment about the town — about a shop she finds particularly charming or a townsperson she bumped into the other day — and Eren will respond with an anecdote of his.

“I hope you had a good first day,” Mikasa says once they return to the office. She’s putting away her things, hiding them in the cabinets in her cubicle. Her desk is just as spotless as it was this morning. “I certainly had a good time working with you, Eren.”

“Ah, thank you,” Eren says. He feels relieved that he’s gone through his first day without anything happening. He can’t wait to come home and rub it in Jean’s face. “It was nice working with you too.” He wonders if he should put the camera away for tonight and think about editing the pictures tomorrow. He could just do it tonight. He probably won’t get overtime, but it might be good to do a little extra work these first few weeks to show Mikasa he’s serious about this job. Then again, he doesn’t want to seem too eager in case his coworkers take advantage of him in the future. With a frown, Eren tucks the camera in the cabinet underneath his desk. When he looks up, he sees Mikasa looking at him.

“Hey,” she says. The reporter is leaning against the walls that separate their cubes. “Do you want to grab dinner together tonight? My treat.”

“Er.” Eren squirms, uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to say no, but saying yes would just be … stupid even for him. It’s not like he can waltz into any restaurant and devour the same foods everyone else can. He’s about to shake his head and politely decline, but Mikasa is flipping through her phone.

“Is Korean barbecue good?” she asks. She raises her head, tilting it slightly as she awaits Eren’s answer. “There’s a place … well, I guess you know. If you’d rather go somewhere else, I’m open to it.”

“N-no,” Eren says, surprised. Korean barbecue sounds good. Perfect, even. “That sounds … I’d like to go. Let me just … I need to tell my friend. Boyfriend. He’s picking me up.” At that moment, his phone buzzes and he winces. He knows without looking that it’s Jean. They did agree to Jean picking him up, but he didn’t think Jean would be so … punctual.

Mikasa grins as Eren pulls out his phone. “Is he here already?” Mikasa asks. “You should invite him. I’ll invite my girlfriend too. She just happens to be in town this week.”

“Ah, it’s okay,” Eren says hurriedly. He knows Jean would never agree to this. Not only is it a dinner with someone unaware of his true condition, but it’s a dinner with Mikasa of all people. Jean, for whatever reason, would absolutely hate this. “I’ll just tell him to, ah, go home without me. He probably wouldn’t want to eat with us -”

The doors to the office burst open and Jean storms in, the tail of his trench coat flapping behind him. The makeup artist pays no attention to the stares of Eren’s coworkers. He pauses for just a moment to scan the room and, upon spotting Eren, marches right up to the zombie’s cubicle.

“Eren, come on,” he says through gritted teeth. He sounds angry, but Eren can tell from Jean’s rigid stance and folded arms that the makeup artist is anxious. “I thought you said you would be out by now.”

“Ah, I invited him out to dinner,” Mikasa says from behind Jean. Jean turns to look at her, surprised, and Mikasa gives him a friendly wave that Jean doesn’t return. Jean might dislike Mikasa, but it seems like the feeling is one-sided. Mikasa taps Jean on the shoulder. “You can come with us if you’d like. It’s really my way of thanking Eren for joining the team and being such a good coworker on his first day. He’s really great. I’m looking forward to working with him long-term.”

“Y-you do?” Eren stammers. He didn’t think he did a very good job. To have Mikasa tell him that he did well makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He looks eagerly at Jean. “It’s fine if I have dinner with her just this once, right? Mikasa invited me and I did a good job today so …” His voice trails off. He expects Jean to say no. After all, he had warned Eren to avoid Mikasa as much as possible.

“Fine,” Jean finally says. When Eren looks at him, Jean’s shoulders are slumped in defeat. His eyebrows are still knit together and Eren can tell that Jean doesn’t like the idea one bit, but it doesn’t matter. Jean said he could go, so Eren is going to that dinner. “But I’m coming with you,” Jean says firmly.

Eren begins to whine. “You don’t have to babysit me,” he begins, but Jean isn’t listening.

“Yes, I do,” Jean replies. There’s something authoritative in his voice. It makes Eren’s toes curl and his cheeks flush, but it might be because Jean’s busily rewrapping the zombie’s scarf around his neck.

“Cute,” Mikasa says as she distractedly checks her phone. She taps something on it before tucking it back into the pocket of her coat. “Let’s head over then. My girlfriend said she’d meet us there.”

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

The meat at the barbecue house is much better than Eren remembers. It’s strange, but becoming a zombie has given him a much more refined palate when it comes to eating meat. He can tell if poultry is free-range with just a taste, if cows were fed more than just corn for their diet before they were slaughtered, and if pigs were allowed to roam and scavenge for food instead of just eating feed before they were turned to bacon. He tries to explain this to his friends at times, but they never really get it. To them, meat is just meat. Sometimes, Eren can’t believe he had once lived as ignorantly as them.

Mikasa sits across the table and observes as Jean feeds Eren another piece of barely cooked meat. She looks at him curiously. “You like your meat rare, Eren?” Her tone isn’t judgemental in the least, but it still makes Eren nervous.

“Y-yeah.” Eren forgets to chew the last piece of beef and accidentally swallows it too early. It gets stuck in his throat halfway and he starts to choke. He begins to pound on his chest to free his windpipe but a glass of water appears in front of him. Eren takes it and eagerly drinks it until the beef goes down.

“It’s a taste he acquired when he was traveling,” Jean says. Unlike Eren, he hasn’t eaten much. He’s eaten a few well-cooked pieces here and there, but he’s mostly been feeding Eren and ordering more food from the menu when their plates begin to empty.

“Ah, interesting,” Mikasa says as she nibbles on a piece of Hawaiian pork belly. Even though the meat glistens with fat, Eren can’t stand the sweet marinade that coats it and the pineapples that come with the slices of pork belly. It’s just too … sacrilegious to ruin a piece of meat like that. Eren doesn’t know how Mikasa is able to continuously eat piece after piece of that tainted pork belly.

Eren laughs nervously and puts his hands in his lap. He fiddles with the buttons on his coat. As much as he wants to shove the beef tongue that had just arrived into his mouth, he knows he shouldn’t. He needs to appear normal. He clears his throat. “When is your girlfriend coming?” Eren asks with a slight wince. He shouldn’t have eaten so much when Mikasa’s girlfriend hasn’t even arrived yet.

“Should be any minute,” Mikasa says. She puts a piece of meat on Jean’s plate and gestures for him to eat too. Jean, however, doesn’t even bother to crack a smile. “You guys should just eat up. She really won’t mind.”

Jean pushes the pork belly around his plate with his chopsticks. He doesn’t make any move to pick it up or eat it. “We might head out soon if you don’t mind. I have to be out early tomorrow and Eren likes to prep at night,” Jean says. He doesn’t make any eye contact with Mikasa. “We’ve had more than enough to eat already.”

A whine begins at the back of Eren’s throat but Jean subtly stomps on the zombie’s toes and the sound dies midway.

“Yeah, we should get going,” Eren squeaks as he hunches over in pain.

“Ah, alright then,” Mikasa says with a frown. She doesn’t notice that someone is walking up behind her and doesn’t notice until the person has thrown their arms around her waist. Mikasa looks up in surprise. “Historia!”

The name makes the blood freeze in Eren’s veins. He takes a better look at the woman who has thrown her arms around his new coworker and finds that it is indeed his ex-girlfriend. She still has the same large blue eyes and heart-shaped face, same petite frame and golden blonde hair, same pale pink lips and a cupid’s bow that looks as if it were sculpted by a god. There are things that are different about her since Eren had seen her last: her hair falls down to her shoulder blades instead of at her shoulders, her face is a bit thinner, and she wears an ensemble suited to that of a strict businesswoman when previously her wardrobe was hyper-feminine. It’s so … strange to bump into her like this.

Eren stumbles up from his seat in surprise. “Historia,” he says even as Jean is tugging at his sleeve and hissing at him to sit down. “What are you doing here?” He knows that his friends have mentioned Historia had given up on him after he had disappeared for a year, but he still feels the need to run a hand through his hair. He hopes his makeup hasn’t smudged and that he doesn’t look too unkempt.

Historia’s arms fall away from Mikasa’s waist and she looks at Eren. She doesn’t seem to recognize him at first, eyes narrowing at him as she tries to place exactly where she had seen him, and then her eyes widen in recognition. “Eren?” Her head turns towards Mikasa so quickly that Eren’s surprised that her neck hasn’t snapped. “You didn’t tell me Eren was your new coworker. Or that he came back to town.”

“I thought it would be a nice surprise,” Mikasa says. She pulls out the chair beside her and gestures for Historia to take a seat. Once Historia sits down, Mikasa rubs gentle circles on the blonde’s lower back. “Aren’t you glad he’s alive?”

Eren falls back in his seat in shock, too stunned to pay attention to the conversation Mikasa is having with Historia. He lowers his head and mumbles to Jean, “What the fuck is Historia doing here?”

“I tried to warn you not to hang around Mikasa,” Jean says in a low voice so that only Eren can hear. His teeth are gritted together in a pained smile. “In case you haven’t connected the dots … Historia is the girlfriend Mikasa has been talking about.”

It all makes sense now, Eren thinks, why Jean had wanted Eren to avoid the field reporter so desperately. Whenever Eren had asked if Jean had dated Mikasa or had any romantic interest in her, Jean and his friends had vehemently denied it. Eren had thought they were lying to him but he realizes now that it was because they were telling the truth — and also hiding a more shocking secret about Mikasa from him. Eren would be angry, but he’s too stunned to feel anything but numb.

“Well, it’s good to see you, Eren. I’m relieved to see that you’re alright,” Historia says, but it’s as if she’s talking underwater. Eren can barely register what she’s saying.

“He went on a spontaneous trip, he said,” Mikasa explains as she begins to feed Historia a strip of pork belly that was still sizzling from the grill.

“Oh?” Historia sits closer to the edge of her seat. It looks as if she’s about to ask for details, but Jean is standing up and ushering Eren out of his seat.

“We’ll fill you up on the details another night, Historia. We have to head out right now, but it was nice meeting you.” Jean wraps an arm firmly around Eren’s waist and subtly guides him towards the exit. “Lovely seeing you as always. Let’s do this again sometime.” He doesn’t wait for the couple to respond before he hurries Eren out the door.

The only sound as they walk is the clomp of their boots against the sidewalk. Eren can’t begin to ask the questions running through his head. He knows that even if he did, Jean would be in no mood to answer them. This entire scenario is what Jean had been trying to avoid in the first place. Eren knows that Jean is just waiting for them to return home so the first thing that comes out of his mouth is “I told you so.” It comes as a total surprise when those aren’t the first words Jean says to him.

“Are you okay?” Jean asks as they make their way back.

“I’m … fine,” Eren says even though he isn’t remotely okay. He knows that his tone is far from convincing, but he doesn’t want to dive into this tonight. “Can we stop by the office? I want to grab my camera and edit some of my pictures tonight.”

“You don’t want to rest?” Jean asks. He leans forward and tries to get a better look at Eren’s face, but the zombie pulls his scarf over his face.

“I’m not that tired,” Eren mumbles into his scarf. That isn’t a lie, not really. He could sleep if he wanted, but he’d rather stare at the screen and click mindlessly, making minuscule edits to his photos that people will barely notice. It would help distract him from all the thoughts swirling through his head at least.

It’s been rough returning here. Everyone Eren runs into is a reminder of everything he’s missed since he disappeared. His friends seem perfectly content with living in their small town even though all Eren had ever talked about after college was finding a job in the big city and moving away. His mother looks older and smaller than he remembers even though she had stayed the same all his life. Even Historia had changed, moved on with someone else while Eren was buried in the ground. How had everyone continued to live while he was frozen six feet under?

“It’s not like I expected everyone to wait for me while I was gone. I know it’s not anyone’s fault,” Eren says when they reach the gates of the newspaper building. His hands are balled up in frustration. “But … you don’t know what it’s like to lose everything so suddenly and come back to see that everything has changed.”

Jean stops in his tracks and when Eren looks back he sees the makeup artist with a stunned expression on his face. “Eren,” Jean says. He almost seems … hurt. “We lost you. For an entire year.”

Eren doesn’t have a response to that. He fiddles with the end of his scarf uncomfortably and then ducks his head before hurrying into the office. Thankfully, Jean doesn’t follow him.

The office is empty when Eren flicks the lights on. He mumbles to himself as he walks down the row of cubicles, muttering about what a terrible night this has been. Just when he was feeling normal, Historia showed up and reminded him that he’s not normal and that he can never return to where he once was. He doesn’t even want to think about everything that could have been if he hadn’t gotten murdered that night: if he could have found a job outside of this town, if he could have moved into the city, if he and Historia could have still been together. It’s useless anyway.

Eren finds his empty cube and pulls open one of the drawers, riffling around its contents with one hand. Oddly, there are papers he doesn’t remember placing in his cabinet. He takes another look and realizes that it’s not his cube, but Mikasa’s that he’s wandered into. Their cubicles really look too similar because Eren’s is practically empty and Mikasa has no personal items on her desk to differentiate it from Eren’s.

The zombie is about to shut the drawer and grab his camera at his desk, but something in the back corner of the drawer catches his attention. Curious, Eren reaches for it and pulls out a cell phone. He thinks it’s strange because he distinctly remembers Mikasa using her phone at the restaurant earlier that night. He turns the phone in his hand and the thought that this phone is somehow familiar to him flashes through his mind. He glances at the screen and sees a crack on it that looks exactly like the one on his old phone. The phone he had lost when he had been murdered in the forest.

But how would Mikasa have my phone? Eren thinks. The idea is so bizarre that Eren is about to put the phone back where he had seen it, but then … Mikasa is new in town. She’s only been here for a year at most. Even if everyone else knows her … how well do they really know someone who has only been here a year?

Eren’s hands hover over the power button and, hands shaking, presses it down with his thumb. The screen lights up as it powers on and a few seconds later the lock screen appears. It’s a forest that looks exactly like a picture Eren took hiking once. That has to be a coincidence though. All forests look the same … right?

The phone asks for his fingerprint. Eren’s almost too scared to scan his finger. If it does turn out to be his phone, this only implies that his murderer is … But that’s impossible, Eren thinks. He hadn’t known Mikasa when he died. She would have no reason to kill him. He’s just being paranoid and he can prove that he’s just overthinking all of this strange coincidence with Mikasa and her phone that looks exactly like his old one if he just presses his index finger to the scanner and ...

It unlocks, much to Eren’s surprise. It has all of his old apps on there including Angry Birds which he stopped playing in high school and only kept installed for nostalgia. It’s his phone. And Mikasa had it. And there really isn’t any explanation for it except one.

“Eren?”

Eren drops the phone back into the drawer and slams it shut. When he turns around, he sees Mikasa walking towards him with a confused smile on her face.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

Eren stands up and stumbles out of her cubicle. “Er, n-nothing!” Eren quickly goes to his cube and pretends to rifle through his few belongings before pulling his camera out of his drawer. “I just … changed my mind and wanted to work on some of my photos tonight. Just wanted to … be productive.”

“Oh, you’re so hardworking. I actually left some papers I wanted to look over tonight too,” Mikasa laughs as she goes into her own cubicle and pulls open the cabinet that Eren had gone through only a few minutes before. She frowns when she sees the phone out of place, but she shoves it back into the drawer and pulls out some papers instead. Mikasa shoves the papers into her bag and smiles at Eren. She doesn’t seem to see the perspiration forming on his forehead or his nervous, rigid stance. “Well, we should head home so we can rest. Don’t work too hard.”

“Haha, yeah,” Eren laughs, but it sounds so forced.

The two walk out together and Eren finds Jean chatting politely with Historia. While it might have bothered him earlier, Eren is too preoccupied with his new finding to pay any attention to his ex-girlfriend right now. He’ll worry about it later. Right now, he has to tell Jean something.

He hardly bids the two women goodbye, instead tugging his fake boyfriend by the sleeve and walking hastily towards their apartment.

“Eren, I know you’re upset, but that was really rude,” Jean hisses, but he allows Eren to pull at his sleeve and doesn’t pry the zombie’s hand off. Jean had attempted to wave goodbye, but it wasn’t enough to ward away the amused glances that Historia and Mikasa shot each other as the zombie and makeup artist hurried home.

“This is important!” Eren insists, still pulling Jean. “But I can’t tell you here.”

Jean only sighs and allows Eren to lead him to their apartment. At their quick pace, it only takes them a few minutes to get there and Jean sighs tiredly as soon as they’re inside.

The makeup artist shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the coat rack. He begins to unbutton Eren’s coat too, but Eren doesn’t even move his shoulders back to make it easier for Jean to peel the coat off. “Can you …? Ugh,” Jean huffs as he moves Eren’s arms himself and pulls the coat off. “What is it that you wanted to tell me anyway?”

“I think,” Eren says, tugging at the end of his scarf nervously. He takes a deep breath and tries again. Jean is busy trying to unwind the scarf around Eren’s neck but the zombie puts his hands firmly on Jean’s shoulders so that he has all of the makeup artist’s attention. “I think … I think Mikasa killed me.”

#erejean #zombie detective au #eren jaeger #jean kirstein #snk #htbaz series #how to be a zombie series

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nightklok · 3 years

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Title: 'Cause I've been hurt so many times, I need someone who will try to soothe me, and not use me Pairing: Abigail Remeltindtdrinc/Pickles the Drummer Rating: E (For one future smut scene but chapter one is T-rated) Tags: Fake dating, Additional tags on AO3 Summary: Abigail considers herself great at her job; she knows how to make a successful album and her track record shows it. Dethklok proved to be the biggest challenge yet but she learned to overcome any hurdle thrown her way. However, what she didn’t anticipate was Seth’s second wedding. Specifically, Pickles’ mother getting on his case about finding a date to the wedding. Logically, she decides to be his fake date for the wedding. Just fake a relationship for a few months until the wedding then 'mutually' break it off; should be easy enough. It’s just the most renowned music producer and most popular musician fake dating. Surely no feelings or trouble will rise out of this.

Chapter One on Ao3 Here! Chapter one is also under the cut

Abigail had learned quickly that working with Dethklok was oftentimes like walking through those Halloween hay mazes blindfolded. Years upon years of working with pretentious celebrities, tight deadlines, and challenges that were thrown her way would never prepare her for working with them. For a group of five who lived together and knew each other the best, it didn’t always mean that they thought the same way and one would think they finally learned what worked best for them after years of working. But for some reason, they continuously went with the same method that never worked out because it seemed like the best to them. And clearly, it wasn’t.

She was no stranger to challenges so when Dethklok proved to be one, she did her usual process of breaking through to them. And that was asking questions to the right people. Charles stated it was just how they were. Knubbler said they were a bunch of dumb jackoffs so she had to hold the least amount of expectations for them...and lower it. Melmord had offered her weed because it would be the only way she could ever handle working with them. Twinkletits had suggested unresolved trauma and perhaps banana stickers would solve it.

She would find soon enough that everyone was right in their own suggestions but it didn’t mean she followed through with any of them. It didn’t take long to figure out that scheduling private sessions with each individual band member was a lot better compared to them being together only to yell at each other. Within a few days of the focus being more on private sessions, the difference being made was incredible. They seemed to thrive better under one-on-one time and having the group meetings at the end of the day so they could go over their progress had helped incredibly.

The only problem that she couldn’t solve was their old habits. Most of the time the sessions were either forgotten or recordings had to take a week or longer just to make sure the sound was perfect. They were still five people with different ideas of how the album could be better; it would be hard to find common ground and even harder to get them to be responsible under her schedule.

It didn’t mean every member was a thorn in her side though. Pickles and Skwisgaar were some of the more responsible ones compared to the rest. They’d sometimes forget to show up but that was expected.

Skwisgaar did have a certain way of speaking about music she couldn’t quite understand but she found herself slowly understanding him the more they recorded his sessions. It became like learning a new language but less on the fun part. Luckily, he was never one to speak much regardless; music did the talking for him and that was a good enough language for them to understand.

And Pickles, despite his years of experience under the spotlight, wasn’t the pretentious celebrity she expected him to be when they recorded together. He did his work without much complaint, left when she was satisfied and his first-week recording for a song would be the last as there generally wasn’t much left for him to retake. He normally trusted her judgment and any criticisms offered were never given for the sake of belittling her. It came from a place of experience and knowledge and it became something she quickly respected him for. He still occasionally missed his recordings, however, but with how time felt so rapid in getting things in order, she didn’t notice he actually began showing up more often.

He couldn’t show up one day due to a last-minute scheduling conflict that day and since he had a valid excuse, she didn’t expect him to show up at all. Deciding to not let those hours go to waste, she spent it contacting Knubbler for a quick meeting. He sent her the tracks he finished for her to listen to and she offered her critique. They were tossing track after track at one another to see what sticks and eventually something did. After sending him the latest track to fix-up by the end of their meeting, she checked her email to go more into the boring parts of her job.

She loved her job without a doubt but it didn’t mean there were some parts she actually dreaded doing. Emails were one of them; business language, having to wait up to a day for a response, and everything else just to show she was a professional despite her name being tied to so many influential things. Maybe she was famous enough to sign off her emails with a ‘k thx’ but didn't quite know if it was even worth the impending backlash soon after. She was known for her professionalism, not lack of.

But the album wouldn’t be finished for quite a while so she simply had to make do with what she could. Regardless, the marketing director wanted to listen to one of the demo songs. The day was winding down, she just had to spend an extra hour or two in the recording studio, then she could grab food, take a long bath and watch a movie until she fell asleep.

The motivation of food and a chance to relax was enough to look through her emails once more as she played the finished track. She didn’t hear the knock on the door but she did hear the door opening but didn’t turn around. She had expected it to be a klokateer doing some late cleaning.

“Abigail?” A voice all too familiar filled the silence. As she turned around, Pickles closed the door behind him quietly as if to not disturb her (even though he already did). He seemed a bit sheepish as he put his hands in his pockets to play off a calm attitude, “I just wanted to know if you still needed me.”

“Well, it’s not the first time you didn’t show up to a session, Pickles.” She answered a little too bluntly. It came off harsher and she had almost expected him to be offended by it but he shrugged instead, “Charles told me you wouldn’t have been able to come today, anyway.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s true I have bailed out on a few sessions, but I was planning on showing up to today’s session. I promise.”

She folded her arms, leaning back against the chair. It was new territory having Pickles actually show up when he wasn’t meant to. It didn’t seem like he was there for anything else too, “And you really mean that?”

He casually held up his right hand in a three-finger salute, “Scout’s honor...if I was a Boy Scout, that is. But I’m here now. That should be enough proof, right?” He grinned at her before he walked to the recording booth, “I got this beat stuck in my head I wanna get out of my system. Won’t take too much of your time.”

She glanced at the clock; it was still early enough to record a few takes and he did seem excited to record. Might as well give some time to humor him, “Alright, you get one hour to impress me.”

“I’ll make it count,” He finished her sentence as he closed the door. Taking the drumsticks and headphones, he took a seat in front of the drum kit and quickly prepared, “This is for uhhh...what did we call 8?”

“ Uncensor My Songs On The Radio You Fucking Tool. ”

“Yeah, that’s it! Anyway, I think I figured out why it doesn’t fit on my end. Can you play from the beginning?”

“Sure, get ready in five seconds” It took just a few clicks to get to the song he wanted. She let the metronome play for just a few seconds for him to get the beat before hitting the record button as soon as the song played.

As soon as the song played, Pickles began without hesitation. The sound was much different compared to his other takes...and it fit perfectly as he had said. She waited though; listened to every hit and snare intensely for a mistake to come and screw his take over. But that moment never happened and before she knew it the song was over.

“How did I do?” He grinned at her as he wiped his sweaty forehead with his arm, “Not bad for one take, right?”

Impressive. “Not bad at all. I think this might be just the parts we needed to get the song to be finally done,” She answered as she hit the record button to pause the recording. She made sure to save the file and backed up the file into her work email. (Charles had requested she make backup copies of each recording without the boys’ knowledge when she began working. Just in case).

She watched as Pickles removed his headphones but quickly stopped him, “It’s great but I think another take would be good to have, right?”

“Oh C’mon! Isn’t it great as it is?!” He pleaded. He was foolish to think he could impress her with just one take.

“I’m not denying that it’s great but I’m sure you would be able to do another take if you got it all memorized, right?” She answered. The tone of her voice just shifted slightly enough to indicate a challenge and that’s all that Pickles needed to hear from her.

“Don’t think I can do it, huh?” He smiled back at her as he put the headphones back on. It was a challenge he could easily win, after all, but she was never one to even let him believe it would be easy. The rush of it and the feeling of adrenaline starting to kick in made it all the more tempting, “Well get the song playing again. I won’t stop until you’re satisfied.”

“You’re gonna end up tiring yourself out, Pickles.”

“You can let me off the hook then if you’re so worried about me.” He answered with the signature lopsided grin he gave out as freely as sweets, “I think there are some restaurants around that we can go to if you still haven’t eaten yet.”

Bargaining and banter had become something that they learned to communicate with. If there was anyone else in the room, there was no way she would be talking so loosely with him. They were alone however and would be for a long time so it became easier to shake off the layer of professionalism she had to keep up with all day. However, the remaining part of her brain that was still in work mode rejected his offer despite the temptation being far too great, “Not a chance; you walked yourself into this one...But if you wow me just early enough, I might take you up on your offer.”

“Get the song playing again and tell me when to stop.”

The truth was she was already satisfied by the third take but she did let him keep going at least two more times for good measure. By the time she said he was finished, Pickles’ legs were sore but it was nothing he wasn’t used to. Five takes weren’t bad at all and he found himself confident in the progress.

“Not bad, Pickles. I think there’s something there I can take for the recording.” Abigail answered with a grin that he tiredly returned.

“Hm, not satisfied yet, or just wanna keep my ego down?”

“Maybe.” She watched him put the headphones and drumsticks away before exiting the recording studio.

“I wanna hear it though. Play the best track.” He went to the mini-fridge and offered her a beer which she declined.

“Just get me a coke. The drink, I mean. I’ll play the best track in a second,” She had already labeled the track files by a number scale and taken notes so she didn’t need to relisten. He set the can of coke beside her as he watched her take a few moments to look through the notes before finally deciding on the best track. She quickly spliced it in with the demo and hit play.

Pickles already flopped on the couch, on his second can of beer already somehow (She didn’t know if it was impressive or horrifying). He didn’t say anything while the song played, leaned back against the couch. When it ended he asked, “Is that the best one?”

“Well, I think it is. It’s the one that doesn’t even need much editing. The others are just as great too, in all honesty,” She answered as she checked her notes briefly. She could go into great detail over the tracks, maybe even explain why the tracks were a perfect fit for a song but she didn’t want to ramble. And besides, he seemed a little bit bothered, “But what do you think?”

“Hm. Not as good as I thought it would be,” He said a little sullenly, “Nate’s gonna wanna delete it. I just know it.”

“Are you sure? I don’t think he’d want you to delete them especially when he knows you’re having a hard time with this song. They’re all pretty good but if you want to talk with Knubbler since he’ll be doing most of the editing, just give him a call tomorrow.”

“Do you even think it’s good?”

“Of course. If I wasn’t satisfied enough, I would’ve had you still record a few more takes.”

That was an answer that seemed to satisfy him at least as he didn’t say anything else in retaliation. He only asked to play the track again, and finished his second can of beer, “I guess if you think it’s fine, I’ll take your word for it. It’s probably getting late isn’t it?”

“Come in tomorrow and you can listen to it again. If you really aren’t satisfied with it, you can try again,” She offered. She checked at her watch briefly; 10:45 PM. How has it been almost two hours already?

“Yeah, I think that sounds like a plan. We can put a stop to it for now. But uh, sorry for wasting your time.”

She shrugged, “You’re not, Pickles. Don’t worry about it. I would’ve left around this time anyway.”

“Okay, if you say so.” With a shrug, he shifted his mood and stood up. He didn’t seem to sulk longer than he usually did, probably because it was already late and they were both tired, “Did you still wanna eat?”

“Don’t you usually eat with your bandmates?” Usually, mealtimes were the quickest and easiest ways to find them if she needed to. Having memorized that schedule, she knew that dinner was about a few hours ago...or a few hours from now depending on what they did that day.

“Yeah but not today; Offdensen really had us doing interviews all fuckin’ day. I don’t think I’ve eaten lunch yet and I guess you didn’t get dinner either?”

“Nope. I was planning to, anyway.” A late dinner invitation was not rare to get but it was rarer to get one by someone she wouldn’t mind having dinner with. Their relationship with each other was always professional, and he also had years of experience in the music business outside Dethklok. It always felt refreshing to talk to someone who shared the same interests as her. She put her laptop away in her briefcase once she saved all her files; her night was officially done, “Is there someone even able to make dinner at this time?”

“There should be. If not, there are probably leftovers in the fridge. Or we can order pizza, it’s completely your call.”

She slung the briefcase over her shoulder, following him to the hallway. After shutting and locking the door to the recording studio (Charles gave the only keys to her and Knubbler), she walked with him to the kitchen where the conversation of dinner slowly shifted to music and almost anything they could cram in the next two hours.

And by the end of that night, the late dinner invitations became frequent and she had accepted every single one. He always hung around by her last hour of work, even if it meant staying up late. It only meant ordering food to be delivered to them as Pickles convinced her to watch a film she hadn’t seen in years or her convincing him to watch one of her favorite guilty pleasure sitcoms.

For the most part, it was assumed she was just working with him on the album. No one really needed to know about the breaks where they shared a beer and gossiped about the celebrities they had interacted with before. As far as Knubbler and everyone knew, she was using most of the two hours to perfect his recording.

But just a few months later, the hangouts and late-night dinner invitations stopped in their tracks with no warning whatsoever.

She wondered at first if it was something she had done. But then it began affecting his work and it was clear he was distracted about something. She knew and learned enough about him that he was a perfectionist when it came to the drums; he was always a person who wanted to do his job correctly when it came to something he really did care about at the end of the day. Music was his passion, after all. And if he didn’t have passion for the things he cared about the most, then something was going on.

“Do you want to take a break, Pickles?” She asked. It was currently her fifth time asking the same question that week alone.

“No, it’s fine. Let’s keep going.” He answered as he picked up his drums and waited for her to press record.

She didn’t say anything else after that and she let him leave after a few hours. He left before she could get a word out and she would be met with the rising feeling that something bad was about to happen and recordings that not even Knubbler could salvage.

A few days later, she figured out what happened. It took a text from the staff group chat and an email that contained a video to piece the puzzle together.

“Hey, Neon Genesis Evan gail ion. It’s me, your coworker, Seth.”

She did not watch the rest of the video (sober) and instead asked about the video in the group chat. Seth was never invited to the chat for the same reason Melmord was not invited to the second wedding of Seth and whatever poor woman he got roped up with.

Just by that video and conversation, she had connected why Pickles might be upset. It had something to do with the wedding, sure, but what specifically about it? Was it that he had known the girl Seth planned to marry? She wanted to ask so many questions but limited herself to three. But even those three questions were quickly narrowed down to one, then none at all when she realized it would be harder to pry anything out of him.

But, as advised by Knubbler, it was best to keep going. He’d probably breakthrough midway through a recording session. Being someone who knew to listen to others, she listened to his advice for at least a few more days.

She waited those few days and then two more. It was clear whatever was bothering him was still going to continue bothering him until the end of time probably. She had to talk to him against their better judgments; it felt like the only option available to her.

It was a session that lasted over seven hours and she was sure both of them were getting frustrated on their own ends. No amount of coffee or whiskey could even cure the boredom and annoyance that was of a session that would lead to nowhere. It was better to just cut things short and talk about it. If not even the drums could help him feel better, how serious was the situation?

She pressed the intercom button when the song finished and she immediately hit delete. There was no way to salvage the song, “Pickles, would you mind if we talk?”

His expression was perplexed for a moment before he resigned to his fate, not giving much of a protest, “Alright,” he answered with a sigh. He set his drumsticks down as he walked out of the booth, taking a seat by the couch.

She was never all that good at talking to people about feelings in all honesty. And he seemed like a rather emotional guy, to begin with. There were a few moments of awkward silence between them as she tried to find what a good way to start the conversation would be, “I think we know that you seem distracted lately. What’s been bothering you?”

And despite all her mental preparations that he would find it hard to pry open, he actually opened up quite honestly, “Well you know about the wedding right?”

“Yeah, he invited me too.” She answered as she thought back to the weird video message Seth had sent her. She wondered if she should even make a comment about that but decided against it, “You don’t want him to get married or something?”

“I don’t care about that. He could get married as many times as he wants; He’s still getting a fucking Vitamix. But it’s not about that,” He answered, “It’s my mom. She’s been blowing up my phone all week asking about who I’m bringing with me to Seth’s wedding. Keeps talking about how I should settle down, find someone to marry, or whatever. But I don’t have the time to date!”

She stared at him and didn’t say a single word until he caved in.

“Okay, time’s not the problem but dating while you’re this famous is fucking hard. You must’ve seen that public divorce in ‘89 right?”

She definitely remembered. She was on college radio at the time and had taken over someone’s show. It was either some debate or public opinion show and that was probably one of the more shows she had ever experienced. Did it help that she was a fan of his music back in the day? No, but she would not admit that “I kind of knew about it. It sounded like it was an awful divorce for you. But you were only nineteen, weren’t you? You shouldn't stop yourself from dating for something that happened when you were just a teen.”

“Nineteen, thirty-five, ninety, does it matter? It was as awful behind the scenes as it was in public. I’m not gonna bore you with that but basically, I’m done with dating. And she won’t see that!”

“Well...maybe one of your bandmates can be your date?” She offered.

“Nah, been there, done that, it didn’t work out. And plus, would you even fake date any of them?”

She thought for a moment, “Yeah, smart choice.”

“It’s gotta be someone she has never met before to make it more believable.”

“I see,” Abigail paused. She had waited, expecting almost, for Pickles to look at her, drop the ‘except…’, and plead for her to be his fake date but he didn’t. He only reached into the mini-fridge to pull out a beer, offering one to Abigail who accepted. She didn’t like the beer and had to hide her disgusted look as she took a sip and tried to set it down casually.

The conversation had died out like that. She kept on sipping the beer and hoping he would say something. But he didn’t and it became clear that she had to be the one to speak up. There was only one possible solution to it and it felt like the most obvious., “If you can’t find anyone else, I can be your date.” She offered.

Pickles looked at her like she had asked him to play the drums with his mouth, “I respect you too much to get you involved with my family. They’re like...leeches that suck the fuckin’ life out of you! This is a me problem, you don’t need to fix that. ”

“Well...it’s affecting your drumming too.” she pointed out as she looked at him, “And trust me, I know what I’m getting into. I can handle it, Pickles. I work for Dethklok and I’ve certainly been through a lot more than just a wedding party. I appreciate your concern, but let me help.”

“Abigail...” He almost pleaded.

“I owe you, remember?”

He clearly did remember, “but-”

“He invited me anyway, Pickles. I’m still going out of work obligations; I promise this won’t bother me at all.”

“But you know it’s gonna have to be a lot more than just going to my brother’s wedding right? My mom will want to meet you and who knows what other folks are gonna try and meet you too.”

That was one thing more terrifying than the branding ceremony. Was it even worth it to complete the album?, “Then basically we’d just be faking a relationship until the ceremony?”

“I guess yeah...and that’s...three months from now? You really don’t-”

“As I said, I know what I’m getting into. I want to help you and if we have to do this for a week, months, or a year, it’s okay with me.”

Pickles said nothing for the longest time. He held the half-empty can of beer, nulling over his options that probably didn’t help with him being slightly intoxicated, “You won’t hate me right?”

It caught her off guard almost but she remained on track, “Of course not. I promise,” If she hated him, that would mean there would be no more all-nighters together but she wouldn’t admit that.

“Okay. Just so you know you can back out of this anytime, I won’t be offended if you do.” He said finally and that had sealed the deal, “But we need to keep this a secret which I know is probably obvious enough. If the guys find out, they’ll never stop teasing us about it.”

“But if all we really need to do is just please your parents, I don’t think that will be a problem. Don’t worry about me, Pickles; it’ll be fine. I promise that I will back out if I don’t want to do this anymore.”

It was clear he was unsure still and she didn’t know how much more convincing he would really need. But perhaps that was something to let sit and process; and hopefully, in time, he’d warm up to the idea enough to feel like a weight was lifted off his shoulders.

There was nothing else she could really do at this point she knew. It was a quick resolution but a slow payoff and she had done what she could for the day, "How about you take the rest of the day off? If you wanna give recording the song a shot tomorrow, we can."

“Alright,” He threw out the half-finished beer can, beer spilled from the can, some of it splashing into the sides of the trash can and leaving a potent smell of beer. She made a reminder to herself to have a klokateer replace the trash can later. But it would be quickly forgotten when he spoke up again, “I uh, appreciate it, Abigail. I really do."

"It's not a problem at all. I hope you know that you can always turn to me if you need anything?"

"I do, yeah, and uh the same right back," He paused for a moment, "I'll take you out to dinner sometime if you want. It's the least I can do."

"That would be nice but I don't need a big fancy dinner. I'm fine eating here, and watching a movie." She answered. She wanted to speak more but her phone began ringing and she saw that it was from Charles, "I should probably take this."

"Oh yeah, go ahead. And uh, if you wanna grab some dinner again you know where to find me. I'm sorry I bailed out on you this week, I'll make it up to you." He quickly left before she could speak.

All alone in the studio, she took a moment to compose herself. Refusing to give herself even more time to let what she had gotten herself into sink in, she answered the phone.

It was only three months but somehow this new task felt like it would end up being the hardest task yet. But, she had an album to finish. It was just part of the job, right?

#metalocalypse #abigail remeltindtdrinc #pickles the drummer #picklegail #my writing #goddd im not sure about this but this has been sitting in my drafts for nearly...4 months now its time to release it sdflj

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roaring-rivers-of-the-underworld · 3 years

Text

Funny Enough, I Don't Care

If you could ask Wen Qing one thing she regretted from her younger years in college, she would say nothing. Because she would want a specific portion of her college years to disappear from her mind, and if she talks about it, that won’t happen. Now that Wen Qing had joined this little group of vigilantes, she never had time to think about terrible times in college. Unless someone by the name of Nie Huaisang decided to bring it up.

“Qing-jie, what was your college life like?” They smirk like the giant brat they are, which causes Wen Qing to wonder just how Nie Mingjue deals with that thing living with him.

Wen Ning, who used to be such a good boy, decides that it’s a great time to bring up her worst mistake. “Oh, jie-jie had decided to befriend this one guy, and I can’t believe she stayed friends with him. At least until the point she realized that she, in fact, did not like men. And then left him. It was the best moment of my life.”

“A-Ning!”

“Sorry, not sorry jie.” Wen Ning used to be such a good boy. That was before he met Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang though. Those two are huge problems themselves.

Wei Wuxian looks interested though. And when he gets interested, he won’t stop until he gets his answers. “So, do we know the guy?”

Wen Qing nods as she patches up one of the other men in the room, Lan Wangji. Wen Qing isn’t sure how he got hurt, as he’s the most responsible one among the others. On second thought, Lan Wangji looses all his braincells when it comes to Wei Wuxian so that might be the problem. “Unfortunately, you do. And he’s only gotten worse from schooling.”

From the look of Lan Wangji’s face, it’s clear he has no idea who. Wei Wuxian can’t remember names for crap. Nie Huaisang might be the only one other than Wen Ning who might know the name.

And speaking of the devil, Nie Huaisang decides to bring it up. “Oh, you mean Su She?” Not paying attention to how Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian freeze, they continue speaking. “I heard that he was in medical school for some odd reason. I think it was because he wanted to be better than Xichen-ge, and there’s only one person who can beat Xichen-ge at medicine and that’s you. Su She also really wants to do stuff like we do, be vigilantes and all that. But unfortunately, he’s quite terrible at it. He’s either a) gotten severely hurt, or b) almost or did get caught by police.”

Everyone turns to look at them. “How on earth do you know all of that?” And this is why Huaisang is the group’s general informant. They have a huge ass network of spys.

“I had one of my people who work at the medical school you went to look at the records, and it doesn’t takae an idiot to realize that the guy has a personal problem against Xichen-ge and A-Zhan. And the last portion definitely isn’t from overhearing Su She’s conversation with Jin Guangyao. Totally not.”

Wen Ning laughs quietly, as Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “Jesus, Hausiang. And you say you are useless.”

Wen Qing nods her head as well. “I’m surprised Guangyao allowed you to listen in on his conversations. He can be quite paranoid. Especially after that one incident with Xichen and Mingjue. Oh, speaking of which, where is your brother and Xichen? I thought they were both supposed to be here by now?

As soon as she finishes that sentence, the door opens to a giant tree of a man and his almost as tall tree of a man. “Sorry, there was traffic and a little bit of a problem between groups. Xichen, apparently, has finally realized some things about our dear old friend.”

Huaisang grabs the cup of tea in front of them, the one that has been sitting there for about an hour, and chugs it. “Oof, that must suck. It’s not like anyone tried to tell you.”

Xichen rolls his eyes. “I know, Huaisang. I did bring some new information about their next mission if you want it.”

Mingjue gives him a side-eye as he makes sure the wound Wangji has isn’t that bad. “And why would you share with us that information? You were their doctor, Xichen.”

Xichen takes a seat a nearby table and sighs. “And that was before I realized that they were wanting me to be a part of a murder involving a very dangerous poison and dismemberment”

Wen Qing becomes interested. If this poison affects Xichen this hard, then it might be a part of her expertise. “What poison? And on who?”

Xichen winces, before pulling out a bottle in his jacket. “You might want to hide that. They might be wanting to contact you, as you are also high on the list of people who know how to use that. And that’s their only bottle of it. Who they were going to poison, though. Do I really have to answer?”

Wangji speaks up. “Xiangzhong, if it was bad enough that you quit their team and joined their ‘enemy’ group, then it must be important.”

Xichen glances at Mingjue and once he gets the nod of approval, he speaks. “I was supposed to go have dinner with a man and poison his food when he didn’t notice, because the man can be extremely obvious. Then I was supposed to bring him to the team’s place, kill him, and then dismember him. That would have taken hours because that man can’t sit still and wouldn’t realize what I was doing until an arm was taken off.”

“Hey now. You’re talking about me there. Don’t be so mean.” Mingjue moves over to the fresh teapot and pours himself some tea. “And besides, I have faith that you wouldn’t have done that.”

“Are you fucking serious? Xichen-ge just said that they were trying to kill you. That is extremely important information to know, da-ge.”

Wen Qing stares at the medicine in her hands before sighing. “There is a huge chance that if they had used this against you, Mingjue, nobody would have noticed. This is a great way to kill someone, make it look natural, and then be almost entirely invisible during an autopsy. The only difference would be a bit of muscle tension. And since you are really active, that could be explained as working too hard.”

Mingjue nods. “I know, guys. Why do you think I brought Xichen here. He was a part of the plan until he realized that it was supposed to be me being poisoned.”

“So what’s our plan?”

“We wait.”

~~~~~~~

It was about a week after Xichen had defected from his team when she got the call. Well, more like calls. The number was an unknown one, and seemed to know her schedule really well. And she knows for a fact that it isn’t one of her teammates because they would have told her. Being in this line of business causes people to become extremely paranoid. And paranoia is not a great thing your doctor should have.

“Hey guys? I have something to say.” It was their next meeting, the time when they were about to fully plan what to do with Guangyao and his team.

Mingjue looks at her, a little worried. Normally, Wen Qing would just spit it out, but if she’s a little hesitant, then that can be concerning. “Yeah, go ahead A-Qing.”

“Well, I keep getting calls from this random number. And like that could just be a friend mistyping and missaving someone’s number, but they always call as soon as I’m on break at the hospital or as soon as I get home. One or the either. It seems like they memorized my schedule.”

Wuxian and Wangji stare at each other, having a silent communication. “Do you think that it is entirely a coincidence?”

“Maybe. But if they have memorized my schedule, then they would be calling within the next 5 minutes. This meeting was sort of hastily scheduled and I had called in sick today. If they were relying on the fact that I don’t take sick days, then they’ll call.”

Right on cue, Wen Qing’s phone starts buzzing, and an unknown number pops up.

Xichen sits up. “Oh! That is Su She’s number I believe. I had to have it because he kept getting hurt.”

Mingjue rolls his eyes before nodding at her. “Go ahead. Answer it. Let’s see what they want.”

Wen Qing takes a deep breath before finally answering it. “Hello?”

“Wen Qing! It’s been a while since we’ve talked. Like what, 3 years?”

“It’s been more than that, Su She. But anyway, how are you? What do you need?”

Su She chuckles. The laugh that he thought would interest her. “I heard that you’ve become a great doctor and wanted to congratulate you. I also had a few questions for you.” Wen Qing glances at Mingjue, gauging his reactions. So far, he’s fine. “Go ahead.”

“Well, Wen Qing, A-Yao and I have been talking for a while and decided that you are the chosen one.”

“The chosen one? Su She, this is the modern world. Not Harry Potter.”

“I know, but we would like to have a doctor that has extreme expertise on medical practices and our former doctor wasn’t the best they could have been. A-Yao has mentioned that if you want money working for us, he’d pay you about how much you get at the hospital, for way less hours.”

Wei Wuxian whispers, “At least he knows how to bribe. Do we have her say yes and act as a spy?”

Mingjue shakes his head and whispers back, “No. I know Guangyao. He’ll use A-Ning as a hostage. It’s too dangerous for many people. Wen Qing, decline.”

She nods her head. “Unfortunately, Su She. I am not looking for another job at the moment. You’ll have to find someone else.”

Su She sighs. “Fine. We’ll pay you double the amount and you’ll have access to all the medical equipment you could need.”

“Yeah, uh funny enough, I don’t care. Goodbye.” She hangs up the phone and sets it down. “What do we do with the poison?”

Mingjue and Huaisang share glances before the latter one smiles. “Oh, I have that handled. I’m going to give it to Guangyao later tonight!”

“Huaisang! Why would you give back poison that Xichen stole to protect your brother?”

“Who said that I was going to hand poison over?”

#wen qing #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #lan xichen #wei wuxian #lan wangji #minor wangxian #wen ning #jin guangyao #su she #nonbinary nie huaisang #mentioned past su she/wen qing #vigilante au?#modern au #mentions of murder #mentions of dismemberment #River: streams

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captainillogical · 4 years

Text

Home Ch.1

The domesticity of living with an alien who hasn't quite had the chance at a normal life.

Distant Lands sequel.

Spinel/Reader

collab with my lovely wife @firstofficertightpants

thanks for still reading my shit, love you all

You slam the fridge door, taking a swig out of the bottle of water in your hands that you had just grabbed from the top shelf. It’s hot as hell out this afternoon, and you’ve just finished grabbing the last of your stray belongings to move across town.

“-and you need to make sure to keep your phone on, I’ll be sending you calendar updates to your current schedule. Things have been moved around twice for next week, so expect your lesson times to change again.”

“I appreciate all this Pearl, but you’re acting like I’m moving farther than 5 miles and a single warp away.” You say to the gem lecturing you off a list she’s made on her phone.

“I just like to be sure.” Pearl narrows her eyes at you slightly. “I know you’re capable of handling things on your own, I just worry.”

“You fret like you’re my mom.” You retort with an eye roll, taking another sip of water. Garnet grins at that, leaning against the counter. It’s just the three of you here in the kitchen.

“Well, I have known you for quite a few of your formative years.” She huffs, cheeks tinting blue. “I remember when you first responded to that ad Greg put up, you walked in and-”

“Pearl, oh my god, please no.” You cut her off, capping your bottle, it crinkling slightly in your hands.

“I think she’s getting empty nest syndrome.” Garnet says with a small chuckle.

“Y/N, you are sure about this, right?” Pearl ignores Garnet’s comment. “I know that living on your own can be fairly difficult as is..”

“We talked about this extensively yesterday, Pearl.” You sigh, giving her a specific look. “I’ll be fine. I’ve been through hell already enough as is, this will be a walk in the park for me. Besides, I’ve got Spinel.”

“That’s kind of what I’m worried about.” She replies, levelling her gaze with yours.

You try not to sigh out loud at her again.

Okay, so. Really, it's been less than a week since you've solidly been back on Earth. You can't reasonably expect Pearl of all people to be one for quick adjustment. But you did spend a long time with her the day prior going over all her questions about the surface of Golgotha for an updated gem archive entry she's working on. You were kind of hoping it would calm most of her worries about this in general, but you feel like based on some of your responses it might've made her worry even more. Not to mention paired with that incident in the kitchen the other day with Amethyst..

Even if it was a little painful for you for multiple reasons; like having to re-live terrifying moments in detail - it wasn't as painful as the BARRAGE of questions she pummelled you with about the nature of your relationship with Spinel once she got you alone. Fucking mortifying, that was, when Pearl had the audacity to ask if you two had been like this prior to coming back to Earth. You tried keeping much of it to yourself as possible as you aren't super well-adjusted to everything yourself. Like jesus fucking christ, Amethyst and Garnet accepted your text message without much question, other than a thumbs up from her and a solid wall of emojis and expletives from the shorter gem. And maybe a couple roasts about it that you're not going to mention. But they had managed to accept it without embarrassing you much, why couldn't Pearl be less.. Pearl about it?

“What do you think is honestly going to happen?” You retort flatly.

“Well, I don’t have-” Pearl stops to spare a glance at Garnet, who barely even reacts.

“Future-vision is cheating.” She says, lips still forming a wry smile. “She will be fine as long as she remembers to make sure the oven is off.”

“You’re gonna make me paranoid..” You groan. “And see Pearl? I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so." She says like she's waiting to be proven right somehow. You know her enough to not be offended by it. "You didn't forget about your stuff in the bathroom, did you?"

"Nah, but it's not like I won't be back, y'know, in-case you maybe find my missing rubber ducky." You say, feeling your stomach rumble. "And while I do love you both, really, I've got to go get some food in me and finish the lesson plan for next week.."

"Fiiine, go! Clearly we're just here to nag you." Pearl says with a bit of a huff, slight pout on her face, but you can tell she's mainly doing it for the dramatics.

"Don't be like that." You hold back rolling your eyes at her, even if you really want to. You grab the bag with the rest of your things off the counter, shouldering it.

"Did you give me sitting in and watching your first class any more thought?" Garnet asks, resting her hands on her hips. You can't see her eyes, but you know if you could she'd be studying your face for an answer. "It might help with the nervousness you're feeling."

"Yeaaaaaaahhhh," You let out a breath a bit nervously, having given that exactly zero extra thought. "I'm still pretty sure that you'd just give me performance anxiety. Give me a few more days to think about it."

You say your goodbyes for now, toeing your shoes on and heading out the door down to the beach below.

Ugh. It's hot, and so is the sand.

You should think about finally replacing your old car. You know, the one that died last year that Peridot said was worth more in scrap metal? You miss that old junker. You'd have to save up a considerable amount of money you don't have, but, ugh, you'll think about this later.

The breeze makes your hair fly into your face, and you're annoyed the entire walk over to town. Your stomach growls again, and you decide on pizza for your afternoon lunch.

It's kind of a no-brainer when your feet lead you to Fish Stew Pizza, and your hand is already on the door handle and opening it when you subconsciously realize a small hangup, possibly, just as the door opens.

Kiki's inside and manning the counter, and she's the only one in the establishment at all currently. You let out a breath of relief.

"Weeeeeeelcome." She greets you without even looking up from her phone.

"Afternoon'." You say in greeting, feeling awkward preemptively. Kiki looks up immediately when she hears your voice, and her facial expression is completely surprised at yours at first before she quickly schools it to more of a casual, neutral one.

Ah. Lars came through.

You see.. after that first day back you utterly loathed the idea of explaining why you're now pink to literally everyone else, and Lars offered to send out a couple quick informative texts. What a fucking bro. You should probably help him out sometime just for the effort alone.

"Y/N, it's good to see you." Kiki says, trying not to be too obvious that she's giving you a glance-over.

"Thanks, you too." You hear coming out of your mouth, the air conditioning of this place cooling you off rapidly. God you even SOUND awkward. "It's pretty empty in here for the time of day, that's kind of odd."

"Yeahhh, but I'm not gonna complain about it. I'm covering Jenny's shift right now and I'll take the slowness if it means I can just be on my phone.." She's staring at the scar on your face, and you feel.. weirdly self conscious about it.

"Typical Jenny. You gotta stop going easy on her." You reply, leaning against the counter.

“Oh, I wasn’t going easy. She’s doing my chores this week because of this, so actually she’s the one getting the short stick out of this. I had nothing planned with my time off.” She sets her phone down, and oh my god, she will not stop staring.

“Will you just say what you’re thinking and get this over with?” You spit out, impatient. She reels back for literally only a split second before leaning forward eagerly and getting right into your space.

“Lars wasn’t fucking lying, huh. That place messed you UP.” She reaches over the counter to touch your hair, and if it were nearly anyone other than Kiki you’d punch them in the face. But she helped you deal with her sister back then, so. “I saw you maybe a week and a half ago, and now look at you! Pink like Lars and with a giant scar on your face to boot! What didn’t happen to you there?!”

“I er, didn’t get the face scar there, and it wasn’t the only one I gained.” You say with a grimace. Your stomach growls again. “How much exactly did he tell you?”

“What!? I mean he told me about you being kidnapped by a deranged gem and that you died, but that was about it!” She replies, expression bewildered.

You sigh. God. Okay. That’s not the worst thing he could’ve told people. But he’s not making this any easier for you anyway.

“Listen, can I order a small plain cheese pizza? And then I’ll enlighten you.”

“Yeah, you got it.” She grins, getting this spark in her eye while ringing you up and even giving you a hefty discount. It’s why she’s your favorite sister of the two.

You move to sit by the window table, setting your bag down on one of the other chairs and pulling out your lesson notes.

You don’t really feel super up to this right now, but you should probably go over a few things by yourself that Pearl gave you some pointers on. You’re nervous, like really nervous about teaching this class, if you’re honest with yourself. But you also think it will be fun, and interesting, even. You’re only giving two hour-long lessons a week for right now, as the others wanted to see how well you’d fair. Your first lesson is in just a few days. Also, the class currently has 43 gems signed up for it, and that’s quite a bit of a hefty crowd.

You were expecting an interest of maybe.. 4 gems total. This is a little unnerving. You only have the one flier posted up with the other new classes on that board, so you’re guessing word of mouth was how it spread.

You feel your phone buzz a couple times in your pocket, and you pull it out to see who it is. When you see who the messages are from, you can’t help but feel a smile break out on your face that you have a hard time suppressing. Oh, and whoops, you forgot to reply to her earlier messages while you were being lectured by Pearl.

[14:13] Spinel: uuuuugh i just want today to be OVER please

[14:13] Spinel: i think bismuth enjoys sending me to help peridot like some kind of sadist

[14:13] Spinel: its like she knows i dont want to hear about camp pining hearts for the third day in a row? i get peridot needs assistance but i haven’t even seen this show and now i have no need to ever physically watch it

[15:42] Spinel: you can’t ignore me in person Y/N

[15:42] Spinel: i haven’t seen you in two days and this is how you treat me?

[15:42] Spinel: like an afterthought?

[15:42] Spinel: hurtful

You roll your eyes to yourself, still grinning. You can feel affection coming through the words even if that isn’t what they’re saying. You’re also ecstatic at the concept of the others getting on with Spinel quickly enough to annoy her on purpose now. You miss her face, and feel a little silly about it, considering it hasn’t even been that long. It sucks, but at least she texts you fairly often. And as of today, well, you get to live with her.

[15:43] Y/N: Rest assured, I can ignore you in person.

[15:43] Y/N: Dramatic ass.

[15:43] Y/N: I’m going to be seeing you in like, an hour anyway. Chill.

“Why are you smiling like that?” You hear, jolting upright in your seat as Kiki sets down your personal pizza in front of you with a glass of water. It smells heavenly. “You never smile like that.”

“Uh,” You reply, caught off-guard, and set your phone down. “Was just replying to something funny Steven said.”

“Sure.” She says in a tone that screams ‘I don’t believe you whatsoever but okay’.

You reach out for a slice of pizza and take a bite, cheese almost dripping all over the lesson plans in front of you. Kiki moves the papers aside for safekeeping, and you mutter out a quick thanks.

“So,” She starts, resting her chin on her hand. “You gonna enlighten me, or what?”

You finish chewing your slice of pizza, and grab another. And then you indulge her questions. All of them.

She has a lot.

You leave out all the details of what happened between you and Spinel, you’re really not ready to have those kinds of conversations yet. Dealing with Steven giving you shit for it has been more than enough to want it from anyone else, and you haven’t even told Lars about it - even though you told him you would whenever you finally confessed to her.

Also.. uh. You won’t lie. Between the both of you being pretty fucking busy almost right off the bat, you haven’t exactly, er. Had the girlfriend conversation with Spinel yet. Other than that one night, people are always around you two. You know you gotta just talk to her about it to clarify, but shit, you’re stupidly anxious about it. Part of your brain is literally screaming at you about being stupid about it, because sure, you had the most nerve-wracking love confession of your life and you two boned and also she definitely said she felt the same way, but what if this is just real casual to her?

Oh my god, you over-think fucking everything. Get it together.

You think not seeing her for two days in-person might be driving you nuts, a little.

"Lars didn't really tell me anything about Spinel. He gave me the jist of it, but told me to ask you for everything else whenever you seemed okay with it." She lets out a long breath, and you watch her eyes focus on you. "Imagine what would've happened if you weren't there with him that day. Do you think she would've killed him?"

"I'm not entirely sure. Honestly? She definitely had the strength to, but it doesn't really matter to me now. She wouldn't harm a hair on anyone's head." You reply, trying to not mull over the Spinel you experienced when you first met.

"You seem to have full faith in her." She states, a small smile forming on her face. "You didn't treat any of the other gems that tried killing Steven with any kindness for at least a month. You're less forgiving than Pearl."

"I spent a month with her alone on a planet, Kiki. I had to learn how to work with her, and she saved my life." You retort.

"Yeah, only cause you put yourself in danger for her." She narrows her eyes at you. “And you’re moving in with her today?” Kiki asks, expression a bit suspicious, smile still on her face. This makes you uneasy.

“Yeah?” You reply, confused. “It’s not that weird, is it? I moved in with Steven fairly quickly.”

“Yeah, except that was a different type of situation, you were a guardian for him. And this is you we’re talking about here.” She levels you with a look. “I feel like I’m missing something you’re not telling me. Like a key part to all of this.”

“L-like what?” You shove another slice of pizza into your mouth to shut yourself up. Not fucking today, dammit. Not today.

“I dunno, there’s just something..” She trails off, her eyebrows drawn together on her forehead as if she’s got a thought within her grasp. She looks at your hand, grasping your phone, squinting her eyes. She then shakes her head. “Whatever, you’ll tell me eventually. It’s not as if you’re sleeping with her.”

You choke on the slice of pizza you’re currently chewing, and violently so.

Kiki’s eyes go wide, and you put a hand up as if you can stop whatever thoughts are racing through her head. Her jaw drops.

“Wait,” You manage to choke out, gasping for air and finding it very difficult. You can't tell if you can feel your face going red from the lack of air, or from this conversation.

“Y/N.” Is all she says, voice dripping incredulously. “Y/N!”

“Kiki, you have the wrong idea-”

“I cannot believe you.” She says, mouth still open. She’s got half a grin on her face like she’s just unearthed the most juicy gossip, and you are SO not here for this. "Wait until Jenny hears about this."

"Kiki!" You wail, and sputter out another cough. "Kiki you can't tell anyone!"

"Why not!?" She cackles. "And besides, I don't even know if she'd believe me anyway. Y/N of all people?!"

"Tell her, and I'll tell Sadie you had a crush on her for a year." You spit out in a panic.

"You wouldn't!" Kiki narrows her eyes at you, face of mock betrayal.

"I would. Watch me." You state, grabbing your phone off the table pointedly.

"Okay okay! Sheesh." She puts her hands up in surrender. "So you gonna tell me the dirty deets or what?"

"No, I don't kiss and tell." You scowl at her, but she doesn't seem put off by it at all.

"Knowing you, that doesn't surprise me." She grabs your glass of water, taking a sip of it. You're not even annoyed. "Guess you and Greg have something in common."

She laughs at her own joke, and you can't help putting your face in your hands and groaning loudly and dramatically. It only makes her laugh harder.

"Shut uuuup." You sigh, grabbing the glass of water from her and taking your own sip.

The two of you talk for awhile as she grills you about Spinel, and you share what you're comfortable with. Eventually, she gets a family of customers in that she has to attend to, and you busy yourself with what you had come here originally to do.

Time passes and you lose track a bit, until your phone vibrates on the table and shakes you out of your concentration.

It's a couple texts from Spinel.

[17:04] Spinel: it'll be a while until I'm free

[17:04] Spinel: there were some ISSUES apparently

You stare at your phone. You try not to be irritated at the situation.

It's not like you haven't seen her in a hot minute or anything. You weren't eager at all to be able to see her face or hear her voice. You sigh, and text her back.

[17:05] Y/N: It's fine.

You stare at your phone for a little bit, but she seems busy enough to not have the chance to respond quickly.

Fuck it, it's not like you have anything else to do. You're tired of the papers and notes in front of you. Might as well make your way over to little Homeworld and wait for Spinel to be free from Peridot's tiny demon hands.

You pack up, and make sure to say your goodbyes to Kiki, who yells at you to text her as you leave the shop.

It doesn’t take you that long to get to little homeworld, and thankfully you know where Peridot is usually working as of late.

You pass by the town center, and the glass in some of the taller buildings glare in the evening sun. There's quite a few gems around, working and building, many conversing with each other. There's a couple humans intermingled with them as well. The general atmosphere is pretty lovely here. You like it.

A Rose Quartz bumps into you on the sidewalk and your bag flies off your shoulder, spilling the contents onto the ground.

"Ah! I'm so sorry!" She spins around, arms out to make sure she didn't shove you off of the sidewalk as well. "I'm just so clumsy." She says, pushing her long pink hair over her shoulder and grabbing for your things on the ground before you can even think to scoop them up yourself.

"It's okay, I wasn't exactly paying attention either." You reply, grabbing the papers that flew out of your bag and onto the street. Thankfully, nothing's damaged. She hands you your stuff, and you place it back into your bag. "Thanks."

"It was mostly my fault anyway." She grins lazily, and you watch her eyes wander around the area of your face where you have that scar. "Hmm, I feel like I've seen your face around here before. You hang out with Steven?"

"You could say that." You smile back at her and shoulder your bag. She's got this way about her that makes you think she's analyzing you, but not out of judgement. "Why?"

"No reason! I'll see you around, cutie." She says with a sly grin and a wink, and you're standing there feeling completely taken aback. Your face heats up a little in embarrassment. That was.. okay. Whatever the hell that was.

You keep walking, mind wandering as you try to figure out what the hell that gem's deal was.

You manage to spot Bismuth near a building with more scaffolding than anything else, and she's huddled with Peridot, Lapis, a couple quartz, and Spinel. You won't lie to yourself when your heart does a little summersault in your chest when you spot her magenta twintails.

They're talking loudly and animatedly about something you can't manage to hear from this distance, and you don't bother to get any closer. You duck into the entryway of a nearby building less than a hundred feet in distance from them just to linger for a moment.

One of the Quartz says something, and they all erupt into laughter, and your eyes are trained on no one but Spinel. There’s something about watching her like this that makes your heart swell, and you feel a bit ridiculous over it. You feel your phone buzz in your pocket, and you tear your eyes away to check it.

It's a message from Steven.

[17:37] Steven: can I ask you for a favor? It's not work related.

[17:37] Steven: Connie's parents invited me to dinner

[17:37] Steven: hELP

You stare at your phone, feeling your face break out into a grin. Someone tries to get into the shop you're standing in front of, so you side step to move out of the way momentarily.

[17:38] Y/N: Haha oh buddy.

You look up after sending the message just to make sure you're in no one's way, and you happen to see Spinel just as she's turning her head in your direction, aaaaaand she's spotted you.

Her face brightens up immediately.

She says something to the others, and most of them turn their faces to peer at you. Your face heats up, and one of them cracks some kind of joke that makes half the others howl in laughter as one of the Quartz slaps Spinel's back in jest.

What the fuck are they saying?!

She manages to disengage herself, waving a couple loud goodbyes as the others let her go. It sounds like they make another joke at her expense, they all laugh as she runs to catch up to where you're waiting for her.

She groans as she reaches you, bringing her gloved hand up to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun.

"What the hell did you say to them?!" Is what comes out of your mouth instead of a greeting. You glare at the others, and you can’t tell if they can see your expressions, but they sure are howling with laughter.

"Well hello to you too," She replies, cheekily scratching the back of her head. “And I didn't say a word! They just.. kinda figured it out?” She says sheepishly, cheeks coloring a bit. “Guess I talk about 'ya a lot, eheheh..”

Oh my god, ugh. You think you're going to have a heart attack, probably. She's looking at you like she’s holding back a lot of affection. Probably for your sake?

One of them catcalls at the two of you, and you hear another whistling. You feel your eye twitching, but the smile doesn't leave your face.

"No, really, what'd you tell them?"

"That you're my girlfriend, you idiot, because they basically knew that already." She retorts with a roll of her eyes. She grabs your hand, and you feel your face heat up even more. "Let's get 'outta here already."

Well. That answers all your insecurities.

You look forward to the next upcoming days.

#spinel x reader #spinel #su #steven universe #spinel steven universe #home #my fic #thanks for the wait

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aveys6 · 3 years

Text

little wip

how richie's health changes in relation to his relationship w eddie

* the dialogue is rough bc i intend on actually putting it into structured sentences in ao3, bare w me

age 13 - 1989

"sorry guys, cant hang today. i have a hot appointment scheduled with dr noelle" he lifted his eyebrows and shit to insuate prostitution

"so, what, you have a physical?" stan said unimpressed

"that's the techinical term, stanny, but we all know better. i cant wait to have her hot bod all over me on the examination table-"

a chorus of dismissal waves around him, and eddie elbows his upper arm. stan even mutters something about 'examination' being quite a big word for richie to use.

"i bet theyre gonna test you for HIV. or maybe you'll get diagnosed with lung cancer from all of those cigarettes you've been smoking. *insert fact about smoking here that was probably exaggerated*"

"oh yeah? and where'd you hear that? your mommy?" richie challenged, ignoring eddies mention of the 'queer disease'

"ill have you know, dipwad, that my mom is highly educated in the field of medicine. cigarettes are insanely addictive-"

rich cuts him off and mocks with a nasally voice

"according to my calculations, cigarettes have roughly 236 chemicals in them-"

"thats basically true!"

"you guys are infuriating, but im pretty sure eddie's right on this one"

"thank you stan!"

"my mom says its fine because im young"

"im pretty sure she said that in reference to your junk food intake which you should also cut back on-"

"anyway," rich cuts in "im 100% sure everything will go completely fine. my doctor will be swayed by my irresistible charm to which she will then add a couple inches to my heigh chart so i can officially be 5'4 and make fun of you all"

eddie was determined not to smile, his quivering lips miraculously staying straight and expressionless "thats not how it works and you know it"

"not with that attitude!" noogie on eds

"fuckin quit it!"

his heel was practically slapping the waiting room floor, eyes flittering over childish paintings of sea creatures on the walls.

eddies irrational-but-not-quite-irrational rants finally processed in his mind.

richie never liked worrying his friend. he knew the boy's mom was a nutjob and said as such often (as well as vocalized his extreme desire to 'love her up'). he knew eddie was basically brainwashed.

it was scary, having someone worry about you. it means they cared. richie never truly comprehended why they cared. why eddie specifically cared. but it also felt good to have someone worry about him, outside of his mother, who, speaking of, gently placed a hand on his knee to stop its incessant movement.

richie wasnt the prime of schoolgirl crushes. he looked a little buggish: big eyes, thin limbs- clumsy and annoying. he wondered why eddie of all people gave him the time of day, and sometimes even more than that.

"richie toe-zee-air?"

the pair stood up despite mispronunciation.

richie was more than delighted to announce that his appointment was flawlessly average. everyone knows the deal: lie about how many fruits and veggies you consume, exaggerate how early you go to bed, deflect when the doctor asks if you've experienced any romantic or sexual attraction, count the inches of a growth spurt- no biggie.

"im sorry for, like, berating you earlier. i dont like doctors."

"i would hardly call what you did berating eds. it was your normal amount of neuroticism. dont sweat it"

there was a pause

eddie breaks the silence "i just worry sometimes"

ah, so it was confirmed.

"i know you do, eds."

"how do you know the word neuroticism?"

"heard my dad say it."

--------

age 25 - 2001

richie was back to tapping his foot on the linoleum of a waiting room. this time, alone, with no one to calm his fire-y energy. its not like he wanted the tapping to stop anyway. the repetitive motion helped ease the anticipation of getting scolded for letting himself go. this time not by a boy he couldnt catch the name of, but by a licensed professional.

he reasoned that he would rather hear it from the boy. what the hell was that shit bag's name?

this was the first appointment he had attended and organized since his pediatrician refused another after his 22nd birthday. she was already stretching the age limit of which he could visit (said extension curtesy of his dad being friends with medicinal people).

he figured it was time to move on with his life once snotty kids started giving him weird looks for fidgeting with the baby toys displayed near check-in. what says being an adult more than scheduling your own health appointments? richie answers that question by saying 'having to pay for them'.

richie's silent complaints are interrupted by a soft knock. a very typical, white-haired, doctor you'd see in movie, type of dude sauntered in.

"mr tozier, im dr sigman, how're we doin'?" he said, pumping obscene amounts of hand sanitizer.

richie replied automatically, "i'm doing pretty well, doc', how are you?"

as one can tell by the excruciatingly boring small talk, richie seemed to have lost his most palatable edge: quirky socialization.

"eh, my condition is not what's important here. how about you sit up on this here table and we can listen to your heart and lungs."

richie followed the instruction, heart rate increasing accordingly. the paper on the bench-table-thing crinkled far too loudly to be acceptable. maybe he was hungover. it would explain the heightened senses.

"so, according to your medical records, tozier, you haven't had an annual physical since- uh..." the man scanned his clipboard, "1998, correct?"

"that is correct, sir" his ears were aflame.

"mkay. you eat healthy?"

okay, then, they were getting right into it

"as healthy as i can, sir" what kind of fuckin answer was that?

dr sigman grimaced a bit, clearly knowing richies response meant his patient ate an apple every month or so to throw his body for a loop or, rather, 'reset' the ol' immune system. a shallow try at 'taking back your life' like some tabloid bullshit.

"you have a stable sleep schedule?"

richie shrugged with an "i guess" that conveyed that his average hours of sleep per night were as dreadful as his attempt at a balanced food pyramid plate.

"smoke or drink?"

now thats the million dollar question

#richie tozier #it 2017 #it 2020 #eddie kaspbrak #reddie #yeah idk

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chonzu · 3 years

Text

This is the beginning of an idea I had where Atsuhiro survives the attack and ends up in Tartarus. I want to expand on it but I’ve worked on this for a few days and I’m happy with it I suppose! Spoilers for Chapter 294/295 ofc.

I apologize for the weird formatting, I’ve been working on mobile/iPad for a while now.

He loved the League. He would give his life for the League and their leader’s ideals and he knew that’s how it would end as he hit the ground, snatched out of the air by the blond child he’d barely seen once before months ago at the Yakuza base, and while the rest of that battle lasted barely more than a few minutes, Atsuhiro fell in and out of consciousness more times than he could count. He could not move no matter how hard he tried, but that was alright. If Shigaraki had gotten away, well. He couldn’t blame the kid for leaving him behind.

Atsuhiro let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

“Hurry! Go, get the Tartarus staff on site! Get...we need…....alive...”

If he couldn’t move anyway he wasn’t going to struggle—everyone was gone, surely, and the heroes were getting tended to, going by the muffled voices and sirens, and he’d accepted his death by now. As long as his sacrifice wasn’t for nothing, it would be alright.

He was roughly moved again, his mind fogging up more as a numb pain crawled up his side. His arm was restrained, locked down; his body was jostled until he was shoved roughly into the back of a cold vehicle onto a starkly-cold metal surface. Atsuhiro tried to open his eyes, but this was it for him. He let that darkness take him, hoping that the young boss, Spinner, and Dabi had gotten away.

His eye snapped open into quiet darkness, into what he guessed was a small and sterile room barely bigger than a closet. Machines hummed and chugged gently to his left and his right shoulder pressed against a cold concrete wall. He tried to speak but his throat was drier than a desert, leaving him sputtering and coughing until he’d caught his breath.

He couldn’t lift his right arm, a cuff had been attached to his wrist, his fake left eye and left mechanical arm had been removed, and he could only imagine what other types of straps were keeping him down on the bed that wasn’t very comfortable and they’d never given him any blankets or turned the heat up. He may as well exist in a dungeon and it wasn’t apparent that there were any guards near him at the moment.

With his wrist cuffed as it was, it blocked his hand from being unable to touch anything and he didn’t have any smart ideas to get out of this. Truthfully, he thought he was dead, but the straps were tight and deliberately made to keep him from moving his arm at all. The numbness in his hip and chest was almost too much but if he squeezed his eyes shut he almost couldn’t feel it. He felt a little lost and panicked without his left arm.

Remember, he thought. Remember. What got him into this place? A heist gone wrong? Did he steal something from a hero more high-profile than he’d expected? A more dastardly villain than he’d hoped? His work with the League often brought him to many unsuspecting places, but up until recently they’d been working on projects with...the Meta-Liberation Army.

Atsuhiro opened his eye. There’d been a war. That’s right, yes. He’d watched the boss get away, but he couldn’t remember anything after being grabbed by that sunny-haired kid he’d thought they’d gotten rid of a long time ago.

A few minutes into trying to relax, Atsuhiro realized that an alarm was going off on the machine and only got louder and worse the more he suddenly panicked. He pulled against the restraints to no avail. His heart nearly lept out of his chest when the door flew open, the room flooding with a fleet of armed guards and heroes silhouetted black against the harsh white fluorescent lighting that spilled into the room.

“Wh— what?”

A strong hand grabbed his face and turned his head every possible direction, to which he objected loudly and wasn’t heard. The doctor who grabbed him turned him to face them, their gaze cool and steady, but unfocused. He heard whispers from the front of the room that maybe they should stick a muzzle on him like one of their other prisoners, but the doctor handling him waved them away.

Atsuhiro was poked and prodded. “Please, come on. Take me to dinner before you start doing that. I’m /starving/.”

“We both know that’s not going to happen, Sako.” The doctor pressed their lips together, barely giving him so much as a look as they hummed, tapped a pen against their lips, and started to scribble on a clipboard. “Prisoner is awake, far too alert, and begging for food. I’d say we’ve done a good job here.”

“Fuck— what? Prisoner?” Atsuhiro struggled again. “At least tell me where the fuck I am!” Sharp pains in his side would have crumpled him if he didn’t have the restraints tied over his chest.

The doctor turned their back to him. “Prisoner is starting to panic. Sedate him."

They left in a hurry, coat a flurry of fabric behind them lime a cape, and Atsuhiro noticed the lines of drips going into his arm. He struggled more, but when what he assumed was an intern leaned down over a tray of medication he suddenly felt faint.

Before he fainted, Atsuhiro watched a fuzzy guard wave at him.

No, no, no, he thought. No. He couldn’t go out like this again. His eye closed however, and darkness claimed him once more when the door shut tightly and he fell into a fitful doze.

"Sako Atsuhiro."

His whole body tingled as he lifted his head. He felt like his mind was rapidly being overwhelmed by the sharp lights, solid metal room, and his arm held at a strange angle, while his body lagged behind him as if trapped in syrup. He had been given only enough pain medication to sit up and talk, but it made his mind fuzzy and he squinted against the harsh white lights of the room and the spotlights angled directly at him. Restraints kept him firmly against the chair, so he was unable to escape. He couldn't if he tried.

Atsuhiro cleared his throat, squinting. "Yes. Yes that's...that’s my name. How can I help you? Besides giving away all of our best secrets, of course."

The man who spoke to him seemed as nondescript as the next guy. Tall, short brown hair, quite a friendly face, business casual. Definitely not the kind of person who would be the main character in a show. A stack of papers sat under his hand. "It's just me in here."

"Okay? And the two hundred people recording this conversation?"

"I just want to talk."

"Well we certainly are! How's life treating you?"

"That's irrelevant. Sako, we have you listed for numerous crimes such as theft, destruction of property, child endangerment, involvement with the League of Villains and the Meta-Liberation Army, just to make a few. Just recently you were caught attempting to land an attack on our heroes.

"I don't really know what to say to that?”

The man hummed. "I understand. We’ll be keeping an eye on you, of course. You have a hip replacement and reconstruction scheduled soon. I’ll be visiting every few days.”

Atsuhiro resisted rolling his eyes. “Please, why are you telling me all of this.”

“Why not? You can’t escape, you can’t move.”

“I see. You know, it’s polite to at least tell someone your name? You seem to know me /quite/ well.”

The man pressed his lips together. He spent a moment writing down a few of his own notes. “I guess you can call me Tsukauchi.”

Atsuhiro blinked, mulling it over. He’d never heard of that name before. “Okay. Why are you bothering to fix me up?”

“The marble that you compressed was lost at the scene so there wasn’t a way to even attempt to assess what you’d lost.” Tsukauchi shrugged. “We obviously need you alive, which I’m sure you already know?” He raised an eyebrow and Atsuhiro pouted. “All prisoners at Tartarus receive /some/ kind of care. We aren’t heartless villains.”

“Yeah, and you use that care to keep us alive and trapped here and for what?”

“Sir, you were involved in committing mass murder.”

“Pah!” Atsuhiro straightened his shoulders. “So let me guess. Keeping me alive here is a worse punishment than death?”

“If that’s how you would like to see it.” Tsukauchi wasn’t looking at him, but seemed to be quite a good listener. “My time here is short today, but I’ll be back again shortly.”

“I look forward to it.” Atsuhiro gave the man his sweetest smile. Tsukauchi stared at him with a peculiar look, then looked down to gather up his notes.

He left silently. Guards crept out of shadows Atsuhiro hadn’t even realized were there and he was being dragged from the stage again. He couldn’t walk, oh no. He could barely /sit up/ and so he was roughly thrown into a wheelchair, the quirk-neutralizing cuff around his arm was adjusted, and straps tightened around his chest and legs.

The doctor who he’d seen numerous times by now and who he assumed had performed the surgery on him pushed his wheelchair along. They went down long passages, each holding cell specially designed to the needs and quirks of those they held. Atsuhiro’s own holding cell was only the basic one; cold, dry, with solid metal plates and a single bed. Because of the neutralizing cuff on his wrist, he wasn’t able to compress himself, and even if he was, there was a second cuff that held his hand at a specific angle and had a cage around it to leave him unable to touch anything. Without his right arm, he’d never be able to get it off on his own. Not unless he pulled some crazy gymnastics, which just weren’t possible with his injuries.

Apparently he was to be getting a slight upgrade to a different wing once his injuries had healed, but they gave a severe estimate of at least six weeks and an incomprehensible amount of physical therapy thereafter—if they deemed that necessary. After all, he was alive, and that’s really all they needed to question him.

Along the way, some of the captured prisoners gave him looks if they were able to look out of the windows on their doors or restrained in tight places facing the hallways for quicker analysis by guards and inspectors. Atsuhiro did not look at any of them.

#MHA #bnha #bnha spoilers #mr compress

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welcome-to-green-hills · 4 years

Note

I feel very comfortable asking you some questions about American stuff because if I ask anyone of my American friends they’d laugh at me. Here are my questions: what is a pretzel? What’s the difference between a college and a university? What is a sophomore?! Why do you have a different measuring system than other regions of the world? How come Americans appear snooty on social media? And what is an ounce? Thank you, I love ya, and thank you for not being like any other American.

Hello, friend! 😇🖐

I’m honored that you feel comfortable asking me these questions. I will not judge you. Not at all! These are very good questions! If your American friends laugh at you for asking things like this, then maybe they’re not worth your time. There is nothing wrong with asking questions like this, these are cultural differences.

I’m more than happy answering these questions for you!😇

First question: “What is a pretzel?”

I know in the Sonic Movie it was mentioned that he refers to Maddie as a pretzel due to the way that she bends. In yoga, there is a pose that one dues that references the twists and curves of a pretzel:

Then there’s food! Yay!

🥨

There are a couple of versions of pretzels in America, some are tiny and hard like a tree nut. Others are larger, soft and a bit crispy like a churro or some lightly salted crisps/potato chips. Normally they’re about the size of one’s hand and come with a small cup of melted cheese or some mustard to dip them in. I know that some who read this wince a tad at the word “mustard,” but it’s not mild tasting as it would be in some regions in Europe. American mustard is like sucking on lemon with sugar. That’s the best that I can describe it, it’s been ages since I’ve had taste buds.

Pretzels do originate from Germany and brought over to the Americas... specifically in the Philadelphia, USA region. The twists have a Christian resemblance to them to honor prayer. You can read more about it HERE if you’d like!🥰

——————————(🥨🥨🥨)——————————

Next question: “What is the difference between a University/Uni and a college?”

I’m trying to think of the best examples I can to explain the difference here... There is a difference between the two. You’re not going crazy, I promise.❤️ School is also very expensive here, at least 48% of the whole American population has some sort of education degree.

We have a Community College, it’s like attending an FE (Further education) and it’s reserved for people between the ages of 16-18 years of age. This is where some go if they want to start attending school, but don’t know what college is like. Think of it as a “university-in-training.”

A college is a step up from a Community College. It is a place where you can get a degree, but it’s much more... relaxed(?) than a university. It does offer sports, like Futbol and American Football, lacrosse, and track—just to name a few. The classes are smaller in size. Think of the biggest room in your house, apartment/flat, or rowhouse; that’s about the size of the room and it normally fits between 25-30 students in it. They only offer some degrees.

A university is much larger. My university has as many as 10,000 students. They’re also much more welcoming to accepting students from around the world. I’m in a class where I’m the only American in it, I have lots from Brazil, Argentina, Ontario, and some in London. There’s one class that I’m in that has about 450 students in it! In a university—sometimes called a Uni—you can receive an undergraduate degree and a graduate degree.

——————————(🏫⚽️📚)——————————

Next Question: “What is a sophomore?!”

Sophomore... a funny word, isn’t it?

It does have a peculiar meaning. Much like how some regions around the world do years 1-11 in their schooling, Americans use terms “freshman, sophomore, junior, and senior” for school and at a university.

Freshman year would be the equivalent to year 9

Sophomore would be the equivalent to year 10

Junior would be the equivalent to year 11

And senior would be like attending a year 12 for ages between 17-18.

Americans only extend school for 7.5 hours and do not go to school on Saturday. It’s a short amount of time due to a few concepts:

The American’s industrial revolution had children working in the fields and factories and had to help families at work or attend to crops.

The American schooling system has it scheduled in a way where a public school’s buses can pick up children at certain times to bring them to school.

Some kids between the ages of 16-18 who still attend public schools go to school in the morning and take retail jobs in the afternoons.

There is an option to take Saturdays as a school day, but that’s if you’re failing a course.

I have my schooling set up for every day of the week so I don’t lose pace in my school work and I’m always in the “know” of the evolving world.

——————————(🏫🖌📚)——————————

Next question: “Why do you have a different measuring system than other regions of the world?”

“What is an ounce” will also follow this statement. This one is a complicated answer, I’m not going to lie. We are taught how to convert our measurements into the universal language so everyone can understand it, but we barely touch up on the subject.

One is based off of money... the other reason has to do with ego.

The Americans have a different system that’s been apart of the culture since the industrial revolution. It was to help keep track of everything that was manufactured in factories and shared across the country. Bigger companies have thought about changing it in the past, but they really don’t want to spend the money.

Boo.

The other reason has to do with ego. The belief here is that if the Americans keep this system of measurement up, then the rest of the world will eventually follow them. It’s got to do with this belief that they’re being leaders of the whole world...

I have always made sure that when I give measurements here I give the American measurements and the correct measurements that everyone understands.

——————————(📏📐📏)——————————

Next question: “How come Americans seem snooty in social media?”

Oh boy... this goes into ettiquites and to ego here.

In the past I’ve always said that once when people reach a certain number of followers and popularity, their personality does change. Sure, having a certain amount of followers is great, but that doesn’t mean that you should show off and become something that you’re not.

That’s not the You that you used to be.

We are a country that has access to everything quickly, made cheaply or sturdy, and we are a rich country. We are in this belief that we are living the “American Dream” of being comfortable and living happy, but a great majority of us here are not. We’re a country that has access to everything in one way or another. Many are spoiled and sheltered in a bubble. Many Americans are not “disciplined,” nor educated, in knowing that one cannot get everything that they desire. If you want something, work for it. Desires shouldn’t be handed over to someone, the true value and worth of it would never be understood...

I think that the reason that many appear and act snooty online is because of attention and the fame behind it. In some way, one form or another, there is a sense of fame to a fandom, a social media, or anything else that quickly draws the attention of others. I think, this is my opinion, that those who act like they’re all that online are looking for evaluation of their self-worth. People venture off in search of popularity and an amologous substance to hold and morph it into their own worth. It’s an approval seeker for them because they’re used to getting everything.

Please set a good example for others...

——————————(🎉🎉🎉)——————————

Listen, I am sorry if there have been encounters before with some Americans that have been unpleasant. I really, truly am.

I will agree that many are difficult to engage with, yes, but it doesn’t give us the right to act like we’re the centers of the universe. I am sorry. I am happy that you do find me approachable with these questions, thank you for asking me! Anytime you have a cultural question as such, you’re more than welcome to ask me. I won’t judge. And I love ya, too!

❤️❤️❤️❤️

#mystery anon #off topic #culture #the americas #i’m an anthropologist

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se-ono-waise-ilia · 4 years

Text

Training the Perranth City Guard

Summary: After about year of rebuilding, Perranth starts to recruit and train the City Guard. Lorcan and Elide are invited to attend their orientation, and Lorcan has some thoughts on the role of the City Guard in Perranth. (Takes places about a year after end of KoA)

Genre: Social Justice, Community, Family, some cute Elorcan fluff at the end.

This story was inspired by current events, which calls to make major change in police training, funding, and more. This is not a perfect story intended to capture all components of the movement. It’s more of a nod to some of its important values.

—-

Elide wasn’t impressed with the City Guard orientation meeting, nor was she disappointed. It all seemed standard procedure - the patrols, schedule, laws that the Guard had to follow, actions by citizens that warranted punitive measures, and such. Elide understood this organization was necessary to the city, but it left her feeling uncomfortable.

She grew up in a place where total control was enforced by guards. Obviously not like the guards in her up-and-coming Perranth, but with similar duties. The Valg guards in Morath had almost the same responsibilities as this City Guard, but Perranth was supposed to be the opposite of Morath: peaceful, free, inclusive, an all-around good place to live. So why did the duties of the Perranth City Guard remind her so much of the guards of Morath?

As she contemplated her unsettled feelings, she glanced at her husband. She immediately noticed the subtle tells that he was also in a state of contemplation. First of all, he was sitting beside her. Normally, he stood behind her or off to the right - more so a warrior than lord, which was a powerful statement to her colleagues in court. But sitting beside her, she could tell he was being intentional about his choice. There was a reason he didn’t want to come across as an intimidating warrior.

He was also hunched forward, forearms on his knees, and hands clasped together. As though he wanted to take action, but was intentionally holding back and strategizing.

But more than his position and body posture, the expression in his eyes struck Elide. It was the expression Lorcan used when he was contemplating one of his fundamental values. An expression he used to direct at her when he was trying to atone for past actions.

Elide no longer felt unnerved, but intrigued. She could sense Lorcan was about to do something significant, but she didn’t know what. She had a feeling she would agree with it and play along.

Lorcan sensed her thoughtful gaze, and made eye contact with her. He didn’t change his facial expression. Then his eye travelled to her slightly pregnant belly.

He continued to stare at her as the facilitator of the training continued on. His name was Captain Chase. He had a very text-book look and character for the leader of a City Guard: experienced, confident, strategic, no-nonsense, efficient above all else. Lorcan didn’t seem impressed with him either, as Elide could tell he was lost in thought and barely listening to the man.

Elide tuned back in to the training, “…These patrols will be directed to these parts of the city in particular, so we have a constant presence where crime is most likely to occur,” Both Elide and Lorcan looked at the map to see where Captain Chase was indicating, and it was the part of Perranth were the impoverished population of new immigrants were struggling to find secure housing. It was something the council of Perranth had been discussing, but no action had been taken as of yet.

Lorcan’s face shifted to disapproval at Captain Chase’s strategy, and he looked to Elide for permission. Elide didn’t know what her husband was thinking, but she trusted him to say and do what he felt needed to be done. She nodded.

“Stop.” Lorcan stated.

Captain Chases stopped mid-sentence, his body frozen. Although the attendees had been quietly listening and writing notes, Elide could feel the room stop moving and breathing altogether. The presence her husband had…she couldn’t help but sigh internally.

Lorcan slowly stood up, and walked to the front of the room. He turned to face the City Guard. Captain Chase went to stand to the side, understanding that his lord had everyone’s undivided attention.

Lorcan stood with his arms crossed, and he stared at no one in particular. Elide could sense he intended to be careful with his words to make a point. Lorcan did not have the charisma of Queen Aelin for inspiring speeches, but he understood how to make an effective counterargument.

Elide also held her breath, but at last her husband spoke, “You know who I am. You know my experiences. So you know I’ve been present in cities…at various stages of…existence.”

The attendees in the room gave a slight nod, while looking intently at her husband. It went without saying, the stories of when Lorcan was a key part in demolishing some cities.

Lorcan continued, “I’ve see many variations of a City Guard, most of which have similar roles to which Captain Chase was instructing.”

Captain Chase did not respond with words or body language. Elide could tell the Captain was uncertain of what Lorcan was about to say, as was she.

Lorcan paused for another moment, “The Captain said there should be a heavier patrol presence in the part of our city that is struggling the most. As if it is expected that there will be more crime in that neighborhood.”

The room, if possible, felt even more silent and still. Captain Chase tensed up slightly at the implied critique.

“I have a question for you all,” Lorcan nodded to himself, as if he approved of his strategy, “Why is it expected for crime to occur in this neighborhood?”

Nobody answered or raised their hand.

Elide shook her head and said, “They may not feel safe, and they may not have choices for survival that are law abiding.” Her answer came from her experience lying her way into a job, and breaking many other laws at a significant moment of her life. And Lorcan’s life.

Lorcan nodded at his wife, “Other thoughts?” He challenged the crowd.

Soon, participants began to call out:

“Insecure housing.”

“They are hungry.”

“The don’t have productive ways to spend time, like a job or school.”

There were some more answers, and then Captain Chase spoke, “They feel that their dignity has been taken away from them, due to circumstances out of their control.”

Lorcan stared at the Captain. The Captain stared back. Lorcan nodded in approval, and Elide swore she could see the Captain’s body relax ever so subtly.

Lorcan stared back into the crowd, “Do you think extra patrols are going to help these people feel safe and supported?”

There were shakes of heads and murmurings that gave the consensus: no.

“Although City Guard patrols are necessary to an extent, the City Guard should also spend their time supporting our community in a way that truly makes the people feel safe and supported.”

The room paused again, but with awe rather than uncertainty. Elide beamed at her husband and lord of Perranth.

“What exactly are you suggesting, lord Lochan?” Captain Chase prompted.

Lorcan looked to the table next to time, retrieved paper and a writing utensil, and handed the materials to a random attendee in the front row, “What’s your name?”

“Gal,” the attendee responded.

“Can you record the following?” Elide again beamed at her husband. He had been working on asking people to do tasks rather than barking at them. With lots of reminders from her, she might add.

The man nodded and readied the writing utensil.

Lorcan looked to the crowd, “I ask for you to call out a problem or crime, but then call out a preventative solution that would likely prevent that problem or crime. For example, if the problem is insecure housing, the preventative solution would be constructing residential buildings.” He nodded to Gal, who wrote it down.

After a moment, people called out:

“People are hungry even though we don’t have a food shortage. Provide more areas in the city to get food, perhaps at no little or no cost to specific populations.”

“People need a way to earn money and contribute. Perhaps there could be a resource to help people find jobs in Perranth.”

“Some are traumatized in a variety of ways from the war and even before then. There should be a place that helps them recover and hopefully heal.” There were additional sounds of agreement to this point. Elide would very much like for Perranth to have healers. Not just to help her figure out her newly healed ankle, but also someone therapeutic to talk to.

“People need may need new skills to find work. Apprenticeships from current businesses could help with that.”

“Some do not speak the same languages, which can escalate emotions. Offering translators with common services could decrease frustrating misunderstandings.”

Elide spoke again, “Some people may not have had educational opportunities to learn how to read and write,” her voice trembled in insecurity, and Lorcan looked upon her lovingly. This look gave her strength, “Perranth not only needs places to learn, but it should be the right for every person in this city to learn at no cost or sacrifice.”

She could feel loving gazes from others, in addition to that of her husband. Upon taking up the mantle as Lady of Perranth, she tried desperately to hide her illiteracy. But after a while, it felt like she was deceiving the council and lying to her people. Her guilt overruled her insecurity.

With no small amount of anxiety, she began to ask people other than Lorcan for help with reading and writing. She expected humiliation, but instead received unending kindness and support. Not only were the people of Perranth respectful of her illiteracy, but they were overly eager to take it upon themselves to teach her. Everywhere she went, and every conversation she had; her citizens would point out letters, numbers, and words to her and explain their meaning.

It became a bonding experience for her and her people. The love she had felt since being open about her insecurity was incompatible to anything she had every felt. It was such a different kind of love than the romance she shared with her husband, and she treasured the feeling. She still had a lot to learn, but she was now able to read very simple texts and write basic prose.

So when she felt the room’s eyes on her, she felt nothing but support and admiration. Then she winked at Lorcan, and he smiled at her.

She didn’t know if it was her earnest participation, Lorcan’s rare display of endearing facial expressions, or the momentum gained from the powerful conversation, but answers from many more attendees come flooding out into the conversation.

An attendee next to Gal got him more paper, and many others in the room were also processing the conversation by writing down thoughts. Elide’s eyes lined with silver at the thought of her City Guard being more than just enforcers of law and justice.

After about 15 minutes of whole group conversation and writing, Captain Chase interrupted, “Forgive me lord and lady,” the room shifted their attention on the Captain, “I recognize the value of the City Guard contributing the the welfare of the community, but these ideas seem more like philanthropic work. Isn’t this the work of others, not the City Guard?”

Lorcan stared at the Captain, and this time the Captain showed difficulty in staring back, and eventually averted his eyes. Elide could tell the Captain was experiencing internal conflict. He wasn’t opposed to the community work, but Elide could tell he was also set in his traditional mindset of the responsibilities of a City Guard.

Elide understood this was her moment to lead. She stood, and walked to stand beside her husband. She could feel the room straightening up, even Lorcan adjusted his posture. She first looked to the Captain, “Yes, this work is not the sole responsibility of the City Guard. And the traditional work of the City Guard will still be respected and done,” she paused, “but on a much smaller scale.”

She then looked to the attendees in the room, “Lord Lochan and I desire the City Guard to have a presence of community support, more than a presence of law and order.

This conversation is only the beginning. Gal, could you please recruit someone sitting near you to help write a copy of everything you just recorded?” Gal nodded, “I will bring this copy to the council. And we will get to work on organizing departments to focus on these issues and solutions if they don’t already exist. The expectation is that the City Guard will use their hours of work to contribute to these causes however appropriate: manual labor, administrative labor, community outreach, and such.”

The Captain boldly countered, “Forgive me my lady, but won’t that send a message to the people that the City Guard is…” he searched for the word, but Elide could tell he was trying not to say something controversial.

She understood his intention, and silenced him with a hand, “Yes, this City Guard will not be like those of other cities. It will not have the tone of intimidation and ultimate authority.”

An attendee stood up. He was almost the size of Lorcan, and almost matched his intimidating presence. Elide had not observed him participating in the conversation until this point, “But if people do not feel the intimidation and authority of those in charge, why would they obey the laws?” Elide noticed this question was directed at Lorcan, not her. She huffed internally.

She analyzed the man for a moment, and saw someone who had used fear as a tool of control. Elide looked to her husband.

For a moment, the man and Lorcan were having a stand off in eye contact, “What’s your name?”

“Key,” he responded. Key was looking to Lorcan for agreement, but it was clear Lorcan was using this moment as a time to think about how to spin the question.

At last, “Everyone stand up.” Everyone did right away.

Lorcan looked towards Elide, “My lady,” he offered his hand. She took it. He led to to one side of the room. Then he let go, and positioned himself on the other side of the room, near the Captain. Everyone remained standing.

“If you have chosen to be a peaceful and law-abiding citizen of Perranth because you know how dangerous I am, and you fear me; stand on this side of the room.” Nobody dared to move, not even Key.

“But…if you have chose to be a peaceful and law-abiding citizen of Perranth because you love and cherish your home and community, stand on the side of the room with lady Lochan.”

After a moment, the people began to move. Elide observed the vast majority, including all of the many women, move to stand near her. Key, and six other men who looked just as menacing and eager for a fight, moved to stand near Lorcan. Elide looked to the Captain, and the Captain was the final person to choose his place.

He crossed the room to stand next to Elide.

There was a moment of quiet as she felt the attendees of the room consider why they chose their place. Elide felt an incredible sense of purpose and pride at the fact that most attendees essentially agreed to the point that they were motivated by love, not fear.

She moved to the center of the room and said, “We want the citizens of Perranth to love and cherish the City Guard as you love and cherish them. But to do that, you need to earn their love through being of service by helping the city in the ways that matter most.”

Lorcan moved to stand next to her, “Your original squad assignments are now invalid. At our next meeting, we will have sign up sheets for all of the causes we listed here today, and maybe some more that we have yet to think of. Your new squad will be the people who sign up for the same cause as you.”

Before the Captain could speak up again, Lorcan continued, “We will still have a number of squads participate in traditional duties of the City Guard. They will alternate every week, such that every squad is mostly doing community work, and sometimes doing traditional work.”

The he stared at the Captain, “And this traditional City Guard work will not explicitly focus on specific populations. They will be fair and just in how they patrol and manage challenging situations. I will personally observe and hold our guards accountable.” Her husband looked more serious than usual at that statement, and the Captain nodded with agreement and respect.

Elide kept the conversation on track, “Captain Chase will be in charge of the functions of traditional City Guard duties under the supervision of lord Lochan. We will need someone in charge of City Guard community support project management, who will attend council meetings and be under my supervision.

Does anyone here have experience managing large groups of people and multiple projects?”

A woman came forward, “My name is Dominique. I used to be in charge of a school in Perranth before… I have significant experience connecting with children, leading teachers, and managing school logistics simultaneously.”

Elide nodded with approval at the woman, “Would anyone else like to submit their candidacy?” No one did, “Very well. Captain Dominique, you will be in charge of the document Gal has written, meet with me, and attend tomorrow’s council meeting with me.”

Elide and Dominique smiled at each other.

Dominique nodded and went to Gal. Elide looked to Lorcan. Her husband addressed the room, “That is all for today. You will be contacted when Captain Dominique announces the second orientation.”

He then turned to the group of men who stood on his side of the room, “I see you men, and I understand you. But if you’re looking for a fight, you are not to be a part of the City Guard,” the men looked outraged, and Lorcan continued, “instead, you will be the guards of our personal estate, and get to fight me on a regular basis as sparring partners.”

The outrage on their faces simmered down as they contemplated this new offer. Lorcan elaborated, “Your duties will include full time grounds patrol, and discretely guarding lady Lochan. When our child is born, you will extend your duties to support the well being of our heir.

I am offering you the job you want, but the only violence you will receive is training with me,” he smiled grimly at them, and Elide noticed them begin to grin back, “Otherwise, you will act essentially as peaceful shields to our home and family. What say you?”

The looked at each other, then took a knee. Key stated, “We serve our lord and lady.” The others repeated Key.

Elide wouldn’t have known what to do with such characters longing for violence in a time for peace. Lorcan apparently thought giving the offer the fight him was a solution…and perhaps Lorcan needed a violent outlet as much as these men did.

Lorcan looked satisfied, “Report to me at dawn tomorrow on the sparring field outside my estate.”

Elide could sense a hint of excitement from her husband. Lorcan couldn’t really be himself around anyone but Elide, as he didn’t want Perranth to fear him. Even though Lorcan clearly didn’t want these aggressive men patrolling a peaceful Perranth, she thought it was possible that Lorcan wanted some like-minded warriors to give him a sense of companionship. Lorcan could likely be his true warrior-self around Key and these men. Elide wondered what nickname Aelin would name this group…

He then looked to the City Guard, “If you notice others will an unquenchable thirst for violence, send them my way immediately. Otherwise, dismissed.”

Every attendee showed some sign of respect to them with a bow, nod of the head, wave, some even asked for a handshake. Including Captain Chase. Gal gave a copy of the records to Captain Dominique, and the other to Elide.

Lorcan pressed a gentle hand again Elide’s back, and she accepted his escort to their next meeting. As they walked, she spoke, “Well that was an unexpected but welcome turn of events.”

Lorcan gave her a proud look, “Our home has a unique opportunity to start fresh in times of peace and plenty.”

She stopped to look at him knowingly, “And your intention was purely for the good of society?”

He stopped with her, and let his gaze wander to her belly. With one hand, he caressed the place where their child grew, and he used his other hand to gently press his wife against him. He looked down into her eyes, and she saw the tiniest glimmer of guilt.

“I realize that in the past, prioritizing the one I love without thought for others had devastating consequences,” he took a breath, “and I regret the narrow focus I once had.”

She put her hands on his face and lovingly caressed his cheeks with her thumbs. He continued, “This is the time for me to love more than just you. To love our city, so it will thrive. And be a safe and happy place for our child to grow up, knowing that love.”

He leaned down as she pressed up, and they met in the middle for a chaste kiss.

When she pulled away, she chuckled with the thought of a silly but possibly wonderful idea.

“What is it?” Her husband questioned her as they once again began walking, his hand still on her back.

“Well, arts programming is a service that will provide jobs and entertainment, which will help sustain peace and community.”

He looked at her to continue.

She smiled up at him, “Perhaps you could train your new lackeys in flaming sword throwing, and your could start a Perranth circus,” she couldn’t help but burst out in giggles.

Lorcan’s eyes lit up and he chuckled. They rounded a corner and he pressed Elide into a wall as she continued to giggle, “And will there be a beautiful oracle with red lips oggling me in the crowd?”

Elide quelled her giggles, “Always.”

The kissing to follow was anything but chaste.

#elorcan #elide lochan #lorcan #elide x lorcan #lady elide #lord lorcan lochan #throne of glass #kingdom of ash #tog #kos #sarah j mass #perranth #lady of perranth #lorcan salvaterre #SJM #sjmaas #tog fanfic

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meta-squash · 4 years

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[Old Manics meta repost, originally written in 2015 or 2016. I was definitely in a....place....when I wrote this.]

Cue yet another long convoluted rambling strange post about Richey Edwards and Theodor Adorno. For some reason this has been rolling around in my head as half-formed thoughts for a while. They’re definitely still half-formed, but I wanted to get them out of my head and into something slightly more sentence-like.

[Uhh, TW for weird logic, ED-style thinking, and convoluted ill-formed ideas.]

In one of Richey’s manifestos to a zine in December 1992, he writes “THE GODS THOUGHT THERE IS NO MORE DREADFUL PUNISHMENT THAN FUTILE AND HOPELESS LABOUR. GROW UP, GET FUCKED, WITHER. NO ONE IN THIS COUNTRY KNOW HUNGER, TRUE HUNGER LIKE SOMALIA. EVERYONE HAS CLOTHES, FOOD, A DRINK. EVERYONE IS LAST, PATHETIC WRETCHED. THE ONLY FREEDOM LEFT IS THE FREEDOM TO STARVE. FILL YOUR HOME WITH ANYTHING YOU LIKE BUT YOU CAN’T INVENT ANOTHER COLOUR…” The “freedom to starve” quote keeps being attributed to him on the internet, or to Tom Morello, lead singer of Rage Against The Machine, who has a different but similar quote about capitalism and labor exploitation that includes the phrase. (It also appears in the comic V For Vendetta, apparently.) But the phrase didn’t originate with them. I keep seeing repeated uses of it when reading essays by Theodor Adorno from the 60s, and I’m sure the phrase is probably older than that. Morello’s quote containing the phrase is essentially summarizing one of Adorno’s ideas.

So far I’ve come across the phrase in two of Theodor Adorno’s essays. One is in “Freedom In Unfreedom”. In essence, it discusses the paradox of the idea of freedom in our current society. He essentially says that people no longer have a specific concept in mind when they invoke the word “freedom,” and that the nature of present society means that whatever concept of freedom we come up with is not possible because it contradicts current circumstances. He gives the example of early Nazi Germany, when an social-democratic organization took up “Freedom” as its slogan, but the concept and the term had lost its power entirely because employment was incredibly low, and people were struggling, so upholding freedom as a conceptual principle which implies self-determination looked foolish because in practice no one is free and everyone is unemployed and starving and unable to access food/wellbeing and therefore unable to practice self-determination. He says “In other words, freedom was exposed as the freedom to starve; people had direct experience of their dependence on society, a dependence that made a mockery of a freedom that was defined in purely formal terms.”

The other Adorno essay that uses the phrase is “The Culture Industry: Enlightenment as Mass Deception”. Basically, in the section that uses the phrase he discusses the way that the culture industry (or mass culture) exploits and uses artists by homogenizing them. He says “anyone who resists can only survive by fitting in.” Freedom is supposedly given to each individual (in society, in art, in expression, in culture, in the workplace) but if a person doesn’t inherit the ability or resources to succeed in life, then this freedom becomes the “freedom of the stupid to starve”. People who aren’t able to adapt to society’s expectations/who question or refuse to conform are neglected and made to starve, literally or metaphorically. The blame is placed on them for their inability/unwillingness to adapt or conform, because they were “given” the opportunity to succeed (despite that opportunity requiring conformity, or changing their nature, or giving up morals, etc). So a person who is unable or refuses to conform to society and culture and the working class, who goes hungry or cold (literally or metaphorically), is an labelled outsider. They retain their integrity, or their morals, or their original artistic vision, but they suffer through loss of wealth, or faith, or by being rejected and called an outsider and being mocked or no longer listened to. They are free, but at a price.

Applying this to Richey, I thought it was interesting that he seemed to be taking freedom to starve both literally and figuratively. “Freedom to starve” becomes a refusal to consume in certain ways, ascetism, essentially. It becomes a literal or physical manifestation of the neglect that occurs when a person refuses to conform to society’s expectations. It becomes Richey refusing to conform to society’s expectations of food consumption while also refusing to conform to musical and artistic standards by creating The Holy Bible and specifically pointing out the wrongs of society. The band having complete control over the album, hiding in their studio and working together without any outside influence pushes against the expectation of producers/managers/sound engineers/labels/etc having partial influence or control over the sound of a band’s music. Richey’s inability to adapt mentally to fame, to touring, to the stress of schedule, etc etc also is a sort of manifestation of that “freedom of the stupid to starve”, in that he was unable to properly adapt to what was expected of him in terms of fame and touring, and he was blamed for it and seen as strange for disliking aspects of fame.

This is where I get into some interesting, if problematic, ideas. Richey seemed to kind of take the idea to another level through his eating disorder. Freedom to starve/freedom of restriction essentially becomes true freedom because it takes back control of body mind and spirit. Richey sort of talked about this in an interview with Simon Price in 94 in France. He mentioned that people can’t hold you down and force you to eat/watch you all the time, and that your body is your own and you should have a right to do with it what you want. Essentially, self mutilation/self harm/restriction becomes a mode of self-control, a reclamation of the body from expectations of society. Society expects excess and encourages/wants consumption. In creating consumption, the culture industry takes control of the mind and the body by telling consumers what they want even if they didn’t originally desire it, saying it over and over and continually producing under consumers are convinced that they do want whatever they are being given. Self-mutilation, restriction and ascetism removes that and reclaims the body as owned by itself and its mind. It puts control back into the awareness of the self and the body and the mind, which forces the self to be aware of the influence of culture industry. This awareness allows the self to refuse that influence, the refusal of which includes those actions or decisions that go against the expectations or desires or encouragements of society. It also confronts the fact that society sees certain types of expressions of emotion/mental state as “wrong” or maladaptive and those who express themselves a certain way are marked as outsiders. Repression and restriction and stoicism becomes revenge for society marking you as outsider for expressing rage at unfreedom/expressing emotions that are seen as maladaptive. Self-harm or starvation becomes a reclamation of the mind and the emotions, and increasing of that maladaptive expression in order to basically reject society’s expectations altogether. Richey essentially says that when talking about his time in hospital; self-harm or self-restriction takes back control of body and mind from expectations of doctors and society – they can’t hold you down and force food down your throat, someone can’t be with you 24 hours a day, it’s my body I do what I want with it.

The height of this could be disappearance/death: refusal to participate “correctly” in society, refusal to “be” in society in the expected way. A rejection of literally all things. James Bradfield notes that a major theme in Journal For Plague Lovers is a rejection of experience, a rejection of expected lyrical formats, and a rejection of some sort of answer or truth. A realization that nothing seems to be working. A refusal to continue to consume or participate correctly or to express consumption or participation correctly, especially in that the meanings or messages of most of the songs are completely obscured through unconnected phrases or disparate references that take research to decipher. The idea is sort of expressed in individual songs from the album as well. All Is Vanity asks questions of vanity extremes vs personal neglect – which one is refusal to participate correctly? Are they both refusal? Are they the same? Inability to adapt correctly compared to what is expected/right vs what you are doing and how your actions are called into question as incorrect. Discipline is respected, but certain types of discipline are seen as different/maladapted compared to the expectations of society or the culture industry, which allows for the question of which type of discipline is “wrong” or “right” and does it depend on perspective? Excesses are lauded in the culture industry, consumption is encouraged, as is vanity and obsession with the self, and ascetism or restriction and neglect of the self is seen as wrong. But extreme excess of consumption is also frowned upon or mocked. Society encourages a certain amount of excess and consumption in order to control and delude. In encourages and creates consumption so that the consumer doesn’t stop and thinking about how they are being made to overwork and overconsume in ways they probably didn’t originally want to be doing but have been convinced into by society. Refusal of consumption/vocal awareness of participation in consumption becomes maladaptive because it’s not what society wants, which is exactly the kinds of words and things the band was expressing.

And the idea of disappearance or death takes all of this to the highest level, in that disappearance rejects society’s expectations entirely, refusing to participate in society in a “correct” way. It is also expressing whatever sort of emotions or thoughts a person might have in a way that creates an absence (metaphorical and literally) rather than yet another thing to be consumed. Disappearance when a person is still living is a complete reclamation of the body and self because the person essentially is able to drop out of society as themselves, and even if they assume a different identity, they are still inherently refusing to participate in an expected way, still creating an absence of a person and an absence of an identity, and in using a false identity that refusal becomes even more complex. Death, too, and specifically suicide, is a refusal to participate in society, but in a much more final way. Suicide is yet another reclamation of the body, since it is by one’s own hand and willpower that one’s life is taken, not through illness or another person or old age. It creates a different kind of absence, since often a suicide, since there is a body and often a note, gives answers or at least there is a physical proof of refusal and a physical proof of that person’s death. A suicide creates a narrative with finality, with refusal as the finality and therefore certain aspects of absence are filled in with the assumptions that come with suicide and death in general. A disappearance has a narrative with an ellipses rather than a full stop, and because it is left open, the absence and refusal are left with unanswered questions, reasons, and unspoken ideas, specifically because it is a kind of refusal to participate that is completely unexpected and cannot be explained with a body or a note.

I don’t really have a conclusion to these thoughts or any sort of cumulative idea or whatever. I just was thinking about the phrase “the only freedom left is the freedom to starve” and what it meant in relation to Richey when Adorno is applied.

#manic street preachers #manic street preachers meta #old meta repost #from 2016

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hedgehogsofasgard · 5 years

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Why you shouldn’t always trust your vet’s advice blindly

and why people on the internet are sometimes right.

Lately I’ve been seeing a few posts going around in hedgehog Facebook groups accusing people of “hating vets” and how vets should always be trusted 100%, and be trusted over advice from the community.

I think it’s important to address these concerns. First, pointing out wrong and possibly dangerous vet advice has nothing to do with hating vets. I respect and appreciate vets and their hard work and I’m positive most others in the community feel the same way. But that doesn’t mean I trust every vet blindly, and neither should you. The same goes for advice given on the internet. So who should you trust?

When it comes to common pets such as cats and dogs there are plenty of experienced vets and there is plenty of scientific research on a wide variety of subjects. When it comes to exotics however, there is very little information, most of it is outdated and vets don’t get to work with these animals very often. They learn little to nothing about these animals in vet school. This post isn’t about cats and dogs and other common pets. This post is about the rare exotics and the difficulties of finding the right balance between vet care and input from the community.

Let me take my own pets as an example: I own animals most vets have never seen before in their lives. I own animals most vets have never even heard of.

This means I can confidently say that I, as an owner, rescuer and breeder, have more experience and knowledge about my animals than the vast majority of vets. The same goes for many other people in the community who have experience with certain exotics. Experience which spans years or sometimes even decades. Compare the experience of someone like that to the lack of experience of most vets. Someone who has owned a certain species for years versus someone who just read half a page about them in a veterinary handbook or Googled some symptoms. I’ve been in situations where the vet actually told me they felt bad about having to charge me because they learnt more from me than the other way around.

I have several years of experience in caring for these animals, I read every scientific paper I can get my hands on and I am an active member of the (online) communities. My vets and I work closely together and we’ve read the same handbooks and manuals. Many of these contain outdated information. Sometimes there’s new research on a subject that hasn’t been included in veterinary handbooks yet and sometimes it’s through trial and error by the community that new things get discovered. It is very important for a vet not to dismiss this as “keyboard nonsense”. There are certain things I leave up to my vet and there are things I leave up to myself; the research I’ve done and the input of the community. I might be experienced in some fields but there are others I know nothing about. For me, vets are there for everything I can’t do myself: this includes veterinary treatment such as surgeries. This is often not species specific and this is something vets have studied for and know more about than I do, so that’s where I’ll have to trust them. Same goes for choosing the right medication and dosage, although some treatments are up for discussion (such as the use of Ivermectin).

For everything else I trust my own experience, research and the community more than my vet. Simply because the latter doesn’t have the experience and knowledge on subjects such as general care, behaviour, nutrition... during vet school they have learnt little to nothing about these species (and what they learnt is often outdated) and at work most of them don’t get much real hands-on experience with these species either. Take nutrition for example. The community knows most hedgehog food is unsuitable for hedgehogs due to its ingredients, yet many vets still recommend it simply because that’s what they learnt from their textbooks or in school. This is often information from decades ago.

As an example of something which could be easily prevented if the vet did more research/the owner would’ve listened to the community instead of blindly following the (inexperienced) vet, let’s take a look at Wobbly Hedgehog Syndrome (WHS).

Probably one of the most common medical mistakes regarding pygmy hedgehogs is vets diagnosing them with WHS, a very rare degenerative disease a bit similar to multiple sclerosis in humans. This disease is extremely rare and presents itself (usually) with a gradual onset of a wobbling, unsteady gait and paralysis starting at the back end, which worsens over the course of several months. WHS can only be diagnosed through necropsy. There is no way to diagnose the disease when the hedgehog is alive. The cause is unknown, although there are a few theories, and there is no cure.

Over the years I’ve seen a disturbing amount of hedgehogs diagnosed with WHS, while they were alive (impossible), and very obviously suffering from something completely different. Some of them have died while they could have been cured if they’d gotten the proper treatment instead of a misdiagnosis. In hedgehogs, one of the first major signs of illness (often after people have failed to notice the minor ones, since hedgehogs are incredibly good at hiding their illnesses) is wobbling and an unsteady gait. In fact it can be caused by something as simple as a hibernation attempt which is easily reversed by warming up the animal. Some illnesses which can show similar symptoms to WHS are: hibernation attempts, inner ear infections, a stroke, other neurological damage, spinal damage, malnutrition, a severe mite infestation, organ failure, and more.

Some of these issues are incredibly common and easy to treat as opposed to the non-curable and rare WHS.

I’ve seen people with shaky or (partially) paralysed hedgehogs go to a vet, only to be given a WHS diagnosis which essentially means a death sentence for the animal. Recently someone I talked to had this happen to them and when people suggested a second opinion with a different vet, they went and x-rays were taken. The animal turned out to have a slipped disk which was treatable. I’ve rescued a hedgehog several years ago which was found outside and brought to an inexperienced vet who told them the animal was paralysed. It turned out she was just severely emaciated and she made a full recovery. And there are more stories like this. These are just two examples of misdiagnosis.

The community isn’t always right either

Just like not every vet knows all about hedgehogs and tenrecs (or other exotics), not everyone online does either. And even if people are very knowledgeable that doesn’t mean they are always right, or that there’s only one way to do things. All of this can be very confusing especially to new owners. It is understandable that many of them will - at first - trust their vet blindly, after all aren’t they “the authority” on animal husbandry and veterinary medicine since they actually went to school for it? We’ve already established such a degree means little to nothing when it comes to certain subjects of exotic animal care, but that doesn’t mean everyone on the internet is suddenly right. Someone can own animals for decades and still have questionable care practices.

When posting a story or a video which shows a shaking, wobbly hedgehog just as many owners will reply with concerns about WHS - even if the likelihood of the disease is extremely small.

When it comes to exotics like hedgehogs and tenrecs, neither should be trusted blindly: not the vets and not the community. Ideally, the two should work together. And none should want to replace the other.

Internet advice should never replace a vet visit

Do: asking for advice online while heading to a vet.

Don’t: asking for advice online and not going to a vet.

In the first situation, you and your vet can examine the animal and compare the advice given with the vet’s knowledge on the subject. Especially when the vet isn’t too experienced, advice from more experienced owners and breeders (or other vets) can help in certain situations.

As for the second situation - people on the internet are not a replacement for a vet. I can’t stress this enough. When in doubt, ALWAYS go to a vet. Even vets themselves aren’t supposed to diagnose your animal from a picture on the internet. Vets exist for a reason.

Do: voicing concerns and advising people to seek out proper treatment.

Don’t: diagnosing illnesses from a story online (whether you’re a vet or not).

When I see someone with a sick hedgehog or tenrec and I’m suspecting a certain illness or a misdiagnosis, I don’t just point it out. I recommend seeking out vet care or a second opinion. Not a “your hedgehog has x” or “your vet is wrong, your pet doesn’t have x it has y”. Instead: “I suspect it might be x, please seek out veterinary treatment, we cannot give a diagnosis or recommend specific treatment online” or “I suspect it might be y instead of x. It is a common misdiagnosis and your description/picture/video points towards something else than the current diagnosis. I recommend going to a different vet for a second opinion”. Why? Because I am not a vet, and even if I were, I wouldn’t give out veterinary advice online.

Example: I received pictures of a very sick hedgehog from someone who just came back from a holiday and found their hedgehog unresponsive and very weak. Everything pointed towards a severe mite infestation. I told the owner, who already had a vet appointment scheduled. The hedgehog was put under to be examined and the owner mentioned the possibility of mites multiple times but this was dismissed by the vet. They didn’t find anything else but the vet suspected kidney damage and send them home with a glucose injection and some Hills a/d to syringe feed. Once back home, the owner sent me a close-up video of what the vet said was “sand” or “dust”, except it was crawling all over the hedgehog. Not only did the vet dismiss the concerns of me and the owner, they somehow managed to miss a severe mite infestation while examining the animal under anaesthesia. The animal received proper treatment after a second visit to a different vet but unfortunately didn’t make it.

Tips on finding a good vet

A good vet is worth their weight in gold. They do an incredibly difficult job for which they often don’t get the recognition they deserve. A job that can be very emotionally draining. And they have to deal with people who “know better” all the time. People who’ve read something online, follow the latest fad, read fake studies and voice concerns with no scientific backup whatsoever. I can fully understand a vet wanting to eye-roll at a client who read something online and is convinced their pet now has that incredibly rare disease and didn’t just catch a simple URI. With the internet it almost seems like everyone can become an expert in just a few clicks. When it comes to treating exotics however, there is indeed a wealth of knowledge amongst the community that can’t be found in textbooks and isn’t taught in school. Vets need to realize this. The only way to work with exotics is more often than not by trial and error. By listening to experienced owners and discussing treatments with other vets.

Especially when you own exotics like hedgehogs and tenrecs finding a good vet is important. Here are some tips:

Find a good vet before you get your pet. Another thing I can’t stress enough. Nothing as heartbreaking as having a very sick animal and not being able to find a vet who can treat them. And, this is probably not something people want to hear: don’t get the animal if you cannot find any good vets within travelling distance. If there is no one in your area to treat them, it doesn’t matter how badly you want the species: don’t buy them. It is incredibly unfair to the animal and it’s entirely on you if you cannot provide veterinary treatment when the animal needs it.

Keep in mind that most exotic vets are more expensive than regular vets.

Find an experienced vet and ask them about their experience. Ask them how often they have treated said species. Some people think treating a hedgehog twice and following one class on them years ago means being “experienced”. It isn’t.

Respect the decision of some vets not wanting to treat your animal because they don’t feel qualified to do so.

If you really cannot find an experienced vet - and this is almost always the case with rarer exotic species like tenrecs - find a vet who is willing to learn.

In fact this is one of the most, if not the important thing I look for in a vet. They need to be willing to learn and be open to input from others. This means discussing treatments with other vets in the country (or from other countries), as well as with me. They need to be willing to listen and adjust their information if it turns out to be incorrect. It isn’t about who’s right or wrong, it is about the animal receiving the proper treatment.

Find a vet who’s honest about their inexperience. Do not expect them to know everything, and do not blame them for it. Very little is known about hedgehogs and tenrecs and some things aren’t researched well enough or simply not at all. A vet doesn’t necessarily need to be very experienced with the species, being eager to learn and keep their knowledge up to date is more important.

A vet should be transparent about the treatment and discuss it with the owner. Concerns regarding treatment shouldn’t be dismissed.

A vet should be willing to look up things online/read up on online advice together with you and not dismiss any information that isn’t from a veterinary textbook. Do not pick a vet who will only listen to people in their own field or their textbooks.

I’ve been to and heard of experienced exotic vets which refused to listen to the owner, misdiagnosed animals or simply turned out to be not so experienced after all. On the other hand there’s vets with zero experience but who’ve done an excellent job treating animals simply because they wanted to learn, were open to input from the owner and others (from the medical/scientific field as well as the community). I’d take the latter over the former any day.

So, long story short: when it comes to exotic animals such as hedgehogs and tenrecs vets aren’t always the most trustworthy authority especially not in any field other than medical. If multiple experienced people in the community question certain veterinary advice, chances are high it is indeed incorrect and possibly harmful. The same goes for advice that can be found online - it doesn’t always have to be correct. Do not trust every source blindly, vet or otherwise, and do as much research as possible so you can make an informed decision on what would be best for your pet.

#animals #pets #petblr #hedgehog #african pygmy hedgehog #tenrec #exotic animals #exotics #vetblr #vet #vet care #veterinary medicine

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