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Remember when the fucking Notre Dame burned down and everyone knew instantly and it was over every single news outlet?
Well there’s been a massacre going on in Sudan for DAYS and NOBODIES COVERING IT!
So there is currently a media blackout in Sudan to try and coverup the horrors taking place:
Stop what you’re doing and please reblog this. Innocent people are being murdered, people are trapped, have no internet access, and are being raped by the dozens on the streets of Sudan.
The death toll is estimated to be over 300 civilians. And the fact that not a single major news outlet is covering this is horrific and disgusting. Please help get the word out about Sudan!
We mourn. We remember. We stand with the LGBTQ community against hate and violence.
21 lives were lost, including 19 children.
There are no words.
Rest In Peace to these beautiful babies. 💔
a story in two pictures. two suns out of context: 5/???
OKAY I HAD THIS CRAZY 5 MIN DREAM LAST NIGHT ABT ECHO RAPH AND A BABY. CRAZY RIGHT? WANNA KNOWS WHATS EVEN CRAZIER? I WROTE A WHOLE ASS 19 PAGE STORY ABT IT FOR A DAY. I HAVE GONE PLACES.
Anyways here's the story lol. (It's is super long I am not joking) (super unrendered and angsty so read at your own risk)
Raph comes rushing into the lair one night, beaten and out of breath. Holding something making a lot of noise. Of course this wakes everyone up.
"Raph- What the hell-?!" a very drowsy Leo groans.
"Raph. What happened." Deadpans Donnie, straight to the point, as always. Mikey gasps when he sees the scrapes on his brothers body.
"Guys, guys! Give Raph some space! Jeez!" The turtle in question exclaims.
"Red? Is that... a baby?" splinter asks with a surprised look on his face.
Everyone in the room goes silent.
Except for Raph, he still breathing hard, but not dying so it's fine.
Raph lifts part of the dirty blanket holding the baby.
Everyone has their own reaction.
Leo's wasn't the best one.
"Raph!! Why the hell would you bring a baby to the sewers?!?" Leo whisper-yells.
Raph's face turns sullen as he looks a the now sleeping baby in his arms.
"His mother was killed." He says as his brow furrows in sadness.
"Oh no..." Mikey whispers.
"She was on the way home, and some muggers tried to take her purse. Obviously she fought back. But It was already too late when I heard the gunshot." Raph continued.
"What the muggers didn't realize was that she was holding a baby and not a purse. I was... I was so angry!"
A pause.
"I beat them up. Then I took the baby and ran here." Raph finishes.
Everyones face has changed into one of horror and sadness.
Raph sniffles, "I... I didn't know what to do..."
Splinter is the one who speaks up first, "My son..." he holds his arms out and closes the distance between them.
Raph's lip quivers as he kneels down to be hugged by his father.
His brothers join the hug, Raph sobs quietly.
...
Echo creeps into the lair, just to check up on her family. And Raph, especially Raph.
She closes her hand around Raph's, and silently notices the bandages scattered on his body. She breaths in his familiar scent, and looks worriedly at his puffy eyes.
What happened to you? She thinks to herself.
Then they hear the faint sound of crying.
Raph starts to stir, but echo calms him back down, "shh, shh, it's okay baby. I've got it, go back to sleep."
He obliges and goes back to sleep.
Echo finds the source of the noise very quickly. And gasps when they realizes what it is.
"A baby..." they whisper.
She carefully picks up the crying child and brings it closer to her chest.
"Shh, shh, it's okay, it's okay. I'm here." She hums as she gazes into its soft green eyes.
The baby calms down a little, and Echo realizes it might be hungry. So she makes her way over to the kitchen to find some formula.
She soon returns to the crib she found the baby at, and thinking to herself wow that was easy, must've been a plot convenient time skip.
She shifted their weight from foot to foot in a swaying motion as the baby drank the formula. She gazed at its eyes once more, as their eyelids drooped closed.
"What are you doing."
Echo jumped at the accusation. She turned to look at Donnie.
"Oh Donnie, it's you" she said with a sigh of relief
"You didn't answer my question."
"Oh. right, right, right, sorry" Echo waves her open hand In a 'whoops my mistake' kind of gesture, "I just wanted to check on you guys"
"And Raph?"
"yeah, and Raph." Echo blushes.
The two of them stood in silence, the third was still drinking from their bottle.
"What happened?" Echo asks after a long enough minute.
Donnie looks away from echo for a moment then answerers her question.
"I'll let Raph explain it to you."
Echo turns around and looks at their bandaged and bruised boyfriend, staring back at her with an slightly open mouth.
They both stay like that, staring, each having their own reaction to the sight of one another.
Raph is the one to speak up first, "you look beautiful."
"And thats my cue to leave" Donnie turns on his heel and quicky heads back towards his lab.
Echo exhales through their nose and rolls her eyes. This gets a chuckle out of Raph.
"So, about the baby," Raph starts.
"Ohh yes about the baby, you better start explaining yourself mister Red Angel of Preventing Harm." Echo says sarcastically.
Raph brings the hastily made crib over to the couch so both turtles can watch the child but still talk. Echo lays the now sleeping baby down in the crib.
Once Raph and Echo sit down, Echo's expectant eyes stare deeply into Raph's waiting for an explanation.
"So I was on patrol-" Raph starts.
Jokes aside, Raph thoroughly explained the baby's story, and by the end of it Echo was being held by their partner as she stared at the baby with a newly found sorrow.
"That's what happened?" Echo croaked softly.
"Yeah..." Raph was involuntarily rubbing Echo's shoulder as a way of comforting both echo and himself.
Raph stayed silent as Echo was processing the new information he gave her.
"Are you guys keeping her?" Echo asked softly.
Raph's throat made a rumbling sound, "No, Donnie says she wouldn't be safe if she stayed with us."
Echo pressed closer to Raph's body, and squeezed his bicep has she turned her head away from the crib.
"I know, I know, baby" Raph solemnly soothes.
"I... why..." Echo didn't have the right words to express how she felt, so all she could do was cry into her boyfriend's bandaged bicep.
Raph pulls her closer to his body, so no one would see her weakness sadness.
...
They don't know how long they've been up talking untill Mikey walks into the room.
"Oh, you guys are up early" Mikey says, surprised.
Raph whips his head around to look at his younger brother, "it's morning already?!?" He exclaimes.
Echo and Raph were previously watching the baby and letting her explore Echo's various scars and markings. Enjoying the little baby noises she makes sometimes.
The baby squeals, mimicking Raph's outburst.
"And you too!" Mikey coos, walking over to the couch to play with the baby's fingers.
Mikey looks back at the two older turtles and asks, "long night?"
"Didn't feel like it" Echo replies with a weak shrug.
Mikey does a double take as his eyes land on the dark circles surrounding his siblings eyes.
"Uh huh, and I have three arms" Mikey says sarcastically.
Raph snorts.
"But seriously, you guys need sleep." He deadpans.
"Ok ok we will, Mr. Wakes up at ungodly hours of the morning" Raph shoots back.
Mikey sticks out his tounge and picks up the baby and walks away.
Echo tilts their head back and stares drowsily at Raph's eyes. Raph looks down to stare at hers in turn.
"Yeah we do need sleep." Echo chuckles and starts to get up when Raph stops them.
"Ah ah ah, you need more sleep than I do. Please, allow me, my queen." Raph humbles.
Echo giggles, "Pip pip good knight"
They both giggle at their sleepy roleplay. Mikey smiles and rolls his eyes in the other room.
Raph carries his larger partner to his room and jokingly drops her on his bed. Echo exclaimes joyfully as her boyfriend playfully growls and crawls into bed.
"What a terrible knight! 0 out of 5 stars" Echo exclaims in a posh accent.
"Well, perhaps my lady needed a different kind of service" Raph replies in a similar accent.
"And what kind of service is that?" Echo questions.
"The best kind" Raph smiles and churrs into her plastron.
Echo churrs back in response, sleep overtaking her eyelids.
"Mmmmh yes, the best kind..." Echo trails off.
They both fall asleep in each other's arms. cheesy, yes I know, but it's cute and I like it so there.
*The end*
Oh you made it to the end? Good for you buddy, I'm sorry that you had to go through that. (Lol thanks fr sticking w/ it)
Doors
The States try and open the door. Gov starts to have a breakdown.
———————————————————————
Florida stares hard at the front door of the Statehouse, expression serious.
Louisiana side-eyed him with concern, and everyone else stayed a few feet away.
“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout, sha?” Louie asks, but Florida doesn’t turn away.
“Papi’s here, right?”
They know it’s him, know that Gov is the Father and son they thought they lost, but they’re not ready— they’re not prepared to bring it up. Not yet.
“Yeah, what of it?”
“He does this weird thing, watch.” Florida springs up, approaching the front door with sure, confident steps.
Before he can grab the door handle, another hand appears to pull the door open. A body blocking the entryway, but he hadn’t come in from outside, had simply stepped in the way.
Gov hadn’t been there a second ago.
“Where are you off to?” The man asks, raising a brow as he opens the door.
“Nowhere!” Florida grins, “Just wanted to go out!”
“Hm.” Gov studies him for a moment, scrutinizing. Florida can feel himself start to sweat, before the man turns away. “Alright, don’t cause any trouble.”
And the man’s gone, as if he was never there, leaving the door wide open.
Florida turns back to them all with a grin.
“See?”
“Has he always done that?” Montana asks with a furrowed brow.
“Come to think of it, I don’t think we’ve ever opened the front or back door.” Iowa reclines on a couch, staring up at the ceiling with his hands folded over his stomach. “Pa’s always shown up to open the doors, but only when we’re going out? He never opens it coming inside unless it’s a building other than the Statehouse? It’s kinda weird.”
“I think we’ve gotten used to it. I mean, I know I’ve started waiting for him to open other doors too.”
A few moments of contemplating silence.
“First to open the front or back door before Papi shows up wins.”
And that sealed it.
.1.
Florida, of course, was the first to try it. Multiple times in the span of several hours, in fact.
He’d reach for one door handle, wait for it to twist and wait for the Static to fill the air as Gov starts to teleport, before he bolts to the other side of the house to the other door.
It doesn’t work, and Gov looks more tired each time.
Gov snatches him up in the middle of one of his sprints, hand holding the back of the Southerner’s shirt to look him in the face.
Amber meets grey, and Florida grins- somewhat nervously- at the blank expression on the man's face.
“Stop that.” Is all the man says, lowering him to his feet, and patting his shoulder twice, “It’s late. Go to bed.”
Florida scurries off, feeling very much like the young Ian Jones who stayed up past bedtime.
That doesn’t mean he stops though.
.2.
Idaho and Iowa thought they’d be the ones to win, being two of the most often forgotten States.
Idaho had gone to the back door, and Iowa to the front. They were going to try and open them at the same time, or as close to the same time as possible.
When Iowa heard the back door swing open, he reached for the door handle— only for the front door to swing open from the outside, revealing Gov— Pops— with a disoriented Idaho held under his arm.
“You were both planning on tending the crops today.” The Statehouse properties are expansive , a lot of it used for things to keep the States entertained; such as farming or animal care. “They are next to each other, you do not need to leave out two separate doors.”
Iowa shuffles his feet as Idaho is straightened to stand on xir own once xe was put down.
Xir face flushed, “Papa!” Xe says, slightly whiny, “What was that for?!”
Gov merely raised a brow.
“Makes it easier,” he says, leaning to press the side of his head against Idaho’s hair— the younger personification squirming slightly— “Call if you need anything, Gem, alright?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Xe mutters, squirming out of the smug man’s grasp and hauling Iowa out the door.
The Hawkeye State felt…jealous. That Noah could have what Caleb himself craved.
.3.
West Virginia and Nevada, Boe and Cassian, were quite the odd pair of friends; a retired coal miner and a ex-mobster-turned-showgirl.
But they were formed little more than a year apart, and stuck together through thick and thin.
Sure, their plan may involve Boe taking off his prosthetic leg– but, really, it was his idea.
Nevada sets the prosthetic against the porch rails before he trots back inside, shutting the door behind her. West Virginia leans against the back of the couch, and the Silver state nods. They lean against the front door carefully, not making any noise.
“Pops!” the man yells, and the air fills with static, a sign that the man’s listening, “Left mah leg out on the back porch earlier, mind grabbin’ it for me?”
It happened more often than one would think. He usually took the leg off later in the day, but it wasn’t unusual for him to take it off and leave it somewhere without thinking– someone always around to assist without a second thought in grabbing it or helping him get to it.
He’d forgotten to take it off last night, and that’s what birthed this plan. The need to let his nub breathe.
The static shifts to the back as Nevada carefully reaches to the front door handle…
It turns in his grasp, and the door opens behind her. They stumble back, their shoulders falling against the person behind them, who holds them up with one arm.
She looks back, spying his father looking at them both with a raised brow— Boe’s prosthetic leg in his hand.
Nevada smiles nervously, “Hi, daddy…”
“Hello, Cassi,” Gov returns the greeting as the Silver State shifts to stand back up. “Boe is still in the sitting room, yes?”
“‘M here, old man.”
“Good, then. Help me with him, Cassi?”
“Yeah— sure.”
Their father looks…tired. More so than usual as he helps strap the prosthetic back in place— Boe’s fond of the older models— patting the Mountain State’s shoulder as he heaves himself up.
“Please behave,” he sounds so tired, “and please remember to grab your leg before you leave it in the middle of a street.”
Boe snorts as his Pops strong hand ruffles his hair, and Cassian grins.
They’re fine with losing.
.4.
To be completely honest, Connecticut hadn’t wanted to be involved in it. He saw how tired Gov looked, and how he only seemed to grow more haggard as each day passed with several States trying to open the doors.
But he had been a pirate, once. Mischief and the want for chaos carved in his bones.
“Davie.” he whispers with a grin, leaning over his husband's desk chair. “Davie, let’s go open the door.”
“Henry…” Delaware plucks his glasses off his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know it won’t work.”
“If it doesn't, we can get Johnny or someone to hold him still while we open it.” The Constitution State shrugs.
Delaware sighs again, “Fine.”
Connecticut gives a small ‘yesss’, hauling Delaware up and tugging him down the stairs.
There was no plan, they were banking on Gov being too busy with…anything. They were just going to try and open it, no special plans or strategies involved.
And, of course, it didn’t work.
The handle twists from their grip and a body shifts to block their path as the door opens outwards.
Once again, Gov blocks their way. He stares at them a moment, back straight despite how utterly exhausted he looks.
“Please…” his voice is quiet and gravely, and both Northeasterners cringe inwardly at the sound. “Please, stop trying to open the doors…”
“Gov,” Delaware's voice is careful, “When’s the last time you slept?”
The man twitched, “Last night.”
“Did you sleep…well?”
“No- no.” The man sways a bit, “Too focused. Ia— Florida tried to open the door fifteen times in the span of two hours.”
They notice the slip, it makes their chests ache, but they have something more important to worry about. They’re uncles, after all, and their stupid, self-sacrificing nephew needs to go to sleep.
“C’mon, buddy,” Connecticut comes up to the man's side, carefully closing the door with one hand, the other going across the man’s shoulders, “We gotta spare room you can have for the night. Davie’ll message Ro for ya.”
As the First State pulls out his phone, they guide Gov to one of the guest rooms. They watch him fall onto the bed with a slightly pained grunt, and watch as he near immediately passes out.
They look at each other once the door is shut.
“Intervention?”
“Intervention.”
They need to show Gov that nothing will happen if someone else opens the door.
And what better place to do that than at the Legislative building? Where security is tight and no one there will hurt any of them?
..5..
Gov’s has one office in Washington, DC. Much like their home in Pennsylvania, the door can open to any of the government buildings.
The office itself is lined with bookshelves that go up and up until you can’t see the top. A hand drawn map of every state and territory on the wall behind the grand, mahogany desk.
On either side of the desk were two archways, leading further and further into the maze of bookshelves that never seemed to end. The space was larger than it had any right to be, and stretched further than the buildings themselves seemed to. It was never the same when you looked back, the pathways always changing.
Only Gov and Assistant were allowed in the labyrinth unattended, as they were the only ones who could find their way out again without trouble. Anyone else had to accompany one of them, or they’d never return. There were things in there no one should see, and only the presence of one of the government personifications would keep those things away.
From the noises that sometimes echoed from within the bookshelves on occasion, not everyone heeded the warning.
But it was a familiar, safe space; perfect for them to intervene in Gov’s ridiculous habit of opening the doors of their own home.
Only three of them had shown up for this, they know that anymore and Gov would possibly grow defensive; just the three of them would be enough to make him suspicious.
Georgia and Maryland, there to hold him back, and Kentucky, the one to open the door.
They knock on the door to the office, always so obvious that it leads to Gov’s office with the aura it gives off and the ornate gold details on dark wood.
They don’t wait for a response, as usual, and simply shove the door open. Gov had always said his office is open whenever they need him, after all.
The man jolts in his seat, blinking at them as they enter.
“Hello,” he greets, body relaxing when he sees who it is, but he furrows his brow when he sees the serious look on Georgia’s face, “I wasn’t expecting you today, has something happened?”
“Nothin’s happened, hon.” Maryland says as he rounds the desk, Georgia coming around the other side, “Just wanted to visit ya for a bit.”
Gov purses his lips.
He’s suspicious.
Georgia settles his hands on the man’s shoulders from behind the chair as Maryland holds onto one of his arms.
Gov looks to Kentucky, who’s stayed resolutely by the door. He wants to reach out and call his son to his side— no, no. Not his son, they don’t want to be his children, they don’t want any relation to him. It’s why they only call him Gov.
He sees the southerners’ hand reach for the door handle, and he shifts to stand– he needs to get the door– but the hands on his shoulders go firm, and he finds he can’t move.
Panic grips his chest, as Kentucky turns the doorknob. Everything tunes out– the hands on his shoulders, the weight on his arm, the voices of Georgia and Maryland trying to soothe him. All he can hear, all he can sense, is the presence of a loaded gun behind the door–
He pulls himself out of their grip, faster than they can stop him, the jerking motion pulling his shoulder– and the metal that holds it– out of place. He grits his teeth at the feeling, tugging Kentucky out of the way as the door falls open–
BANG!
The bullet strikes him in his dislocated shoulder, and he grimaces silently, staring the politician, who now eyes the States behind him with fear.
He never often cared if they shot him, it’s been happening for centuries– less so now than in the age of dueling, but humans rarely change– but they never got away with it when any of his States were present.
He moves to do what he always does, close the door and handle it– but there’s a pair of hands on his arm, another body coming around to his front as a third tears into the hallway with a loud bellow– like a bear mauling those foolish to get too close to its cubs.
“Sit down– sit down.” Maryland hisses as Kentucky flutters next to them.
In this office, Gov has several loveseats and armchairs in front of his desk, and he soon gets pushed into one. He grunts at the jostling in his arm, confused for a moment, before he waves their hands off.
“Drawer– bottom left.” he mutters, “Gotta medkit in there.”
Maryland freezes for a moment, but Kentucky scurries off to grab the kit as told.
“I’m sorry, hon,” Maryland says, too sweetly, as Georgia hauls the bloodied politician into the office and chucks them a few ways down into the labyrinth. “Did you just say, ‘I have a medkit for things like this’? As in, this is a normal occurrence.”
Gov can feel Georgia glowering from behind him as he shifts, preparing to pop his arm back in its socket.
“Ignore that.” Gov says as Kentucky props the medkit open at his side, “Eli– Kentucky,” the man says, muttering under his breath, “Nein, nein. Kentucky, get the tweezers ready, alright?”
“Put your hands down.” Maryland shoves the younger entity’s hands to his sides, “You stay focused on telling me why you’re acting as if this is normal! Elias, Eli! Put those down and go get your Gigi and your Grandad. Now!”
The younger State pops away, and Georgia immediately takes his place.
“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Gov tries to shift away from their hands, “I’ll call Robin and it’ll be fine. It’s not the first, nor the last time, a politician has shot me.”
“Gonna need you to explain that, boy.” Georgia rumbles angrily, “You should be gettin’ shot never, preferably.”
“It happens,” he keeps trying to brush them away, barely grimacing when Georgia’s hands pop his shoulder and the metal plates back into place, “They can’t shoot each other, so they shoot me. They’re always behind the door waiting for me to open it, but it’s not every time.” he chokes on his breath when Maryland checks the wound, digging out the bullet with the tweezers, “Nearly shot Daniel once– just started opening the doors. Rather be me than the kids.”
“Jesus,” another voice speaks up, a new set of hands lifting his face to meet theirs. Pennsylvania, “Fuck, kid–”
“He says this is normal!” Maryland hisses as his suit coat is removed by Virginia, “He says it’s been happening for centuries!”
His sweater is pulled up over his shoulder so the bullet hole can be cleaned and wrapped.
Gov feels four sets of protective, furious eyes on himself, and he’s even more confused.
“It’s fine,” he assures, exasperated, “I’ve been shot far worse than this over things so minor I wasn’t even informed of it. At least I know this time it was over a legal dispute.”
He tugs his sweater back down over his arm, but leaves the suit coat off for the time being.
“They shoot you over things that don’t EVEN CONCERN YOU?!” Virginia near shrieks, and Gov flinches at the sound, “Why are we just now learning this information?!”
“It’s not important,” Gov stresses, but they just don’t seem to understand, “It has not and has never been important. It’s just something that happens.” he shoves himself up off the couch and past Pennsylvania, nearly stumbling– he’s so tired. “Thank you for your help, but it is incredibly unnecessary to take on such a chore–”
He’s tugged back by a hand on the back of his shirt, a snarl building up behind him.
“A chore?” An enraged voice asks as he’s pushed back into his seat, the four of them glaring at him, “You think patching up our son, after he’s been shot, is a chore?”
There’s a sudden tugging on his ear, and he flinches at the feeling.
“Young man, if you ain’t have metal in yer spine and just got a bullet put in ya, you’d’ve just earned yerself a whoopin’!” Virginia snaps, their thumb and index finger holding firm on the man’s ear for a moment before they let go, hands going to their hips.
The brunette rubs away the stinging feeling, grimacing as he glares straight back at them.
“I said it’s fine, how many times do I have to repeat that?” He snaps in response, baring his teeth in a snarl. “None of you are listening.”
“We ain’t gonna listen when you tell us gettin’ shot is fine.” Georgia growls.
“Because it is fine, when it’s me.” he goes to stand back, “Let me go, I have work to finish–”
“Adam Jones, if you take even one step close to that desk, yer age won’t stop me from dragging you down to the southern house.” Pennsylvania barks, crossing his arms as he speaks, “See if you can ‘get back to work’ after I kick yer ass.”
Gov freezes in place the moment he started speaking. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak– just stares straight ahead.
He stands there for so long that the anger starts to fade, replaced by a growing concern as the man doesn’t even twitch.
Georgia is the first one to step around to look at the man’s face, orange-brown eyes going wide when he sees the wetness in Gov’s grey ones.
“Oh, kiddo.” The large man brings the other close to him, pressing his face to Gov’s hair and letting the other hide in his windbreaker as the other three crowd around them, a flurry of concerned movement as Georgia feels a wet spot growing on his shirt. “What’s wrong, Adam?”
Gov’s shoulders are hitching, he doesn’t appear to be breathing properly, Georgia runs a hand through his hair in hopes to calm him down enough to get him to speak.
“You called me Adam…” the man says in heaving breaths, “You called me son.”
And suddenly, it made sense.
They haven’t called him either since 1814.
“Oh, baby…” Maryland runs his own hand across Gov’s shoulders, “It’s okay, hon, it’s okay…”
“You didn’t want me as your son–”
“No, no.” Virginia soothes, “You’ve always been our son, sweetie, it’s okay.”
“You left–”
“And it was the worst mistake we’ve ever made.” Pennsylvania snarls quietly from where he leans on Georgia’s arm, “And we’re so, so fucking sorry, kiddo.”
“My kids—”
“Miss you so much.” Georgia rasps, “They want nothing more than for their papa to come back.”
Gov makes a strangled sound, before he goes completely silent.
“Kiddo?” Pennsylvania whispers, “What’s up?”
“Please,” is the only response, “...just stop trying to open the doors… I can’t sleep with them always trying to…”
“Okay, okay.” Georgia kisses the top of his head, “We’ll stop, we’ll stop the kids too. Don’t worry buddy.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Virginia hums, “Just rest now, baby.”
Gov mumbles something, in response, before he goes limp with exhaustion.
The four of them look at each other over the top of his head.
They had to talk to the other States.
Under My Protection
A late night shopping trip goes wrong for the Four Corners.
*gun violence, implied cannabalism*
———————————————————————
It wasn’t often the States held genuine fear for their lives. They aren’t human, few things that do damage to the mortal meat suits do damage to them.
But sometimes, they were inexplicably human in their reactions.
Especially when it came to bullet wounds.
But with three of them ducked behind one of the shelves and another silently creeping along to join them, doing their best to void the shooter's gaze. A late night shopping trip in their pajamas to the local 24-hour supermarket.
Utah’s mouthing words, folding his hands in silent prayer. Colorado’s arm is thrown over New Mexico’s front, keeping the younger States close and behind himself, the other’s free hand twitching as he reaches for the knife attached to his thigh. Arizona is crouching, carefully crawling behind the shelves to join them. They flinch at each shout and shot, a few thumps of bodies hitting the floor.
Colorado meets Arizona’s gaze over the large open space between them, nothing for the other to hide behind.
“Stay over there.” he mouths, but Arizona’s expression goes grim.
He takes a deep breath, listening to the gunman shouting, and shifts his stance.
The aisle is long, and he knows he’ll likely be seen, but…if he waits just a moment…moves fast enough–
But their Do-Not-Notice-Me only prevents humans from noticing their abnormalities, it doesn’t stop humans from seeing them.
It doesn’t stop humans from attacking them.
Arizona grits his teeth to swallow a scream as a bullet hits in his side, barely managing to throw himself into the other aisle as another buries in his knee, a third striking the floor behind him. Colorado tugs him closer, the Grand Canyon State squeezing his eyes shut as Utah holds onto his shoulders, his body half laying on the other and half on New Mexico. The Land of Enchantment holds up his dirk as the gunman’s footsteps grow closer.
They’d teleport out, but there are humans here. In danger. And- look, States don’t really mingle with humans, but that doesn’t mean they want people to get hurt.
And the Do-Not-Notice-Me grows weaker when the people around them are afraid and hyper-vigilant, so someone would see them teleport.
And that would be bad.
Arizona doesn’t know what happens in the next few moments, only knows he’s holding back pained sounds– desperately wanting his Mama and Pa.
The shooter rounds the corner, gun raised and eyes maniacal– yet, calculating.
The Four Corners shift, Colorado– Joshua Jones shifting to put the other three further behind him even as Camilo snarls over his shoulder and Micah presses his hand against the bullet wound in Eric’s side.
But the shooter freezes, and with them do the States.
The feeling– the taste of Static in the air is thick. Two different sorts of Static.
One feels like Static electricity, tracing along the air like a protective embrace. It molds around them like a thick blanket, warm like the quilts their mother knits every year. It’s lighter, mostly harmless unless provoked.
The other is heavy. Heavy like a weighted blanket, like a boulder, like the weight of their father’s arms as invisible lightning arcs along their flesh– it does not hurt them, no, but the gunman’s sudden shaking and flinching and twitching say it is not as kind to them.
The gunman whirls in place, staring down the long, long aisle with a barely concealed, primal fear.
“What-” their teeth click around the word, hand on the gun shaking, “What- what is that?” they ask.
Something out of their sight rumbles.
They don’t notice how every other human in the store is closing their eyes and covering their ears– in a way that says its involuntary, that something is causing it, that something is protecting them.
“Th-the aisle isn’t– wasn’t that long.” the gunman whispers, taking a shaky step back.
The heavy Static grows heavier.
But the lighter Static shifts, focusing on one area.
Then, there’s someone kneeling next to them, pressing against Arizona’s side in Utah’s place.
His eyes open from their squint, and they all stare.
Their father.
“Papá-“
“Dad-“
“Whatever you hear,” he whispers, carefully pulling Arizona closer to study the bullet wounds, “Whatever you think you see– Do. Not. Look.” The man’s tone is firm, the same way it was when he was explaining something when they were younger– something that would have serious consequences if they did not listen.
“Look at me,” he says, as the gunman screams and starts to run down the main aisle, “Look at me.”
They obey.
“Camilo, put the knife away.” he says calmly, but his brows remain furrowed as he pulls off his jacket, tearing off one sleeve. The sleeve is tied around Arizona’s leg, the man’s pained groaning silenced by a harsh wheeze when the rest is tied tight around his midsection.
“Shhh.” Gov brushes a hand through lank hair, “Breathe, Eric.”
The shelves rumble, and the gunman’s shouting grows frantic, several more bullets firing until there’s nothing but a resounding clicking in the distance.
The heavy Static forms a barrier around them, but the bulk of its presence moves down the main aisle after the gunman.
The clicking is replaced by sickening cracking sounds, the screams replaced by wet gurgling.
Gov’s hand reaches to catch New Mexico’s face, the sounds drawing the younger entity’s attention.
“Do. Not. Look.” he says, a hiss underlying his words, “Focus on me, focus on Eric, focus on each other, but do not look anywhere else.”
“Pa…” Arizona wheezes, face scrunching in pain before the hand returns to his hair, the State’s head settled in his lap. “Pa.”
“Shhh.” the man whispers, “It’ll be alright, Ringtail, keep your eyes open.”
“Hurts.”
“I know, sweetheart.” the man says, “Just stay awake for me, okay?”
Arizona whines.
The sounds of struggling have stopped, the cracking of bones and the wet tearing of meat silent.
The heavy static returns.
Their mother appears on Gov’s other side, a few tears in her coat and shirt, but she doesn’t seem concerned by the steadily growing dark spot on the fabric.
Gov squints.
“You’ve been shot.”
“I’ll live.”
“Hn.”
“We need to get them out before the authorities arrive.”
They stare at each other for a moment, before, as one, Gov holds tighter to Arizona and rests a hand on Utah’s arm, as Assistant does the same with Colorado and New Mexico.
They land in the Statehouse, in the makeshift medical bay. The three States huddle together, watching in shock, fear, worry and awe as their father presses Arizona flat on the cot, their mother settling above him with tweezers, disinfectant— though unnecessary, most viruses cannot survive in their bodies— and thick rolls of gauze.
Arizona squirms, but it doesn’t deter their mother. She’s methodical and careful, gaze focused on Arizona with practiced movements.
The bullet in his side is removed, but the one in his knee had gone clean through. They’re disinfected, the needle threaded and skin stitched together.
“Camilo, dear, grab me one of the knee braces and crutches from the closet.” She says, “Micah, run down and grab some water and something light for him to eat. Joshua, come help wrap these.”
They disperse, Colorado grimacing when he lifts Arizona’s leg and holds it straight for his mother to wrap in gauze— she would’ve had to cut his clothes if he’d been wearing pants instead of shorts.
Arizona’s gritting his teeth, soothed only by the hand Gov has in his hair and having himself pressed against the man’s chest protectively.
New Mexico reappears a few moments later, compression knee brace in one hand. Assistant slides it up Arizona’s leg and straps it in place.
“There we go, sweetheart.” She says softly, humming as she slips down from the cot to run a hand down his cheek, “You’re all set.”
Arizona mumbles something, hiding further in Gov’s chest as Utah returns with a water bottle and a pack of Ritz crackers.
“Eat something,” Gov rumbles, “Then you can sleep.”
Arizona grumbles as he’s helped into a somewhat sitting position. Drinking half the water and eating about five of the crackers before he tries to hide again.
Gov and Assistant share a look.
“To bed, then,” Gov says, shifting around to stand.
Arizona grumbles at the movement, before an arm slides under his back and his legs to lift him. He latches his arms around the man's neck tiredly.
“We should check yours, Mom.” Utah hovers at their mothers shoulder, who only smiles.
“I’ll be fine, dear. It went all the way through. It’ll heal soon enough.” She waves it off, only for a choked sound of anger draws their attention to the doorway.
Massachusetts stands in the door, dressed in black sweatpants and a shirt with ‘Spilling the Tea since 1773’ in blue and red letters, alongside the silhouette of a ship.
“What the fack?” He barks, stepping further into the room, “What happened?”
“Shooter at the market.” Gov responds easily, shifting his hold on Arizona, “Eric was caught in the crossfire.”
Massachusetts studies the State in the other’s arms, his gaze trailing along the others before landing on Assistant.
“And you got shot too?”
“It’s fine.” She says, “It’ll heal.”
“Not if ya don’t wrap it properly!” The Bay State storms into the room, nudging Assistant to the cot, grumbling angrily all the while.
“Dad-“ she protests as Gov steadily makes his way out of the room, soon followed by the other three States.
“Sit down! Jesus fack Robin—“
The sounds of the argument fade as Gov approaches the door that leads into his own room, the one they added a few weeks ago to lead to any house they were staying in.
The bed is even larger than they remember it being.
He settles the other onto the bed, raising a brow at the other three.
“Are you staying here as well?”
“Yes.”
“Please.”
“Why wouldn’t we?”
Gov hums, waving a hand to the bed.
“Make yourselves comfortable. I need to save your mother from Popop.”
He vanishes back through the door as the four of them huddle together, curled over and around each other like cats.
They barely notice when their father returns a few minutes later with their mother, who’s both grumpy and with a new wrap of gauze on her side.
It takes them a few minutes, changing from their suits into softer clothes and muttering quietly to each other.
There’s a kiss pressed to each of their temples, one from both of the older entities, before they settle in on either side of the four States.
With the feeling of heavy and light Static curling through the air defensively— protectively, lovingly, nothing-will-hurt-you— they slip deeper into a comfortable sleep.
Remade my previous drawing to be a bit more realistic+ a bonus interaction (two gore)
I am a teacher in the US.
I can barricade a classroom in less than a minute. I know that when the fire alarm goes off we lock ourselves in the room until someone confirms it's real so we don't get shot evacuating the building. I am trained to pack a bullet wound and apply a tourniquet. My classroom is organized with an active shooter in mind - filing cabinets in front of glass, big desks one shove away from blocking a door, hiding places out of sight of the windows. I have come to terms with the knowledge that I might die protecting my students when all I want to do is show them poetry is fun and teach creative writing.
LINKS ON HOW TO HELP
Places in need of blood donations:
South Texas Blood and Tissue Center
Address: 6211 I-10, San Antonio, TX, 78201
Uvalde Memorial Hospital
Address: 1025 Garner Field Road, Uvalde, TX, 78801
On Wednesday, May 25 (I’m assuming) there will be a blood drive at Herby Ham Activity Center in Uvalde, Texas.
Address: 248 Farm to Market Rd 3447, Uvalde, TX, 78801
G*FUNDMES
It’s a sloppily made list but I hope something is useful from this. Please reblog.
i got bored of the whump thing im writing itll be back i just dont want to refine here's some fluff i made when i first wanted to write medieval ish fantasy there's a bit of whump later in the wip
When I heard Goose’s soft snoring, I looked over at her direction and kissed her on the forehead. Starborn had been discharged from her duty as my guide and slept with Pandolin in the large wyvern bed.
Goose had her arms folded in front of her, judging by the position of her shoulders, and I unbraided her dark hair and brushed through it with my fingers.
I could feel it was curly, and she mumbled, “Pandolin, what’re you doin’?”
I didn’t respond.
“Hrm,” Goose mumbled. “‘M tired, stop,”
I stopped brushing through her hair and turned over, then felt her breath on the back of my neck.
I turned over again, then touched her cheek.
She flinched back, and I said, “Hi, Goose,”
Goose yelped and fell off the bed with a heavy thud.
I reached out my hand and pulled her up, then hugged her.
I could feel her rapid heartbeat, and she whispered, “Why were you doing that?”
“Sorry for scaring you, and I don’t know,”
She pressed closer to me and said, “Please don’t do it,” before rolling back onto her side.
I looked up and waited, not able to sleep. Goose grabbed my hand, and my heart began racing.
Goose pulled me closer and said, “Empeza, you didn’t happen to kill a seer named Nadia Guseva, right?”
“No. Why? Did you know her?”
I remembered hearing of that poor girl. I have no idea of her fate, but she was used by Nasilje for political and religious gain. Most thought Guseva to be insane, however, and almost everyone disregarded her as just a lunatic who thought she saw the future.
“She was my sister, and-,”
I gave her a tight hug and said, “I’m sorry. No one knows what happened to her,”
“Oh,” she whispered.
She sniffled softly and whimpered, “I- if she’s alive, she’s the only family I have left. Other than Pandolin, but you know- he’s more than family, he’s a part of me,”
“I’ll ask Nasilje, alright?”
“Alright.”
I stood, and she grabbed my arm.
“No, not now, Nasilje, I assume she doesn’t like being interrupted,”
I sat down and she said, “Stay safe,”
“Of course, paxariño,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t understand my affectionate nicknames once more.
I lay down and she lay on my armored chest, and I said, “Goose, wait a moment,”
She sat up and I took off my armor and stripped off my tunic to my underclothes.
I sat back down and let her lay back on my chest and rubbed her forehead, and she slowly drifted to sleep. I let her stay on my chest, I didn’t want to wake her up.
I heard Starborn hyperventilating, and Starborn flew over to me and sniffled, Empeza, I had a nightmare.
I touched her spiky scales on her snout and replied mentally, Don’t worry. What happened?
I’m scared. I saw a monster.
She curled into my arms and I hugged her close. She was about the size of the medium sized brown dog I had until it died when I was three.
You’re my best friend and sister, you should’ve come to me.
She started crying in a way I wasn’t used to. Typically, she never even laughed. It sounded like patchy growling and her scales shifted up and down underneath my palms.
Empeza, I love you. Starborn whispered.
“I love you too,” I replied. Starborn flapped back over to Pandolin, then went back to sleep.
I closed my eyes and let dreams take me.
—
It was a normal execution, it should’ve gone without a problem, but the prisoner spat out his gag and pleaded for his life, just as I killed him. Just as I killed my brother.
I sink to my knees, it was a bad omen, the executioner screaming from insanity just after ending a life, but I couldn’t stop.
I stare up the sky and whisper, “Forgive me, Santi, please,”
I cradle his body close and wail, wishing I could bring him back. Wishing I could join him. I take my sword, and Nasilje grabs it out of my hands as I slit my wrists.
She calls for a medic, and someone comes by and bandages my wrists, stopping the blood.
I-
—
The horn blew, and I rolled out of bed.
Goose took my hand and pulled me up, and I thanked her. Starborn woke up and fluttered over to my shoulder.
No more nightmares? I asked.
None.
She stretched and yawned, and Goose took my hand. Starborn described Pandolin flapping over to Goose as clumsy, exhausted, and dragonfly-like.
Pandolin lay on Goose’s shoulder, and Goose whispered, “You don't have to work ‘til breakfast, alright?”
Pandolin didn’t respond audibly.
Goose took an unlit torch from the wall and pressed her palm against it. I heard flints, and I could tell that there was light nearby.
“Let’s go,” she said. She sounded a bit like what I’d nicknamed her, a goose.
“You alright?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she replied. “Just, a really weird dream. Something about controlling dragonfire, somehow,”
“Well, dreams are meant to be strange, the gods don’t want us knowing what they mean without careful thought,”
“True,”
I put on my tunic and pants, but not my armor. I didn’t feel like it, and my shift wouldn’t be for another six hours.
She and I walked to the kitchens, where Ivan stopped us.
“Market day. Go do whatever you want, here’s breakfast,”
He handed us two slices of toast each and some bacon.
I ate quickly, and Goose asked, “What’s market day?”
Ivan paid her, and I explained it to her quickly.
“I typically go riding in the mornings on these days, since I’m off. Want to come with?”
“Um- alright,”
I took her hand when she finished eating and took her to the stable.
—
Igor handed me Xenebra’s brush and said, “She won’t let me anywhere near her,”
“Odd,” I replied. “I’ll do it,”
I walked over to my child’s stall and she knickered irritably.
I got in the stall and cleaned the stall very quickly, then put feed in her empty trough and started brushing her thick coat.
I spoke to her through it all, and she listened.
Eventually, I guided her out of the stall, and she reared when she saw Igor.
I tried to soothe her, but she broke out of my grip and ran out of the stables. I chased after her, and saw she’d stopped right outside the stables. I mounted, and Goose stopped next to us. She rode a chestnut bay, the one no one had ever wanted, according to Igor. It was about three quarters of Xenebra’s size, according to Starborn, and Pandolin sat on its head.
Pandolin was small, for a wyvern, Goose had said he was twenty, like her, and normally, they ended up the size of a shepherd’s dog at around that age, no longer able to fit on a shoulder at all. Starborn was five years younger than I was, as I’d gone blind at a later age, but even then, she was much bigger than Pandolin.
“What did you name her?” I asked.
“Myata,” Goose replied.
Myata followed close behind Xenebra as we went down the road. For such a small thing, she was fast.
—
We traveled down to the beach and Xenebra galloped across the sand, outpacing Myata.
Xenebra suddenly stopped, and I heard a thud.
I dismounted and before I could open my mouth to apologize, Starborn described a tall man with thick red hair and blue eyes, who snapped at me, “Who decided to let a blind person ride a horse?”
“Hey, izvini, I didn’t mean to hit you, and Xenebra was going too fast to slow down. Did anything break?”
The other person stormed off, and I got back on Xenebra, waiting for Goose to arrive. Goose got there a few minutes later, Myata walking slowly.
“Sorry, Myata refused to canter. Who was that?”
“Some guy. He wasn’t looking where he was going, and he came too quick for Starborn to tell me,”
Xenebra and I continued in a trot so Goose could keep pace, and eventually, we dismounted and walked over to the water. Pandolin jumped off Goose’s shoulder and into the mudsand, rolling around and Starborn doing the same a few minutes later.
Xenebra lay down for a rest, and I sat on her back. Myata did the same a few moments later, judging by the heavy thump in Goose’s general direction, and I looked over the horizon, listening to the waves.
Starborn jumped onto my shoulder, scales waterlogged.
Why? I groaned.
Water is very nice.
Not for me.
She nuzzled my cheek and I rubbed her forehead.
She cooed happily and raised her snout to touch my palm, then licked it.
I heard someone running near us, then stopped.
That guy you hit has a knife. He’s getting closer.
Burn.
A burst of heat, and I heard someone scream.
Xenebra whinied, and I quickly shifted my position so she wouldn't throw me off.
Goose followed suit and we rode off, quick as we could.
The man didn’t bother chasing after us.
I felt sunlight on my face and realized the sun was rising. I stopped Xenebra and looked in the direction of the brightness.
Starborn described it to me, and I imagined it as it was. All the clouds everywhere, orange, pink, and purple fire.
I closed my eyes and inhaled, feeling the sea breeze on my face.
“Beautiful,” Goose breathed.
I took her hand, and she whispered, “I’m sorry you can’t see it,”
I didn’t reply, I had no need to see. It actually made me better, it stopped me from following in my brother’s footsteps.
I looked in her direction and said, “I’m here with you,”
I kissed her hand, and she sputtered, “Empeza- we can’t,”
“Yes we can,”
“Its illegal,”
“I lived with raiders, you think I care about the stupid bitching laws dictating love?”
“Privacy?”
“Ah. Right. Back to the keep?”
“No. I wanna have fun first,”
She rode up the beach, toward the pier, and we rode back up the dunes and through the dune grass, then dismounted.
I took out the frog to clean Xenebra’s hooves of sand, and found wet grass and leaves and dirt, like her hooves hadn’t had the field residue removed.
Why? I wondered. I walked over to Myata and cleaned her hooves of wet sand, and instructed Goose to guide her through the rest of the town.
We approached a shop that Xenebra seemed interested in, and I smelled sugar.
Where’s the line? I asked Starborn. The stall sold sugar cubes for horses.
No line.
I walked over, and heard Goose and Myata close behind.
“‘Ello ma’ams, how’d you like somethin’ for yerselves?”
“Just our horses,”
“Wouldn’t yeh like a snack, lovebirds?”
I stiffened and said, “Just two sugar cubes,”
“We’ve a special deal for four for the price o’ three,”
“Just two sugar cubes, sirrah,”
“Fine,” he sighed, Starborn described him going under the desk, and I suddenly got a bad feeling.
I put my hand on my sword’s hilt, and he rose with a firearm. Rare here, but I’d seen them, my parents were raiders, after all.
I pulled out my sword and he hissed, “Put all your valuables and that pretty sword in the sack, and a’ll spare you,”
I called for a fellow guard and before the man reacted, I knocked the firearm out of his hands. As I’d been trained.
He growled, “That cost me a fortune,” and the firearm went off at random, a bullet ripping through my leg.
I cried out, and Xenebra ran. I let go and had Starborn catch up to her so she didn’t get herself or someone else hurt. Myata, stubbornly, ate the dune grass, chewing slowly.
“Empeza!” Goose called. She dismounted and I heard the hissing sound of a wyvern breathing hot fire.
The man cried out, and I ran in the direction of the gun and turned on the safety and made sure it was unloaded.
It was still hot, so I waited, and the man ran up to me.
I smacked him with the butt of what felt like a rifle, and sent him sprawling. My leg shook, and one of the guards arrived a moment after I collapsed.
“Empeza!” Zdrajca called.
He lifted me and I winced.
“I saw Xenebra and came running,” he explained, before I even asked.
He whistled, and Xenebra and Starborn returned. Starborn clung to Xenebra’s mane like she was a tick, after she sent me the mental image. She flew over to me and licked my cheek.
By the way, Papa’s in port.
Oh.
Zdrajca mounted me on Xenebra and told me to go to the nearest clinic, and I obliged. My parents knew what to do.
I steered Xenebra to the port and heard Goose following behind.
“Who was that?” Goose called.
“Zdrajca,” I elaborated. “Another guard,”
She caught up to me, and Starborn told me to stop. I dismounted, my leg hurting like the eleven hells, and listened for a familiar voice. I heard ship jargon, merchant jargon, things everywhere.
“-request an audience at the keep-”
“-five pounds lost over the edge-”
“-Ben tripulación, parada rápida, entón nós-”
“Mama!” I called.
I limped over, and felt a giant hug on my shoulders.
“Oh, Gaivota,”
“Ola, mama,” I whispered. “Así que me dispararon hai un momento,”
“Quen o fixo pagará, non importa quen,”
She scooped me into her arms and carried me onto our ship.
“CARDENAL!” she called.
My father came by and saw the injury, and broke into the common tongue.
“Alright, let's just get the bullet first, then we-”
I zoned out and stared back at nothing.
“Empeza!” Goose called.
“Gaivota, do you finally have a friend?”
“Yes, that’s Goose,”
“Let her board!” my mother called.
I heard footsteps, and felt Goose’s touch.
“Hey,” I mumbled, before kissing her on the nose.
She kneeled next to me and I felt the bullet exit my leg.
“Alright, we’re gonna cauterize your leg, alright, Gaivota?”
“Ben, papa,”
He left and got a torch, then had Starborn light it. The injury hurt as he brought the heat source closer, not at all like how Goose did it, but it wasn’t safe for her.
“Goose,” I croaked, “Can you hold my hand?”
“Sure, Empeza,” she whispered.
She pulled close and took my hand, and I squeezed, tight.
“I’m going to scream n-” I started, before the pain increased and I screamed.
Goose rubbed my forehead, and whispered, “You’ll be safe, you’ll be safe,”
She brushed through my hair with her fingers and her fingers heated to a gentle warmth. Whether on purpose or not, I don’t know, but I liked it all the same.
Eventually, the fire came away from my leg, and my father bandaged it, then gave me a walking stick to use for a while.
I returned to my darling horse, and Goose followed.
“So those were your parents? They seemed… cold. They didn’t even use your name once,”
“In my culture, we… nickname others. I have many, including one from my time in the army when I got stung by a bee and cried for two hours,”
“What?” Goose asked, clearly startled.
“Yeah they called me Tristeza Abella for the rest of the time. Means Bee Sadness, ‘cause the bee died and we had a funeral,”
I took her hand and said, “It was just silly, however,”
I showed her the scar, the result from all the itching, and she touched my shoulder, right where it was.
I mounted Xenebra and had her follow behind Goose and Myata.
—
Xenebra reared suddenly while we were traveling to the outskirts of town, knocking me off and into a crevice.
My arm cracked, and I tried to scramble out, but couldn’t find a handhold.
Starborn, how high are the walls?
Straight up for about ten feet. Miracle we survived.
“GOOSE!” I called. “Do you have like, twenty feet of rope?”
“No!” I heard Goose call.
“Can you go get some?”
“Probably!” she replied.
She left, and a few minutes later, returned with rope. She threw it down, and Starborn caught it. I started rappelling up and my knee gave out. I fell back, pulling Goose with me.
“Ow,” Goose mumbled. I rubbed her forehead, and I felt a pain in my chest, right on my rib.
“Owowowowowow,” I mumbled.
I heard hissing, and for a moment, I thought we were surrounded by snakes. Then something started talking.
“Ooh. Two little humans, wandering into our territory? Good. Fresh meat,”
Starborn described a bug-like creature that looked like the fae out of picture books. Snow skinned, big-eyed, luminescent wings.
It nipped at my arm, and I unsheathed my sword.
It hissed, backed away, and I slashed at its leg.
It screamed. Unearthly and vicious.
The creatures all backed away from me, all but one.
Starborn described it as a man with shiny golden skin, black bug wings, big bronze eyes and a beetle’s mandibles.
He walked forward, and grabbed my chin.
I raised my sword, and he spun me around almost effortlessly as I jabbed forward, hitting one of the bug things.
“Now now, little human,” he crooned, “Drop your little needle. After all, you don’t want to upset the master of the underground, do you?”
I felt my fingers open, and my sword clattered to the floor.
“Good. Good. Now, what brings you down here? Come to sacrifice yourselves?”
“I- I fell,”
His grip tightened.
“How does an ordinary human fall into here with no intents to meet us? Unless-”
He inhaled deeply and said, “Magic. How I hate the creatures,”
He grabbed my arm and I felt something sharp and wet touch my skin. His tongue.
“Now, go on, little human,” he hissed at Goose. “Say goodbye to your little friend,”
Starborn described Goose looking up at him, and she stared right into his eyes, then hissed, “No,”
She grabbed my sword, and he left me.
“Well, now, my little servants, what do we do to stubborn humans and their friends?”
A resounding choir of dozens of threats came from the mouths of these bug things.
When it died down, the human thing said, “Wrong, we make them see as we see,”
Starborn warned me about the creature lunging at me, and I pivoted to the side and tripped him.
He hissed at me and grabbed me, then pressed his finger to my forehead, and it felt like my ears popped as sounds I’d never heard before entered my ears. He touched Starborn’s snout, and Starborn nipped him.
Starborn described him approaching Goose, who’d been forced into an incredibly awkward position by the bug monsters, her arms spread out at her sides and her feet forced to the floor by two of the monsters sitting on her boots.
He touched her forehead, and she screamed and burned him with her fire. He recoiled, and-
I felt the breeze on my face, and heard Goose gasping for breath. I stumbled over to her and hugged her.
She hugged me back and gasped, “That actually happened. That was… weird,”
“I know,” I replied.
I whistled for Xenebra, who came running. I patted her shoulder, only to realize something was terribly wrong. Her hair felt like it was solid bark, and when I patted her mane, it felt like it was made of leaves.
“What in the eleven hells?” I muttered.
Xenebra raised her head, then muttered in my language, “Cando imos ir?”
I yelped, and Starborn told me Xenebra turned her head to look at me with one eye, then lowered herself to look closer to Xenebra. Xenebra’s face was made of loose twigs, underneath, there was hair and leaves, but the outer layer was still bark.
“Podes entenderme? Hurra!”
She licked my face, her tongue still a normal tongue.
Alright, so her outer layer is patches of black and white bark, and from far away, she still looks like a semi-normal horse. Starborn told me.
Interesting.
Xenebra started running without my command, and I heard Goose’s horse galloping after us, Goose on its back.
“Empeza!” she called.
I told Xenebra to stop, and she obeyed.
Goose approached, and I had Xenbra approach her, then held her hand and our horses walked back to the market. Xenebra didn’t talk when we hit town.
At least, not until we approached a different stall that sold sugar cubes, and she showed quite a bit of interest, begging me for a sugar cube.
I patted her mane to direct her toward the stall, and dismounted, and bought her and Myata a sugar cube. This merchant was far less pushy, and didn’t pull a firearm on us, so, all around pretty good.
Xenebra ate the sugar cube from my hand, and I gave Goose one to feed Myata.
“Grazas!” Xenebra whinnied.
She trotted through the streets and toward the keep.
We went up the road and Xenebra snorted when we stopped outside the stables. She snapped her head back and bucked, the animated, albeit annoying, personality she’d displayed dissipated.
She whinnied and bucked once more, before finally stopping and saying, “Malo,”
“Que?” I asked.
“Home de comida,”
“Quen?” I asked.
She knickered and hit my nose with her head, and I called for Igor.
She reared, and Igor pulled her down when he exited the stable. With surprising strength, despite his small stature.
She butted him with her snout, and I pulled on her reins, then patted her neck.
Igor looks… wrong. He’s like the golden-skinned creature, but instead gray skinned, and he has colorful and glittery membrane wings. I think he can tell something’s wrong.
“Empeza? Why’s your horse still acting weird?” His voice still sounded normal.
Xenebra lowered her head and bellowed, and I told him to go.
“Alright,”
He left, and Xenebra calmed. I dismounted, and my leg exploded into pain when I hit the ground.
“Xenebra, foise.”
I limped over to the stable, guiding her and Myata into their stalls.
I hand fed Xenebra a handful of oats, and she knickered happily.
“Ata pronto,” I whispered, before pressing my forehead to her snout.
She snorted and walked away, then lay down on the floor and closed her eyes, according to Starborn.
Goose took my arm and said, “If you need to rest, tell me, and we can sit down,”
“Alright,” I replied. She and I walked, and I tired, but forced myself to walk on. Embarrassed, I just shut up and stayed walking, even when my exhaustion and pain got to be too much.
I tripped, and found I could barely stand.
“Goose, I can’t move,” I mumbled.
Goose took my hand and attempted to pull me up, but the difference in size made it near impossible for her.
She ordered Pandolin to go get a medic and he flew away.
Goose squeezed my hand tight and I sniffled, “Hurts,”
“Don’t worry, Empeza, don’t worry,”
She hugged me and I cried into her shirt and I reached for the familiar grip of my sword’s hilt. I wasn’t going to use it, I just felt comforted when it was in my hand.
I heard someone shouting, and I heard my brother shout, “I DEMAND AN AUDIENCE WITH NASILJE!”
“Santi!” I called.
Santi ran over and hugged me, every second step with the thud of his un-oiled prosthetic spring-leg.
“Empeza!” he called. He hugged me and shook Goose’s hand, then broke to speak to me rapidly in our native language.
He finished with, “-Onde esta Anika?”
“Levarona,” I whimpered.
“No. No,”
He broke off.
“When’s her trial?”
“I don’t know,”
“The rei está chegando,” he said.
I heard a fellow guard, Artyam's approach.
“Sirrah, please leave,” Artyam said.
“Arty, no. He’s my brother, he just wanted to talk to Nasilje about someone in the dungeons that’s at risk of death,”
“Who?”
I swallowed and scrambled to think of someone whose crime was as severe.
“My wife, Anika. She’s the-”
I cut him off, “She’s the one who killed my husband,”
“SHE WAS FRAMED!” He snapped.
“Framed? How so?” I asked. Starborn told me it was her.
He whispered in my ear, “Someone wanted to hire her to kill him, and she refused. Next thing we heard about the hit, she had a warrant for her arrest because someone said she was the one who killed him,”
“What?” I hissed.
“Get me to Nasilje, help me clear her name, didn’t you see who killed him?”
I glared at him with my empty eyes and said, “I can’t,”
“Sorry, forgot. Hi Starborn,”
He scratched underneath Starborn’s chin and Starborn shivered.
Goose helped me to my feet and said, “That’s your brother?”
“Yep,” I sighed.
He went off in the direction of Nasilje’s audience room and Sascha approached. He lifted me onto a portable cot and he and Goose carried me to the infirmary.
“Bleh, I feel pain,” I mumbled.
“Just wait,” Sascha ordered.
He set me on a permanent bed, and I closed my eyes, falling asleep.
—
“Will she be alright?”
“We’re keeping her for a few days,”
“No,” I croaked. “My- executions, my parents, my- home- Xenebra’ll throw a fit,”
“Don’t listen, she’s delirious,”
“NO I’M NOT!”
“Have some brandy, you’re in for a long, painful night,”
“Can Goose stay?”
“I have to go back,” she said. “I work tomorrow, after all,”
“Hrmph. Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Goose replied.
She shooed Sascha away, closed the curtains around my bed, and kissed me on the forehead.
“Good night,” she whispered.
I fucking hate texas I hate that abortions are more restricted than the guns that cause preventable mass shootings at schools and churches and Walmart and and and and it just goes on like this… it’s “protect the children” “what about the children” until the children are murdered in their elementary school and then it all “thoughts and prayers” “there’s nothing we can do” “don’t bring up gun control now it’s disrespectful to the victims” but I bet all 14 children and that 1 teacher would still be alive if we had any sort of gun laws
hihi!! quick theory abt niffty’s death:)
i just noticed this while drawing her, but i think she was shot bc of the pattern on her chest.
they look like gunshots with blood right? idk if this theory has been made b4 but yknow
just a theory:)
i cannot BELIEVE the cops that shot and killed breonna taylor are getting away free while her boyfriend gets the blame. for acting in self defense of a perceived intruder. like a lot of gunowning americans would’ve done. this is such racist, dismissive bullshit
Day 4: Freeze. Couldn't get this out of my head today.
/
Bright noise, Loud lights flash.
Freeze! Hands up, Down on the ground.
Mess of cops and kids.
/
AKB 2019
Day 4: Freeze. Couldn't get this out of my head today.
/
Bright noise, Loud lights flash.
Freeze! Hands up, Down on the ground.
Mess of cops and kids.
/
AKB 2019
Day 4: Freeze. Couldn't get this out of my head today.
/
Bright noise, Loud lights flash.
Freeze! Hands up, Down on the ground.
Mess of cops and kids.
/
AKB 2019
Day 4: Freeze. Couldn't get this out of my head today.
/
Bright noise, Loud lights flash.
Freeze! Hands up, Down on the ground.
Mess of cops and kids.
/
AKB 2019