Hey, Taylor? I have something important to tell you."
Ba-bump.
Taylor's heart nearly rockets out of her chest at those words. She is not ready for this.
Oh my god, she's gonna confess her feelings to me.
It's okay. This is fine. Great, even. Now she won't have to spend every second around Madison panicking, wondering if she'll somehow give herself away.
Taylor can feel her blush, which hasn't gone away this entire time, go full nuclear. Meanwhile, Madison looks maddeningly calm, while singlehandedly rewriting the laws of Taylor's personal universe.
She should absolutely take responsibility for what she's doing to her!
Taylor sneaks another glance at her, just for a second.
…This was a mistake.
Madison looks so serious, so focused, so… cool. It's not fair. None of this is fair!
AHHHH!
She feels like screaming, but no actual words are coming out, just this trapped, silent panic vibrating in her chest.
Breathe, Taylor. You need to breathe.
She tells herself that, but it's not helping. Breathing has very much not been achieved.
Her head feels like it's full of static, her heart pounding like she's about to run a marathon she didn't sign up for-
Then Madison speaks.
"I'm a cape."
…Eh?
WAIT WHAT?!?
"WHAT?!"
"Shh! I haven't told my parents yet!"
"?!?!" Taylor stares at her like Madison just announced she's secretly an alien queen. "And you're telling me?! Why?!"
"I… I don't know!" Madison blurts, rubbing the back of her neck. "I wanted to talk to someone about it… and I figured I could trust you…" She trails off, voice going soft, almost shy.
Ba-bump.
Oh.
Her heart did the thing again, the one where it tries to explode right out of her ribcage and kill her on the spot.
What is this girl doing to her?
Madison opens her mouth like she's about to say something, but Taylor quickly holds up a hand.
She needs silence. Just a moment for her treacherous heart to stop trying to assassinate her from the inside.
…
…
…
Madison shifts, tries again.
Another sharp gesture from Taylor shuts her right back down.
…
…
…
Okay. Breathing? Check. Heart rate? Check… ish. Blush? Unfortunately, still very much present.
She can do this.
Maybe.
"So… what are your powers?" she finally manages.
Madison starts to answer but hesitates, giving Taylor a questioning look.
"Yes," Taylor sighs, "you can speak now."
""Okay, so… somewhere between 'I don't know' and 'a lot.'"
Taylor squints. "What does that even mean?"
"I've been having these super weird dreams ever since I got kidnapped, and I keep getting new powers from them… I think."
That is… a lot to unpack.
But first- "YOU WERE KIDN-"
Madison practically launches herself across the bed and clamps a hand over Taylor's mouth.
"What part of 'my parents don't know' was confusing?!" she screeches right in Taylor's ear.
Taylor tries to squirm free, but Madison's grip is like iron, cape perks, apparently.
And then Taylor realizes how close they are. Madison is practically cradling her, their faces inches apart.
She goes deathly still.
This is no longer blush territory, this is desert heat wave, like she's been baking under the sun for a week straight.
Madison finally lets go, leaning back slightly. "Uh, Taylor… are you okay?"
All Madison gets in return is a high-pitched squeak and a frantic shake of the head.
…
…
…
This girl is trying to kill her. It's the only logical explanation for the way she keeps playing with her heart like this.
…
…
…
"I'm okay," Taylor finally says, forcing her voice into something steady. "Now, let's continue from where we left off. You were kidnapped?"
Madison gives her a slightly doubtful look, like she's not entirely buying the "I'm okay" part, but lets it go.
"So yeah, I got kidnapped, then I got super powers, then I escaped."
"And that's all you have to say on that?" Taylor presses.
"I mean… yeah? It was super, super scary. Like, the most scared I've ever been in my life. But it all worked out, and I didn't get a single scratch."
"You promise?"
"I promise, Taylor. Scout's honor."
"There's no way you were ever a Girl Scout. Not for more than a day, at least."
"You caught me," Madison says with a smirk, "but seriously, I promise. It all turned out fine."
Taylor narrows her eyes, clearly unconvinced, but finally lets the matter drop.
"So," Taylor says after a moment, "what powers do you have?"
"I'm not really sure? Like, I can fight really well, and I'm really, really strong for a girl. Oh, and I can manipulate metal."
"OOH," Madison goes, eyes lighting up like she's just cracked the code to the universe. "Let me show you what I made!"
Before Taylor can even respond, Madison scrambles across the room in an excited blur, nearly tripping over a pile of laundry in the process. She kneels by a glass display case, opens it with the reverence of someone unlocking a sacred vault, and turns back with her "prizes" cradled in her arms.
Taylor blinks. "…A bunch of steel statues?"
"I made these with scrap metal from the shed!" Madison announces proudly, as if revealing a priceless treasure hoard.
"Okay… but what are they?"
The audacity, Madison actually looks offended by the question, after everything she's put Taylor through today.
"These," she says with gravitas, "are some of the most iconic anime and video game characters ever! That's Master Chief right there!" She points to a squat, soldiery-looking one like she's introducing royalty.
Taylor can't help it, she starts giggling. At first it's just a little laugh, but it quickly snowballs into full-on, head-down, shoulders-shaking laughter.
Madison freezes, baffled. "What? What did I say?"
"Only you, Madison," Taylor manages between giggles, "would get superpowers and use them to make little statues of cartoons and video games."
Madison stares at her for a beat… and then starts giggling too, until they're both laughing like idiots.
One giggle session later…
"Okay, so now what?" Taylor asks, still smiling.
"I don't know… I-oh wait! I might have one more power. Maybe. Or maybe two," Madison says, like that's a totally normal sentence.
Taylor blinks. "How do you maybe have a couple more powers?"
"Well," Madison begins, "the other day I had this buzzing in the back of my head, and it was like I knew I needed to be somewhere or else something bad would happen."
Taylor tilts her head. "And?"
"So I ran around searching for whatever was wrong, then I kicked a creeper in the balls, and the feeling went away."
"…Okay, that's one," Taylor says, drawing the word out like she's humoring a child.
"The other one is weird."
"Weird how?"
"Like… I keep having these really strange dreams, either right before or right after I get a new power, and I think they're connected."
"Connected how?"
"I had this nightmare about hearing prayers, like millions of them, and the next day I had that weird danger sense thing. Or the time I dreamed I was a knight, and the day after that, I just… knew how to fight." Madison grins. "The knight dream was awesome, by the way."
"So that's how you were able to beat Sophia and all those other assholes?" Taylor asks.
"Basically, yeah." Madison leans back with a smug grin. "I'm kind of a badass now."
"I've noticed," Taylor admits before she can stop herself.
Madison cackles at that, the sound rich with mischief. "So, have you gone out as a cape yet?"
"Not yet. I'm still working on my costume."
That makes Taylor perk up. Costumes are cool, no two ways about it. "What's it going to be?"
"I haven't decided yet," Madison says, tapping her chin. "All I know is that I am going to be covered in steel…"
Ba-bump.
Madison mumbles something under her breath, but Taylor doesn't catch it, because her brain has just taken a hard left turn into dangerous territory.
Her own knight in shining armor.
She can see it now, Madison, head to toe in gleaming steel, stepping between her and danger without hesitation, shield raised, eyes locked on the threat. She'd protect her, guard her, stand at her side against anything. Treat her like a princess. Hold her hand. Maybe even-
"Taylor."
-love her.
"Earth to Taylor!"
They'd be unstoppable, together. She'd-
"Taylor!"
Taylor jerks, screaming like a startled banshee as Madison's voice finally pierces the haze, nearly knocking her off the bed.
"You are not okay! What even was that?! How do you start daydreaming mid-conversation? That's supposed to be an anime gag!" Madison accuses, eyes narrowed but clearly amused.
"I-um, I got distracted," Taylor mumbles.
"I've noticed," Madison shoots back, smirking as she throws Taylor's own words right back at her.
Taylor can't even muster a defense. Her blush roars back with a vengeance, hot enough she's sure Madison can feel the heat from across the bed.
So, in a desperate bid to salvage her dignity, she changes the subject. "So… what were you saying?"
Madison gives her a look, the look, that says she knows exactly what Taylor's doing, but she's willing to let her keep those last shreds of pride.
"It doesn't matter," Madison says, waving it off. "What does matter is that I don't know where I'm going to find the time to make my costume. It'll be loud, and doing it after school with my parents at home? Total non-starter."
…
…
Taylor should keep her mouth shut. She really should.
But she won't.
"I have an idea…"
Taylor left not long after that, and honestly, her heart thanks her for it. Any more time in that room and she's pretty sure she'd have gone into full cardiac arrest.
But seriously, what was she even thinking? Madison, of all people, confessing to her?
Yeah, right. Everyone knows Taylor's not worth that kind of thing.
Here have this while I work on the rest of the update. I make no promises that it will be completed tonight.
Also writing this version of Taylor is hilarious.
You stride up the cracked concrete steps of Winslow like a soldier to the front line (literally), your backpack heavy with school supplies and existential dread. Another day, another chance for the building's stench of mold, sweat, and institutional failure to try and kill your will to live.
But more than the usual misery lingers in your thoughts today. Last night's dream still clings to you like morning fog.
It sucked.
It sucked so much ass.
Where was your epic power fantasy? Your knightly duel? Your anime level badassery?
Instead, you got marching. Marching in heavy armor under a grey sky, your steps echoing off the stone like a drumbeat of dread. Doom and gloom hung over your head like a cloud of guilt and responsibility. A dream that smelled like wet iron and old blood.
Sure, the comradery was nice, you remember laughing with faceless companions, the press of shoulders, the weight of shared purpose. But the frantic urgency? That crushing weight in your chest that screamed you're running out of time?
No thank you.
You're owed something cooler. A flaming sword at least. Maybe a dragon.
You're still internally grumbling when Taylor drifts into step beside you, like the world's shyest and most persistent barnacle. She practically presses to your side, head tilted just a little, like she's trying to catch your mood before you say anything.
"So," she says, voice light and a bit too practiced-casual, "how'd you sleep?"
You glance at her sideways, catching that hopeful little glimmer in her eye. Oh, you know exactly what she's fishing for.
"Alright, I guess. I had another dream last night." You make sure to say it with the right emphasis, just to see her reaction.
And yep, there it is. She perks up.
"Oh? And what was this one about?"
You scowl.
"…Marching," you grumble.
She blinks. "Marching?"
"Yeah. Just endless marching. Heavy armor, muddy boots, grim vibes, you name it. And then, right when something cool was about to happen, boom. Wake up." You cross your arms in a pout. "Worst one yet. I woke up feeling like I never even slept."
Taylor makes a worried face, her brows furrowing adorably. "Oh, I'm sorry. Do… do you need to go home early?"
You raise a brow at her, then smirk. "Aww, you're too cute sometimes, Tay."
She goes red instantly, making a squeaky little "eep" noise that only confirms your statement.
"But nah," you say, giving her a casual hip bump. "Feeling fine now. The zombie energy wore off super fast. I'm good."
Taylor nods, clearly trying not to combust from embarrassment.
And you… yeah, you're starting to think if she keeps reacting like that, you're going to start getting ideas.
Your fun is cut short when your gaze snags on something, someone, across the courtyard. A unit of a boy, easily over six feet tall, built like someone fused a linebacker with a vending machine.
"Taylor," you say slowly, pointing. "Who the hell is that?"
She follows your gaze and winces. "Oh. Um-I think his name is Brick?"
You look at her, deadpan. "That giant slab of meat is named Brick?"
"Um. Yeah? Have you never noticed him before?"
"No, and I don't know how. The guy looks like he was sculpted from protein powder and the blood of his enemies. Has he always been here? Or did they dig him up from the foundations like some kind of jock cryptid?"
Taylor snorts, trying to stifle a laugh.
"Seriously," you mutter, eyes still on the human mountain, "whatever they're feeding him, I want none of it."
The two of you giggle your way into the building, your weird dreams and looming responsibilities momentarily forgotten in the face of hallway gossip and cafeteria horrors
Later that day, you have an important meeting with the tabletop gamers, specifically, the Warhammer Scholars.
You've already united the nerd tribes of Winslow under your banner like some kind of socially awkward warlord, but now it's time for the next step, assimilation. And Taylor? Taylor needs a tribe.
You want to give her a hobby. A place. Friends who speak her language, quiet, bookish, maybe a little too intense about fictional lore. And out of all your loyal nerds, the Warhammer crowd is the best shot.
Partially because you're pretty sure the sheer number of grimdark novels will suck Taylor in like a black hole. The girl's practically allergic to social interaction (Which is partially your fault.), but give her a story about a doomed sisterhood of space nuns fighting demon gods, and you bet she'll be hooked.
But mostly?
Mostly it's because the Warhammer fans are the most violently protective club members in the entire school.
And this is Winslow.
That is indeed saying something.
These lunatics once got into an actual knife fight because some normie tried to mess with their terrain mid-battle. The janitor still doesn't talk about it.
That sort of proactive violence is exactly what Taylor needs. She might not feel safe in general, but if anyone lays a hand on her while she's rolling dice, these guys will deploy like a kill team.
Of course, there's also a non-zero chance she'll run away screaming.
You hope for the former. You're emotionally prepared for the latter.
A few words are exchanged, names, introductions, promises of retribution, and just like that, Taylor now has a full starter army she can borrow, plus a pile of reading material that may or may not outweigh her.
Now all that's left is to convince her to actually show up and play.
Shouldn't be too hard. Right?
"Please!"
"No."
"Please!"
"No."
"Pleeeease!"
"NO!"
"Why not?!"
"Because!"
"Because why?!"
Taylor turns away, stiff backed, arms crossed, chin up, classic deflection posture.
Oh no.
She's ignoring you.
She's ignoring you.
The sheer gall. The absolute nerve. After everything you've done together, cookies, confessions, cape conspiracies, this is how she plays it?
Rude. Rude and illegal. You should file a friendship grievance.
But fine. If she won't talk about it like a reasonable blushing disaster of a girl, then…
It's time to bring out the big guns.
Taylor
Why is this girl like this?!?
Madison should know why she doesn't want to hang out with a bunch of teenagers who will only hate her. Who'll look at her the way everyone always has, like she's something fragile, something weird, something wrong.
So why is she whining like a small child?!
Why does she have to have a crush on this one? This chaotic, ridiculous, reckless girl who doesn't understand what she's asking?
Is her brain that defective?
But no.
No, she knows exactly why she feels the way she does.
Because Madison punched out Sophia… for her.
She humiliated Emma's little toadies in the cafeteria.
She got Emma and Sophia off her back.
She protects her now, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
She's so… brave.
And goofy. So, so goofy.
So warm, and real.
…
Fine.
With a sigh, she turns around to face her.
Ba-bump.
This was a mistake.
Because Madison is utilizing her ultimate weapon.
The eyes. The look.
Puppy dog eyes.
Huge. Shiny. Weaponized adorableness.
The super effective attack lands straight in the chest.
And just like that, Taylor's poor, defenseless heart is in ruins.
Taylor lets out a quiet, strangled noise, something between a panic attack and a scream, like a kettle boiling over and trying to beg for mercy at the same time.
WHAT IS THIS!?!??!?!?!
It's too much.
Too powerful.
Too adorable.
Those eyes shouldn't be legal. There should be regulations. Warning signs. A five-day waiting period and background checks before Madison is allowed to look at her like that.
Her legs go weak. Her brain short-circuits. Her dignity packs its bags and flees the country.
Did-Did you kill her?!
Oh god. Oh no.
You didn't mean to! You didn't know the puppy dog eyes were that powerful!
You rush forward in full blown panic, waving your arms like that'll somehow fix it.
"Taylor! Are you okay?!?"
She doesn't answer.
She can't answer.
Because the only thing coming out of her mouth is a high pitched, warbling keening noise, like a tea kettle possessed by the ghost of a tiny scared animal.
It's only getting louder.
Oh god. Oh god.
You're losing her!
Some time later, the two of you sit side by side on the bus, the lurching metal beast rattling along as Winslow disappears behind you.
"Are you sure you're okay?" you ask, watching her with all the concern of a mother hen hovering over her emotionally compromised chick.
"Yes, Madison. For the hundredth time," Taylor groans, her voice flat but tinged with something you can't quite place.
"You really scared me though! And that noise, seriously, what was that? It was like a dying blender being possessed by a steam engine."
Taylor winces and curls in on herself just a bit. "Can we please change the subject?"
You narrow your eyes and look at her closely. The exasperation's definitely real, written all over her pinched face… but that blush?
That blush says she hiding something.
But what?
…
"Okay, fine," you relent, crossing your arms with a huff. You let it go, for now. But your mind is already off on a tangent, analyzing the mystery that is Taylor's screech.
Was that just a socialization glitch? A weird, never before seen Taylor Quirk™ that only triggers under extreme emotional duress?
Or…
Do you have adorableness powers?
No.
No, that would be way too overpowered.
…Right?
Not long after that, you find yourself standing in front of the Hebert household.
And… yeah. It's kinda depressing.
Not in a "haunted house" way or even a "poverty sucks" kind of way, just that slow, creeping kind of decay. The lawn's patchy, the porch is flaking, and there's a lingering feeling of tiredness clinging to the siding like mildew. It's not bad, not yet, but you can see the neglect starting to settle in, like the whole place is just… worn out.
You glance sideways at Taylor as the two of you approach. She's walking a little slower, head down, clearly not thrilled to be bringing someone here. You don't say anything, just shift the weight of the absolute mountain of Warhammer books in your arms, and the steel in your backpack.
(Cape strength for the win.)
Inside, the house is a little better. It still has that same tired energy, but the effort is there, books neatly shelved, dishes drying on the rack, a faint scent of cleaning spray undercut by dust.
Taylor leads you upstairs and into her room, which looks exactly like you expected.
Slightly bland. Quiet. Neatly organized. Functional.
There's a small, overburdened bookshelf. A modest desk. A single picture of a woman you don't recognize placed with deliberate care in the center, framed and polished, the only thing in the room that feels truly alive.
Her mother. It has to be.
"This is my room," Taylor says, voice low and strangely flat, like she's bracing herself for criticism she knows is coming.
You pause for a beat, then try, "It's… nice?"
You really try to sell it.
You do.
But even you can hear how unconvincing it sounds.
Time to change tactics.
"What's your favorite color?" you ask as you set the mountain of books down on her desk with a satisfying thud.
"Huh?" Taylor blinks, clearly caught off guard.
You turn to her, hands on your hips. "What's your favorite color?" you repeat, slower this time, like she's a particularly dense NPC.
"Why are you asking me that now?"
"So I know what color gift to buy you," you say like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"…What?"
You gesture around the room. "This place is so… beige. It needs happy colors. So I wanted to know what color would make you happiest."
Taylor just kind of stares at you, like she doesn't know what planet you're from or how you've crash landed into her life.
And then, without warning, she rushes forward and throws her arms around you, burying her face against your shoulder in a fierce, impulsive hug.
You freeze for half a second, stunned.
Then you smile, slow and warm, and wrap your arms around her just as tight.
You spend a moment like that, arms wrapped around each other, the room quiet except for the soft, shaky sound of Taylor trying to breathe normally.
She doesn't say anything. She doesn't have to.
Her grip tightens just once, a small, desperate squeeze like she's afraid you'll vanish if she lets go.
She looks like she's a second away from crying.
She doesn't.
But it's a near thing.
Eventually, she pulls away, rubbing her eyes quickly even though there are no tears. A small, wobbly smile tugs at her lips, tentative, but real.
Yeah.
This is progress.
But as you look at her, still fragile, still healing, you know one thing for sure.
You still have a lot to atone for.
A little while later, Taylor leads you down into the basement, your soon to be sanctum of superheroic engineering.
It's… a bit of a mess, if you're being honest. Tools scattered in mismatched drawers, boxes stacked in lopsided towers, old clothes draped over half-disassembled furniture, and enough random junk to make a raccoon weep with joy. Keepsakes peek out from cluttered corners, little echoes of a life paused mid-step.
But.
It's secure. It's private. And most importantly, it has space.
Space to hammer. Space to mold. Space to create.
You breathe it in, already picturing the workbench cleared off, the glow of steel under your hands, your costume taking shape piece by glorious piece.
"It's perfect," you say, turning to her with a grin that's almost too big for your face. "Thanks, Taylor."
She shifts on her feet, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, the faintest blush coloring her cheeks. "You're welcome," she says, soft and a little bashful.
It's cute.
Really cute.
But there's no time to dwell on that..
You've got a costume to build. Gear to forge. A destiny to hammer out before her dad gets home and starts asking very inconvenient questions.
You crack your knuckles.
Time to be a blacksmith.
A wide, manic smile spreads across your face as the thrill builds in your chest.
This is going to be so cool.
MORATORIUM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Choose what Madison creates. The final product will differ from the source, also I will attempt to use Midjourney to create said final product, as I think it being a 1-1 copy is lame, as I am not an artist myself. I may bribe my sister later to see of she would be willing to make an actual piece, knowing her even if she said yes we would be waiting a long time. If any of you want to try be my guest.
Lastly the moratorium is here for two reasons, one, to give y'all a chance to discuss. Two, to allow y'all to give your own ideas and submissions.