#Honee Walker

[disabled-dragoon]

Unfriendly reminder that you don't get to play the abled saviour and pretend to care about disabled people just to sow hatred against other minority communities

[haute-lifestyle-com]

Whether you're looking to impress your neighbors, increase the value of your home, or simply create a unique and inviting living space, you have a few choices in front of you in terms of curb appeal.

[fuckyeahmarxismleninism]

TRANS DAY OF REMEMBRANCE 2024 - November 20

Say their names:

NOVEMBER 2023

Savannah Williams

Bernardo Panteleon

Pepper Mychel Peterson

Mariah Ruby Rachel Williams

F. L. “Bubba” Copeland

Lola Laperla Ebony McDaniels

Shandon Floyd

Tiesha McFarland

Kejuan Richardson

Amiri Jean Reid

Mya Finch

Travis Stimeling

DECEMBER 2023

Demita Jo Armstrong

Onteris Owens-Campbell

Jesse Viviano White

Star Possum

Jermaine Golden

Meghan Riley Lewis

Zoey Flye

Madison Montana

Care Hansen

Amber Minor

Ashlei Jasmine Colgate-Edwards

Fleetwood Mars Mozee

Shelby “Lexus” Riddick-Walker

Kimbella Blackshear

Easley Jeffcoat

Tripp Schultz

JANUARY 2024

Lady Fabian Sanchez

James Moen

Dana Randolph “Desiree A. DeMornay”

Quin Joy

Sasha Williams

Jennell Jaquays

Sarina Mihailoff

Sasha Washington-Cohen “Sasha Fierce”

Guelila “Gigi” Iyob

Videl Lombardo

Savannah Rose Rivers Amore

Kathy “Otter” Ottersten

Robin Valentina

Forrest Douglas Buckley

Giselle Stone

Tristan Michael Bustos “Tristyn St. Clair”

Kitty Monroe

FEBRUARY 2024

Natalia Skye

Teddy Reese Curran

Erick Krouse

Noah Jackson Chase

Ellie Walsh

Nex Benedict

Emma “África” Parrilla García

Blakely Hanson

Righteous TK “Chevy” Hill

Ashton Myles Clatterbuck

Madison Nicole Spann “Madison St. Claire”

Cecilia Gentili

MARCH 2024

Diamond Cherish Brigman

Elliot Ganiel

Fae Morganna Barbone

Aurelia A. Legassey

Alex Franco

Meraxes Medina

Ty Geissinger “Ty Holiday”

APRIL 2024

Andrea Doria Dos Passos “Maggie”

Yella Clark

Allister Matthews

Tiffany Azalea Monceaux

Tara Fable

Randy Dudley

River Neveah Goddard

Tee “Ace” Arnold

George A. Schappell

Starr Brown

Robbi Mecus

Basil Brown

MAY 2024

Tayy Dior Thomas

Kita Bee

Kamryn “Cantrell” Smith

Jazlynn Johnson

Daelicious O’hare Mizani

Darri C. Moore

Niomi Jenkins

Michelle Henry

Saanti Bonét Valentino

JUNE 2024

Pauly Likens

M. Tapia

Lynn Conway

Liara Kaylee Tsai

JULY 2024

Dylan Gurley

Griffin Shaun Sivret

Kenji Zemonta Spurgeon

Ev Smith

Shannon Boswell

Levi Castillo

Lily Autumn Rose

Monique Brooks

AUGUST 2024

Noelle Woolley

Indiana Grayson

Vanity Williams

Tai’Vion Lathan

Jhzara “Femmie” Williams

Baxter Zachary Hawk

SEPTEMBER 2024

Kassim Omar

Liam Johns

Mahdia Lynn

Cass Trystero

Chilli Pepper

Barbie Iceland “Redd China”

OCTOBER 2024

Honee Daniels

Serenity Birdsong

Adela Vázquez

San Coleman

Zeta Muirgen Seraph Haber

Despite our best efforts, the names on our list are only those who had the privilege of recognition, the fortune of discovery, or the extraordinary courage to leave indelible proof of their true selves for us to mourn. So many unknown and uncounted people remain that even years from now we will learn the names of people in our community who died this year without the recognition they deserved.

https://www.transremembrance.org/domestic-list

[cozycottagetarot]

Your First Getaway Together | The First Series

✈️ Notes: I did use 'Future Spouse' in this reading but it applies to 'Your Person' or long term partners as well. This reading is a mix of a classic tarot reading and intuition.

🧳 Reading Contents:

Setting/General

The Between The Two of You

The Magic & Sweet Little Magic (extended)

A Romantic Surprise (extended)

Hinting At The Future (extended)

LINKS: Reading Masterlist | Dividers | Ko-Fi | Patreon | Patreon Masterlist | Paid Readings - OPEN | $10 and Under Readings - OPEN

A new chapter awaits with many mysteries in store! Get 25% off all readings when you use the code CCT2025 until January 31st 2025.

PILE 1

SETTING/GENERAL

Cards:The Adventurer, The Aspirant, The Captain, Ten of Pentacles, The Star, The Hanged Man

Your first vacation or getaway with your future spouse is something that has been in the works for a while, and you’ve been saving up for it. It’s a trip you’ve been dreaming about for quite some time now, and I think you’ve been feeling a bit impatient about how long it’s taking to finally happen.

It could be a place that either you or your future spouse have wanted to visit for a very long time—something meaningful or exciting. I don’t think it’s the typical relaxing vacation most people might imagine. Instead, there seems to be a sense of adventure and challenge tied to it.

The setting I’m picking up on feels active and dynamic—maybe a destination with mountains, volcanoes, or rugged landscapes. It makes me think of hiking, tour guides, and activities that get you moving. This feels more like an “active vacation,” where you’re building experiences and even honing certain skills, rather than just lounging around.

There’s also a sense that this trip might be connected to a deeper purpose. Perhaps it involves visiting a place tied to family roots—like if one of you has a grandparent or family history in a specific location. It may not necessarily be someone’s home country, but somewhere meaningful to your shared or individual heritage.

Overall, it feels like this getaway is deeply tied to nature and personal growth. It’s not just about spending time together; it also seems to help you both understand your relationship better. It could bring a renewed sense of hope and faith in yourselves and each other. So while it’s a vacation, it’s also about achieving something more meaningful—whether that’s personal growth, bonding, or fulfilling a long-held dream together.

THE CONNECTION BETWEEN YOU TWO

Cards:Seven of Pentacles, Four of Pentacles, Five of Wands, The Patron, The Walker, The Adventurer

Your connection with your future spouse during this vacation feels like it’s going to be tested. It seems like a lot of this experience will be about figuring out how to work together. Your first vacation as a couple can often reveal a lot about the other person, and I think this trip will do just that.

I feel like one of you may try to take the lead or feel like you have to lead the other. This could lead to a conversation where one of you reassures the other that it’s okay to step back and just enjoy the moment. There’s something about this trip that feels important to one of you—almost like they’re trying to prove something to themselves. The reassurance that they don’t need to control everything will be significant.

This experience will be an opportunity for you both to rely on each other. One person in the relationship will likely realize that they don’t have to do everything on their own—they can ask for help. This could be a big moment of growth for someone who tends to be hard on themselves.

This trip might also follow a challenging situation, making it an opportunity to reconnect and lean on each other. It will be a reminder that things don’t happen or heal overnight, but that doesn’t mean you’re alone or unsupported.

I appreciate you for making it through this reading! 🫶 And because I appreciate you, I'm doing a followers giveaway! Interested? Check It Out Here. Oh... and there's an extended reading to this pac. Afterall, who doesn't want to find out the sweet little details, magical moments and what your first getaway together hints at the future? 👀Available from the cozy corner and up. 😘

PILE 2

SETTING/GENERAL

Cards:The Thief, The Diviner, The Astronomer, Seven of Wands, Two of Wands, Nine of Cups

Your first getaway or vacation with your future spouse feels a bit impromptu. It’s not something meticulously planned. Instead, you two just decide on a whim, "Let’s go to XYZ," and off you go.

I’m getting a vibe of someplace like Iceland to see the Northern Lights—or somewhere you can stargaze or admire a lot of lights. It could be a destination known for its natural beauty, like a sky full of stars, or even somewhere with dazzling city lights that make people stop and marvel.

The trip will likely feel very intimate, just the two of you, and the experience itself will carry this magical quality. It might feel like something out of a storybook or as if it was written in the stars. That’s the energy surrounding this getaway.

Interestingly, this might happen during a time when you’re saving up for something important or have financial obligations waiting. You—or perhaps both of you—might decide to put those worries aside to take this trip because it feels worth it.

I sense your future spouse has a funny and encouraging side. They might say something like, "You’ve always wanted to do X, Y, and Z, so why not do it now? You can’t keep sitting around and letting life pass you by." This energy of urging you to seize the moment feels strong—like they want you to take action and make life happen. Of course, this could also be reversed, with you being the one inspiring them.

The trip might have a bit of a “friends to lovers” dynamic, but it doesn’t necessarily have to. It could also be a road trip—driving from coast to coast, heading to the beach, or just exploring someplace beautiful.

There’s an interesting dichotomy in the setting: either it’s somewhere with minimal light pollution (perfect for stargazing) or someplace with lots of lights (like a city or a festival). Either way, it feels incredibly fulfilling, leaving you happy and at ease throughout.

THE CONNECTION BETWEEN YOU TWO

Cards:Nine of Swords, Nine of Pentacles, Three of Swords, The Vengeance (Reversed), The Catalyst, The Captain

I’m picking up a specific scenario where something related to work or another stressor weighs heavily on your mind. You might feel anxious or preoccupied at the start of the trip, and your future spouse steps in, trying to reassure you.

However, it’s possible that their attempt to help might backfire a little. You could have a moment where the stress overwhelms you, leaving them feeling a bit panicked or frantic. They might think, “Oh no, this trip was supposed to make things better, not worse!” Regardless, they’ll be there to comfort you and help you relax.

Your future spouse doesn’t want the worries you’ve left behind to follow you into this space. They’ll gently encourage you to kick back, let go, and enjoy your time together. It’s a beautiful balance of supporting your mental health while also savoring the experience of being in a new place together.

I feel you two will collaborate really well during this getaway. You’ll see how great of a team you are and how seamlessly you complement each other. They’ll also hype you up, instilling this confidence in you—this “I can take on anything” energy.

The vibe is very uplifting, almost like a coming-of-age story—not necessarily in the sense of being young, but in the way it inspires personal growth and self-discovery. It feels like a transformative moment, where you find yourselves and deepen your connection, realizing just how well you balance and support one another.

This getaway has the potential to spark a new chapter in your relationship. If you were just friends before, this trip could mark the turning point where your dynamic shifts. Even if you’re already romantic, it still feels like a fresh start—something that strengthens your bond and sets the stage for an even deeper connection.

I appreciate you for making it through this reading! 🫶 And because I appreciate you, I'm doing a followers giveaway! Interested? Check It Out Here. Oh... and there's an extended reading to this pac. Afterall, who doesn't want to find out the sweet little details, magical moments and what your first getaway together hints at the future? 👀Available from the cozy corner and up. 😘

PILE 3

SETTING/GENERAL

Cards:Eight of Wands, Seven of Pentacles, The Moon, The Dancer, The Captain (reversed), The Assassin

Your first getaway with your future spouse could be an overnight trip—a short and quick excursion. It might involve other people or be to a location where there’s a lot of activity and people around.

There’s also a chance it could be a business or work trip, where one of you invites the other to tag along and spend the night in a new location.

It feels like the two of you will prioritize seclusion during this time. If you’re required to be around others, you’ll likely keep that time to a minimum. Once the obligations are done, you’ll focus on spending the rest of the trip together—just the two of you. No interruptions, thank you very much.

There may be tension either at the time of the trip or involving the other people present. This reinforces the sense that the getaway could be tied to an external obligation that one or both of you has to attend. Despite this, you’ll make the most of your time together—creating memories, deepening your connection, and getting to know each other better.

It could also be connected to a retreat, workshop, or activity that promotes self-discovery. Alternatively, it might involve taking a class together—possibly something creative like dance classes.

THE CONNECTION BETWEEN YOU TWO

Cards:Strength, Two of Cups, Seven of Swords, The Diviner, The Merchant, The Hound, The Tailor

During this getaway, you and your future spouse will share a strong connection. This trip will highlight not only how well you get along but also how you complement each other.

One of you might have invited the other for somewhat selfish reasons initially, but over the course of the trip, they’ll have a change of heart—realizing they’ve been undervaluing the relationship. There’s potential for one or both of you to recognize new possibilities in the connection, deepening the bond. It does feel like this getaway is more likely to happen before things are serious.

However, it also seems to play a pivotal role in your relationship. It marks a turning point where someone pays closer attention to the other, reflecting on their priorities and shifting their perspective.

In short, this trip is an opportunity to connect on a deeper level, offering insight into what you could mean to each other.

I appreciate you for making it through this reading! 🫶 And because I appreciate you, I'm doing a followers giveaway! Interested? Check It Out Here. Oh... and there's an extended reading to this pac. Afterall, who doesn't want to find out the sweet little details, magical moments and what your first getaway together hints at the future? 👀Available from the cozy corner and up. 😘

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2024 No. 1

Prompt: Panic Attack

Warnings: Mentions of torture; anxiety attack

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

It happened so fast. 

One moment, you were in the kitchen, preparing dinner—a stew of venison and vegetables. The next, you were crouched in front of Daryl, whispering words of encouragement while he tried to catch his breath. 

Tara hadn’t meant any harm. Over for dinner, she had been rummaging through a box of records—a bonus from a recent run that had gone smoothly. The record player and vinyls had been the reward you had bestowed upon yourselves when you had extra time due to the lack of walkers to dispatch. 

First, to Daryl’s utter joy—expressed by a grunt and appreciative nod—she had chosen Johnny Cash, allowing the record to play through in its entirety before deciding to try her luck with a random choice. The moment the song began, you knew—even before the sound of Daryl’s knife and whetstone clattering on the floor—what would come of it. 

We’re on easy street

“Tara, no!” The spoon you had been using to stir was abandoned somewhere in the kitchen to be found later. Your steps were hurried, finding Daryl with his back pressed against the wall, eyes wide and shining, unseeing. “Daryl. Baby.”

“What’s—I didn’t—” Tara stammered from across the room, her hands flailing uselessly. You waved her off, somewhat urgently. 

“Just turn it off.” Your focus was centered on the man in front of you, his face pale, breaths quick and shallow. “Hey. Hey, you’re okay.”

“Can’t—can’t breathe.” He gasped, a hand coming up to lay against his throat, the other palm flat against his chest. “Don’t—I can’t—”

“You’re not there, Daryl. You’re here. With me.” You yearned to touch him, to ground and comfort him, but knew that he would only flinch away, lost in the torment of those days trapped and tortured at the Sanctuary. “You’re safe.”

“Ain’t—” His breaths were sobbing rushes of air that he thought he couldn’t capture. He was pale, his skin glistening with perspiration. “Y/N—”

“I’m right here.” You followed him as he slid down the wall, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Breathe, Daryl.”

“Can’t—I can’t—”

“You can.” You replied, encouragement outlining each syllable. “Do it like me.” Your gaze honed in on the flutter of his pulse beneath the skin of his neck, too fast. If you didn’t help him gain control, he would pass out. He would be mortified by the display of weakness, an entirely new issue but not a surprising one. Still, if it could be avoided, that would be ideal. “Like me, Daryl.”

He finally dropped his hands, swaying where he sat as his gaze locked onto yours. He blinked hard, attempting to focus. You drew in a deep breath and held it before exhaling, slowly for but a few seconds more. Daryl gasped and hiccuped, trying to imitate your efforts with intense struggle. 

“I’m going to touch you, okay?” You said, simultaneously reaching for him. With a gentle but firm hold on his wrist, you placed his palm against your chest and continued your breathing techniques. “There we go.” You whispered. The redness coloring his skin was receding, the strained tendons in his neck beginning to relax. He was wheezing but each hiccuping breath appeared to come easier than the one that preceded it. 

While you continued your gentle coaxing, you glanced at Tara from the corner of your eye and thanked every deity you could possibly recall that she noticed and grabbed her coat on her way out. You didn’t want her to dwell on guilt. You would talk to her later. 

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” You could have cried when Daryl finally dragged in a deep breath, the fog that had clouded his eyes mercifully receding. He said nothing while all but collapsing toward you, his forehead meeting your shoulder roughly. “You’re okay.” His willingness to lean against you was all the permission you needed to fold your arms around him. One hand cradled the back of his head while the other rubbed circles over his back. 

“M’sorry.” It was barely a whisper around breaths that still seemed too fast but came without struggle. 

“Don’t you dare apologize, Daryl Dixon.” He tensed beneath your touch but for a mere heartbeat. “What you went through was not just cruel. It was barbaric.” You held him tighter and felt his right arm encircle your lower back. “But you survived. You came back to me. You’re here and you’re safe.” Nuzzling your cheek against his hair, you pressed a kiss against the spot right above his ear. He had yet to pull away and buried his face against the junction of your shoulder. 

“Ain’t none’a us safe.” He mumbled, the words muted. He was right, of course. The world that existed didn’t offer safety or security. All you had known since the turn had been running, surviving. Still—

“We have each other, Daryl.” You pulled back, willing him to meet your eyes. It was a struggle for him. He loathed any display of what he thought was weakness, of what was truly just humanity. His gaze was searching, a hint of sadness outlined with something akin to hope. “Isn’t that enough?” You offered. You brought a hand to his cheek, your thumb wiping away moisture there. Sweat or tears, who knew? 

After a moment, he sniffed and cleared his throat, his hand coming up to cover yours. 

“Yeah.” He said. “Yeah. S’more than enough.”

[rottenpumpkin13]

ASG go to the mall: what chaos ensues and who comes along for the ride?

Things that happen at the mall, a list

• Genesis drags everyone into a high-end fashion store, loudly proclaiming it's time for "cultural enrichment." Sephiroth is trying to figure out why pants come pre-ripped, holding up a pair of distressed jeans and asking "Is this a defective product?" Angeal doesn't answer because he saw a plain white tee for 12,000 gil and is having a heart attack.

• Sephiroth discovers bubble tea and likes it, but he drinks too fast, and ignores Genesis when he tells Sephiroth to slow down. "I like this, I wonder if they have chocolate—hhhaakkkhh!" <- the choking sounds of a man who has underestimated the power of tapioca pearls.

• Angeal lectures a teenage shoplifter about honor and dignity for so long, the kid hands over the stolen bracelet, his wallet, and a half-eaten sandwich just to escape. "Take it all, man, I swear I'll never sin again."

• Sephiroth stands motionless in front of a pet store window, making intense eye contact with a hamster for concerning periods of time. He's concerned. "This creature's containment seems inadequate for its potential. I've seen it devise seventeen possible escape routes in the last five minutes." Angeal and Genesis then have to drag him away because he wants to purchase the hamster to then free it.

• Angeal clips coupons. So many coupons. He has a special folder for them organized by expiration date and Genesis pretends not to know him at the checkout when he pulls out a meticulously organized binder to save 50 gil on premium shampoo. Sephiroth, noticing Genesis' mortification, helpfully announces "I can confirm this is indeed Angeal Hewley of SOLDIER First Class, and that's his childhood friend, Genesis Rhapsodos hiding his face in his coat" to the entire store.

• Sephiroth gets trapped in a crowd of elderly mall walkers who are completely unafraid of him. They keep pinching his cheeks, calling him "such a nice young man," and insisting he needs to eat more. One particularly bold grandmother tries to set him up with her granddaughter while showing him photos from her wallet

• Sephiroth discovers one of those massage chairs and spends an 20 minutes in it with a completely unchanged expression.

Genesis: Are you enjoying it? Sephiroth: This device's attempt to defeat my muscle tension is admirable but futile. *Genesis cranks up the setting* Sephiroth: *purring* Genesis: ?

• Angeal's trip to a fancy kitchenware store lasts 2 minutes. He finds a 400 gil banana peeler and has a nervous breakdown.

• Genesis and Sephiroth enter a gaming arcade "for posterity."

Genesis: This is where the youth of today come to hone their strategic skills. Sephiroth, watching a person playing DDR aggressively twerk: Oh my god.

• They pass a photo booth, and Genesis insists they need "documentation of this expedition." The resulting photos show:

Photo 1: An awkward photo where all three of these 6-foot-something men built like trees are trying to fit into the booth. Genesis' hand is in Angeal's face. Sephiroth is a ailver blur of motion because he's falling. Chaos. Photo 2: Sephiroth sitting rigidly with his perfect posture, holding a fake mustache above his lip like he's been forced into this at gunpoint, while Genesis and Angeal are yelling at him to smile. Photo 3: A nice, normal photo of them smiling <3 Photo 4: Looks like a renaissance painting. Zack pulled open the curtain because he recognized them from afar. Genesis is dramatically fallen back, draped across Angeal because he fainted from the surprise. Angeal has a bloody nose because as Genesis fell he punched him in the nose. Zack is excitedly waving at them. Sephiroth is looking directly into the camera, eyes screaming "help."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Drabble Roulette: August Walker + Face Sitting

Hey hey! This weekend (July 6 -7) I’m going to be playing drabble roulette! I’ve curated a list of characters, tropes, AUs, and kinks and I’m spinning the wheel! Hopefully I can do this once a month as a little writing exercise.

Character: August Walker

Warnings: this drabble includes allusions to violence/abuse and dubcon sexual acts. Please mind these warnings and take care.

Explicit, 18+. Please reblog and leave some feedback.

You put one foot down at a time. Lightly. You’ve honed the skill well. How not to make a noise. 

The large form strewn across your bed puffs like a chimney. His heat radiates in the small space of your bachelor flat. An afterglow of sweat and sex permeates the air. Each time he comes, his scent lingers, it never really goes, just like him. 

You move with the ebb and flow of his rocky snores. You tidy away the shot tumbler he used to down the bottle of scotch he brought with him. What’s left of that you tuck away in the cupboard for his next visit. There will be one. There always is. You never know when, but he comes. 

August’s nasally storm fills the tiny apartment as you gather his clothes from the floor. His pants are wrinkled from his carelessness. The last time you didn’t have an iron for the creases. You hope the one you bought down at the thrift store will do. 

You take out the tall ironing board you got with the old thing. It squeaks as you unfold it. You cringe and look at the bed. He quiets but his breaths remain even keeled. You finish opening the legs and lock them in place. 

His groan rumbles like a storm. You look at him and freeze. His burly body takes up much of bed. You got up to keep from teetering on the edge. He’s unbothered as his feet poke over the edge, his ass bare as the blankets tangle beneath him. 

“What’re you doin’?” He snarls without opening his eyes. 

“Sir, I--” You gulp. 

“I didn’t tell you to get out of bed,” he growls and pushes off the mattress, rolling onto his back. His weight strains the metal frame worryingly. “So why the hell are you scurrying around making all that noise?” 

“Sorry, I... I was going to press our pants, sir--” 

“You can do that later. I'm not ready to leave,” his eyes remain closed as he covers them with his thick fingers. “Here.” 

He snaps with his other hand and you skirt around the board. You go to the mattress and climb up on your knees. He tugs on the tee shirt hanging around you. You look down and frown. 

“Did I say you could get dressed?” 

“No, sir,” you swiftly swoop the shirt over your head, the only cover between you and nudity. “Sorry--” 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he drags his hand from his face and slaps your thigh, “if you’re gonna wake me up, at least make it a happy awakening.” 

“Sir,” you lean forward on a hand and reach for him. He swats you away, his lashes flicking back to show his deep blue irises. 

“You know better. Wait. Listen,” he shows his palm and you cower, “up, on your knees.” 

You raise yourself obediently. He watches you with a dimple in his cheek. He brings his finger across his dark mustache. 

“Get up here,” he runs his hands across his chest, “how long since I tasted it?” 

You don’t hesitate. You can’t. You sense his patience waning. 

You bring yourself up over him, kneeling with your legs on either side of his head as he hooks his hands around your thighs. His breath puffs between your thighs. You squirm and put your hands son his to keep from collapsing completely. 

He pulls you down gruffly. You squeal as urges your cunt to his mouth. He delves in without shame. The brush of his mustache tickles and adds to the sensations. You’re still swollen and squirmy from the night before. He growls and wiggles his head, lapping at you eagerly. 

His nails cut into your skin as your thighs clench. You clasp onto his fingers and rock your hips with a whine. As much as you fear him, as much as he hurts you, he still makes you feel splendid. 

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

reader pronouns: she/her Warnings: ANGST!

"Daryl, you've got to talk to me... or if not me, fine, but at least talk to someone..." Carol urged him.

He flicked his thumb over the perfectly honed edge of his blade and shook his head. "Nah. Ain't nothin' to say..."

"Daryl," Carol said again, more gently this time.

He ducked his head, his wavy hair falling forward to obscure his face. "Ya remember that time the Wolves let all them walkers in? 'N I barely made it back with that tanker?"

Carol nodded, her stomach twisting. The first run-in with the Saviors. "Yeah. Of course I do."

Daryl heaved a sigh and slipped his knife back into its sheath, purely muscle memory. "My first thought after I lit the reservoir up, was that I had to find her. I had to. And she had to be alright. I'd never needed somethin' so bad in my whole life. I dunno how many bodies I turned over on the ground... thinkin' every single one coulda been her. It was like a knife in my chest every time. And then I'd look at the face, and it wasn't her, and I'd give in to hopin' again. I was runnin' outta places to check and I finally hauled over this walker and there she was... layin' there on the flat of her back under that fuckin' corpse, covered in walker blood and grime, unconscious... I didn't even think. I just picked her up and started rushing her to the infirmary. It wasn't more than five feet before she opened her eyes and looked up at me—'n she fuckin' smiled. She'd been knocked out and layin' under a damn corpse and she smiled at me. When she did that, lookin' up at me, for that moment I thought everythin' could be okay. More okay even than it ever was before the world went to shit." Daryl finally lifted his head and looked at Carol, meeting her eyes for the first time since she'd found him there. "She's gone. And there ain't a damn thing I can do 'bout it. Talkin' ain't gonna fuckin' help. Nothin' will."

A/N: *insert sniffles here*

[blueiscoool]

Remnants of a Legendary Typeface Have Been Rescued From the Thames River

Doves Type was thrown into the water a century ago, following a dispute between its creators.

The depths of the river Thames in London hold many unexpected stories, gleaned from the recovery of prehistoric tools, Roman pottery, medieval jewelry, and much more besides. Yet the tale of the lost (and since recovered) Doves typeface is surely one of the most peculiar.

A little over a century ago, the printer T.J. Cobden-Sanderson took it upon himself to surreptitiously dump every piece of this carefully honed metal letterpress type into the river. It was an act of retribution against his business partner, Emery Walker, whom he believed was attempting to swindle him.

The pair had conceived this idiosyncratic Arts and Crafts typeface when they founded the Doves Press in the London’s Hammersmith neighborhood, in 1900. They worked with draftsman Percy Tiffin and master punch-cutter Edward Prince to faithfully recall the Renaissance clarity of 15th-century Venetian fonts, designed by the revolutionary master typographer Nicolas Jensen.

With its extra-wide capital letters, diamond shaped punctuation and unique off-kilter dots on the letter “i,” Doves Type became the press’s hallmark, surpassing fussier typographic attempts by their friend and sometime collaborator, William Morris.

The letterforms only existed as a unique 16pt edition, meaning that when Cobden-Sanderson decided to “bequeath” every single piece of molded lead to the Thames, he effectively destroyed any prospect of the typeface ever being printed again. That might well have been the case, were it not for several individuals and a particularly tenacious graphic designer.

Robert Green first became fascinated with Doves Type in the mid-2000s, scouring printed editions and online facsimiles, to try and faithfully redraw and digitize every line. In 2013, he released the first downloadable version on typespec, but remained dissatisfied. In October 2014, he decided to take to the river to see if he could find any of the original pieces.

Using historical accounts and Cobden-Sanderson’s diaries, he pinpointed the exact spot where the printer had offloaded his wares, from a shadowy spot on Hammersmith bridge. “I’d only been down there 20 minutes and I found three pieces,” he said. “So, I got in touch with the Port of London Authority and they came down to search in a meticulous spiral.” The team of scuba divers used the rather low-tech tools of a bucket and a sieve to sift through the riverbed.

Green managed to recover a total of 151 sorts (the name for individual pieces of type) out of a possible 500,000. “It’s a tiny fraction, but when I was down by the river on my own, for one second it all felt very cosmic,” he said. “It was like Cobden-Sanderson had dropped the type from the bridge and straight into my hands. Time just collapsed.”

The finds have enabled him to further develop his digitized version and has also connected him with official mudlarks (people who search riverbanks for lost treasures, with special permits issued) who have uncovered even more of the type.

Jason Sandy, an architect, author and member of the Society of Thames Mudlarks, found 12 pieces, which he has donated to Emery Walker’s House at 7 Hammersmith Terrace. This private museum was once home to both business partners, and retains its stunning domestic Arts and Crafts interior.

Much like Green, Sandy was captivated by the Doves Type story, and mounted an exhibition at the house that displays hundreds of these salvaged pieces, including those discovered by Green, as well as mudlarks Lucasz Orlinski and Angus McArthur. The show was supplemented by a whole host of Sandy’s other finds, including jewelry and tools. An extant copy of the Doves English Bible is also on display.

“It is not that unusual to find pieces of type in the river,” Sandy said. “Particularly around Fleet Street, where newspaper typesetters would throw pieces in the water when they couldn’t be bothered to put them back in their cases. But this is a legendary story and we mudlarks love a good challenge.” The community is naturally secretive about exactly where and how things are found. For example, Orlinski has worked under the cover of night with a head torch, to search for treasures at his own mysterious spot on the riverbank.

For Sandy, the thrill comes from the discovery of both rare and everyday artifacts, which can lead to an entirely new line of inquiry: “The Thames is very democratic. It gives you a clear picture of what people have been wearing or using over thousands of years. And it’s not carefully curated by a museum. The river gives up these objects randomly, and you experience these amazing stories of ordinary Londoners. It creates a very tangible connection to the past. Every object leads you down a rabbit hole.”

By Holly Black.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Crimson Fangs Sing Me Lullabies

PAIRING: David 'Hesh' Walker x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Ten years is a long time to be alone.

WORD COUNT: 18.7k

WARNINGS: Angst, gore, canon typical violence, stitches & needles, death, fluff, puppy love type stuff, mutual pining, Hesh being adorable, Ghosts timeline

A/N: Back to my roots with 30+ page works.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

He vividly remembered the moment Riley had alerted him on that rainy Tuesday afternoon. It was when the sky was pelting against his soaked beanie and the abandoned houses of South California were utterly silent—as still as the heart in his breast. The ground under his feet was soft, grass giving way to slopping mud that caked up to his ankles in thick mounds of flooded earth.  

Hesh had only been out for a swift survey of the area, taking Riley for backup as Logan stayed at camp to pack and hide any trace of two individuals from inside Fort Santa Monica snooping around. Seeing as Federation Soldiers frequented the area, any piece of them that was left in No Man’s Land was subject to identification. Nothing from a broken branch or a boot track could be out of order; certainly not when the two brothers were here to scout possible weak points in enemy territory. Try and find ways to slip in a fire team—give ‘em all a good scare and wipe another point off the map. 

But Riley was along because not only was he Hesh’s responsibility, but the German Shepherd’s instincts were far superior than a soldier’s ever could be. For only 14 months, the dog was making quite the name for himself around the Fort.

A chilled wind whips down the street, the overgrown road filled with rusting cars and trash which flutters in retaliation of being disturbed all across the asphalt. Rain comes down sideways in great roars. Whatever the dog had honed in on, it was loud enough to be heard over the noise of nature.

“Riley,” Hesh calls, calm and collected, to the animal that was intently staring at a large home; hackles tense and tail pointed high. Blue was the color, hiding peeling white trim behind suffocating ivy. A large portion of the left side was ripped away to show its insides like a dead deer would, which had most likely happened when the earthquakes had been rampant during the first few years after ODIN was fired. Tectonic plates shifting and the like. Green eyes narrow. “Go on boy, search.”  

If there were Federation Soldiers this close to camp then it needed to be taken care of—quickly and quietly. No time to get Logan. 

Sharp ears perk and the lithe dog shifts its haunches, raised neck fur accented by a low growl. Paws pad over the ground and twin footfalls follow swiftly after, the body of a Honey Badger Assault Rifle pointed down but ready to aim at a moment's notice.

But nothing could have prepared Hesh for what he found that day. 

—

You press to the oozing wound with a futile hope that it would stop gushing, breathing so loud it can be heard over the deluge outside this shitty excuse of a shelter. Your arm was splattering blood all over the damaged hardwood of the first house you could stumble into, feet flinching back until your spine hits a dresser in the upstairs bedroom. 

Dust lives on every surface; flies through the air as you string curses under your breath with stuttering sobs. You’d hoped that there was a medical kit stashed away here somewhere—something to scavenge that could fix the knife slice that was making you dizzy. 

T…there was just too much blood.

But after the loud slamming of cupboards and the destruction of more than a few rusty door hinges, it hit you like a bullet to the chest as your clothes stuck to you like a second skin. Everything had been picked over. 

No medicine in the bathrooms, no rags in the kitchen, and no hope of bottled water to clean the wound out. Nothing. 

“No, no, no.” You force the black dots away from your eyes, vision blurry with tears as you press harder to the gash. It squelches and more scarlet hits the floor. “It can’t end like this. Not like this.” 

All that you had were the clothes on your back and the sparse materials in your backpack that amounted to an empty water skin, a blanket, and the pages of an old book. 

Blood pooled on the ground, and you realized far later that the only reason you had heard the noise downstairs was because of the steadying way you had bitten your lip; a sob cut short. Your body stilled like you were caught in a bear trap. 

It had been a soft whistle, barely heard over the sheets of rain hitting the broken roof. Water lightly taps your head in an uneven pattern as it leaks through the frame like an ant tunnel. Blinking as a few more tears are forced down your cheeks, you slowly turn to the door that hangs off one hinge. 

Small brown eyes are already locked onto you.

Its pupils are so tiny you wondered if the German Shepherd was half snake—they seemed almost slitted as you gaped at its presence. The army green vest that was wrapped around its frame only served to make you more afraid. 

Dogs were not your friends. Not in this day and age. Certainly not the ones that belonged to the soldiers that had cut your arm open not an hour earlier in the woods. That’s what they did, then? They sicked a dog on you? 

You swallow down a gulp and stand paralyzed as the beast’s lips curled back; its tail puffing up and wagging with aggression. Your breast filled with the constant drumming of a panicking heart.

“G—” voice small, weak, you try to appease the thing with a forced smile as your brows bunch in. This demon doesn’t even blink. “Good doggy.”

You stumble backward only a single shaky step, and then it lunges. 

The dog runs at you with a gnashing of teeth and a shredding snarl on its lapping tongue. Sharp barks meet your ear-piercing scream as they echo off the termite-eaten walls. Rushing back, you feel saliva splatter against your face; a sharp snapping flash just inches from your nose. Your back slams into the far wall with a resounding crash.

“Riley!” A masculine voice yells out, followed by feet rushing up the creaking stairs, but you don’t even hear it before fuzzy neck fur is gripped in your hands. Paws dig into your stomach. Worse, fangs graze your neck as ears stay stapled to an angular head; bobbing back and forth with intent to rip your flesh out. 

You could smell its damn breath.

Straining, every bit of adrenaline-laced strength builds as a split-second to act takes form. You plant your shaking legs and shove with your shoulders—racing away before the loud thump of the Shepherd’s form hitting the floor is registered. Its vibrating growl of hatred echoes off your brain along with its skidding claws. You stagger quickly into the bathroom and slam the thin wood with a loud yell of fear, finding the rusted lock before flicking it with a floundering grip.

The barrier shakes not a second later with the force of a vehicle as you balk back from it with a horrible fear in your breast.

What would it feel like to be mauled to death? You swallow through a closed throat, seeing the door almost cave with the force behind thrown at it; eyes wide and snapping to the tiny box you’d caged yourself into. Oh, fuck me.

“Riley!” Again that voice, closer. There’s a pause in the attack, but the deep barking continues. Eyes flinching, you shake wildly and notice the under-sink cupboard not a moment later with a prey-like haze over your thoughts. “Easy, boy, easy!”

Stumbling, you whip open the small enclosed area and do what you can to shove yourself into it—legs pressed tight to your chest and grunts falling from your lips as you try and maneuver past pipes. Your arm feels like there are a million knives stabbing one after the other, but you don’t for one second dare to stop what you’re doing. Letting the tiny door shut with a bounce of wood, you get totally swallowed by darkness. 

You realize quickly that the barking has entirely stopped. 

“Shit,” hand going to capture your mouth, your fingers press tightly to hide even the sounds of your ragged breathing, dealing with both the hunched-over nature of your spine and the knowledge of someone outside the door. 

Someone who was probably going to kill you. 

Silence lingers, but before long there’s a commotion of a hand that begins to jimmy the door knob. Your ears twitch, blood draining little by little from your head. 

Don’t open the door. Please, don’t open the door. 

The door is shoved open with a shoulder, a brief grunt echoing off the air as the thing slams to the wall. Soon after, the clatter tells you that it falls off of its rusty hinges along with the muffled curse of annoyance.

Measured footsteps make you stare, wide-eyed, at the tiny crack in the side of the wood ahead of you, light from outside dim but enough for you to notice shadows as they slink past. A sigh.

“Clear.” Weight shifts, and you hear a defining click of a safety. You press on your mouth harder. “What was all the ruckus about, boy? Another raccoon give you the slip?” 

Claws pad over broken tile and you hear a nose twitching as distinctly as you can hear your own pulse in your ears. This man that was talking….he didn’t sound like the normal soldiers you’d encountered. There wasn’t an accent to his American English, in fact, he sounded native to the region. Deep of voice and lax in phonics. 

But you had more pressing matters than a man’s speech pattern. A bark rips through the bathroom, and you hear a soft chuckle as your body spasms. 

“It’s not going to be in the cupboard. C’mon, Bud, we need to get back to Logan. Time’s ticking.” More snarling barks, getting higher in octave. The door rattles as you choke back screams as dog feet scratch with aggression, making the barrier bounce with every punch. “Hey, Riley! Enough!” 

A bulky shadow snatches a limb out, grabbing the handle on the back of the dog’s vest, but it’s a bit too late for that. White fangs capture the jutting edge of the frame and rip it off its holding with a raging of metal and splintered wood. You yell between your fingers and try to force yourself away—to try and disappear into a shattered bit of drywall that groaned as you put weight on it. 

Feet kicking out, the dripping wound on your arm makes you wrench the other hand to grip at it, a vain attempt to protect your weak area at the moment. It burns like you’ve just flayed the skin from your bone, peeling the flesh like a person would do to a raw steak. 

And then the dog is reeled back with a sharp yell, “Riley, stand down!”

At once all barking and drool-dripping snarls come to a halt. Panting, you look out to the half-body of the man and into the dead eyes of Riley—a beast that glares at you despite not being able to as his front legs are held off the ground by his vest similar to a kangaroo. It is like staring into the color of dead earth and waiting for it to swallow you whole. 

You wonder if you can die with a still pounding pulse, or if your soul can dip into the very confines of your intestines until you bleed it out. With black dots at the sides of your vision, as Riley is lowered to the ground and left to stand still, you decide that, yes, that could very well happen. 

There’s a large exhalation of air from the top, not-visible, image of the man and although you don’t want to look away from the small-eyed dog, eyes drift slowly to stare. 

Large toned thighs covered in green and brown camo tucked into muddy boots; straps and holsters that drip water with the subtle shifting of hips. Yet it’s almost immediately that those legs bend as a broad chest comes into view followed by a pale, square face. 

You blink quickly, dispelling tears from your lashes mixing with rainwater as it flows down from your forehead when green eyes meet yours—wide and strangely…curious? Brunette hair is trapped by a beanie, and the beginning of stubble spread out down his cheeks, jaw, and chin. Gray sweatshirt, combat vest, patches…your eyes struggle to take it all in but ultimately the large rifle sitting against his chest paints a clear enough picture, even if this man was completely different from the other soldiers you’d encountered out here. 

Shaking, you curl in tighter and hunch your shoulders, hiding away your arm.

Hesh doesn’t know what to think. 

He looks you over with a blatant expression of shock, Riley still on high alert beside him as one of his knees connects with the cracked floor. Lips slightly parting, the man’s head slightly pulls back, trying to understand what the hell he’s looking at. 

A… civilian? This far out in No Man’s Land? How was that even possible—Federation control was practically assured in this area and they shot on sight. Clearing his throat, Hesh sees your water-wet body jerk back, impulsive fear stuck over your head. He quickly raises his hands, dropping his rifle to let it hang from its strap with a clenching jaw as Riley huffs.

“It’s alright, Ma’am.” He coughs awkwardly, watching you incredibly closely. Still not sure how to handle this. “Erm…” A glance is sent to the far wall, “My name is Lieutenant David Walker with the United States Special Forces, you’re going to have to tell me what you’re doing out here. It’s not safe.” 

Firm, yet you notice the words are also subdued as the tension in the air somewhat lessons—like a mother scolding a child that she doesn’t want to start bawling. Your eyes waft away from him back to Riley, though the knowledge that the man was in the Special Forces was startling. You had thought everyone else was dead, most of all the remnants of the military. 

When did this happen? 

Riley still stands as still as anything, watching with his lips curling every so often. Hesh notices your terrified gaze and commands the dog with an easy comment, “Hey, Riley, away Bud.”

The beast pads off with one last long stare, back into the bedroom where you hear the thud of a fuzzy backside hitting the floor and a canid grunt. Immediately a great sigh exits your mouth, crumpled lungs wheezing. The man’s Adam’s Apple bobs as he lowers his arms, lips peeling into a languid frown when his head tilts.

“Sorry about him,” Hesh says, and your shy gaze stops on his neck. Green eyes narrow on you. “Riley’s trained to flush out Feds—not that good at rolling out the welcome committee. ‘Specially out here. He means well.” 

Your lips stay shut, shifting the bloody mess of your arm closer to you. If he was going to kill you, you think, he would have done it already. 

This Lieutenant David Walker wasn’t wearing the dark coloring of the other soldiers in the forest or the towns—wasn’t wearing the patch of twelve yellow stars set into the black void of a rhombus outlined with red. 

He wasn’t part of the group hunting you down. 

Hesh sighs deeply, sparing more glances around the broken-down house and the beautiful woman hiding away in the bathroom cabinet. Even with all of his burning questions, it wasn’t safe to be here. Logan was expecting him back. 

Itching at the back of his neck, the large man mutters, “Well, I guess you’re just going to have to come with us then.” Hesh wasn’t about to leave you here alone. 

Civilians were meant to be behind the Wall, and however you managed to end up outside, he needed to get you back not only for his own consciousness but because you looked like you needed a good meal and a warm bed. 

How long has this girl been out here? He asks himself internally. 

A gloved hand slowly extends out to you and you level on it with a stiff twitch of your feet, eyes glinting.

“Got yourself pretty much folded in half in there, Ma’am.” Hesh chuckles, trying to put you at ease as you just watch like a deer in headlights. “Can’t be too comfortable, huh? How about I bring you back to camp and I can sift ‘round in my packs—see if I can’t find something for you to eat, yeah?” 

It was like coaxing a wild animal from a cage. A chained fox ready to bite its own leg off for the simple release of freedom that it would bring soon after. Hesh couldn’t blame you, Riley usually had that effect on people. 

The dog wasn’t trained to be a pet, after all. 

At the prospect of food, your ears perked. If this person had food, they had to have bandages as well—medical supplies. You glance quickly down at your arm, seeing how the blood had drenched your abdomen from where it flooded out into the lines of textile and thin your lips. It didn’t look good; if it was left untreated…

Green eyes flutter to stare at where you had briefly peeked at. 

“Shit,” Hesh starts, sucking down a breath. His fingers curl from where they still wait for your hand in his. Looking at you as your heart skips a beat from the concerned comment and the unwavering way he stares. “Riley didn’t get you, did he? Let me take a look.”

David moves closer, head partially going under the counter to carefully touch you on the shoulder, shifting your arm from the top. If it was a simpler time, you would have laughed at the sight of such a built and tall man trying to stick his upper half into such a confined place. 

His fingers dig into your flesh and with a hesitant line on your forehead, you slightly present your cut as he sends you a tiny smile in reassurance. 

He…doesn’t look malicious. Maybe I can… 

You blink away black dots and shiver as fingers close around your wrist. Holding back a gasp, Hesh’s eyes widened at the gushing slice; immediately clocking it as a wound from a large and serrated knife. 

Federation? Many of the others from the recon units come back with similar wounds courtesy of the certain blades that the Feds used. 

Digits go to dig around in his medical pouch as your eyes flutter, seeing the heavy frown on David’s face and the lines on his forehead. Ears twitching at the sound of shifting paws, your body quivers. Green quickly glances up as your hand clenches; making more blood fall out to the wood. 

“He won’t do anything,” Hesh assures you, “not without my order. You just need to focus on me, alright? I’m going to wrap this up to help stop the bleeding.” A roll of bandages escapes his pack, and he gets to work tying off a tourniquet above your elbow. “Can you tell me your name, Doll?” 

Your nerves are alight from the rough scape of his gloves along your skin, but you whisper out your title with a stuttering voice. More hushed than a breeze on a humid summer’s day. Speaking after all that screaming hurt your vocal cords. It confuses you that you aren't more afraid of this man—the hard yet sparking eyes.

Hesh sends a quick glance and smiles. 

“Well, we’ll have you all fixed up soon. Promise.” He decided fairly promptly that it would be counter-intuitive to ask you so many questions in No Man’s Land; he’d wait for all of them to be back in the Fort and his father’s opinion. 

Elias Walker was sure to be intrigued by this.

Flinching when David carefully pours water on the wound to clean it out, more wrappings come after to press the torn edges of the injury close together, white rapidly becoming red. But the bleeding would stop soon, as the tight bite of the tourniquet cuts off the flow and leaves your arm completely numb. 

Hesh licks his lips and releases your hand, moving back to rest on the ends of his feet to let his limbs hang off his knees. Looking you over one last time, the man wonders if you were a scavenger. A drifter, maybe? There was a score around the Wall, but they all got caught eventually. 

But none of them were this far out, this afraid.

“C’mon,” David stands, one hand resting atop the counter and the other still extended into the cabinet for you. “We need to get going so we can make it back before dark. Or until the storm gets worse. I’d hate to catch a cold.” 

You stare and push down your fear, injured hand held to you as the other slowly drifts forward. Hesitating over his expectant palm you bite your lip before letting his grip encompass yours. Firmly, fingers tighten over your skin and you shiver at the prospect of touch. 

As gently as he’s able, Hesh helps you out from your hidey-hole, stabilizing you with a hand to the small of your back as you pop to full height. 

“Easy,” he murmurs, watching you stumble as he holds tight. The dog stands from the bedroom, ears erect, but the Lieutenant doesn’t even look. “Riley, stay.” 

Your eyes purposefully never stray to the canine. 

The grip over yours squeezes before it’s gone, and a part of you blinks at the sudden sweep of coldness that returns to you. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, sliding your vision to the still form at your side as the house creaks and groans; rain followed by a deep rumble of far-off thunder. Hesh’s lips pull up, huffing out a single, dismissive, chuckle yet his heart jumps with pride.

“Don’t worry about it.” The man’s limbs rest on his weapon, loose. “Least I could do for lettin’ Riley scare you like that.” A beanie tilts as his rugged head nods to the doorway. “Follow me, Ma’am.” 

You stare at the back of his head as he slips past you, walking past the broken door. Blinking after, you stuff your hands into your pockets and quickly catch up with a few strides; feeling light-headed from the leaving adrenaline in your blood. Not fully convinced you trusted him, David had the one beneficial factor of being in the American military that made you go along. 

Why would someone impersonate them? It didn’t make sense, and thus, he had to be telling the truth. 

But you really didn’t like being near Riley. 

Tail still stiff, the dog stays on David’s right while you keep to the left, if not slightly behind. Brown eyes glare and rage, and you hunch your shoulders in mute retaliation, fixing the position of your backpack after it was smashed between the wall and your body. 

“So,” Hesh tries to break the tension, carefully going back down the stairs and looking back. You perk. “How long have you been out here, if you don’t mind me asking? Don’t get many civvies in No Man’s Land.” 

His boots thump while your shoes lightly press, descending back to flat ground. 

“I…” You lick your lips, “I don’t know.” Brows peeling back, Riley exits the house first, Hesh pausing for a millisecond before humming leisurely and going after—not without a narrowed look of confusion directed at you first. 

“Alright.” He coincides. Maybe you were just in shock. “No worries.”

No Man’s Land? Silently, you dig into the back of David’s head when he leaves the shelter of the house, getting soaked by rain as nitrogen fills your nostrils. What’s that? 

Feet traveling out through rubble, you side-step wood and drywall, breathing in the outside air as you soon feel the water wet down your head and clothes once more, shivering at the constant slap to your scalp and cheeks. 

Shuffling after David, you see him call above the storm with one hand to his chest, speaking into a radio.

“Logan, I’m coming to you! I’ve got an injured Civvy with me—knife wound. It’ll need stitches.” There’s a murmur from the other end, but you hear none of it above the rain; Riley peels out ahead, taking point with a constant pattern that leaves the dog coming back after a moment or two into a heel position. “Affirm. Hold down the camp until I get back. We’ll need to move ASAP.”

Digging into the collar of your shirt, you stay in Hesh’s footprints, shoes getting even more mud-cased all along the old material as you all turn into the treeline, forsaking the dead neighborhood to go back to its rotting. 

You only send one glance behind before it’s swallowed by bushes and downed logs.

The cover of the branches offers some reprieve from the downpour, but only to a point where you still were left floundering over the rugged terrain while David walked it like a pro. 

Hesh was constantly looking over his shoulder at you—slowing his pace when you got too far behind him and Riley. At your almost frigid shivers, his lungs built in a low sigh. 

“Here,” he says, firmly, and plucks the beanie off his head to wring it out. Water pools to the soggy ground as your legs slow, constantly blinking eyes looking up from the rocks you were currently intent on not tripping over. “Sorry, it’s not much. Logan’s got a spare blanket he can lend you later.” 

Pausing, your fingers inside of your pockets twitch at the outstretched article, lashes fluttering as a raindrop bounces off your nose. Cleaning your throat when Hesh prompts you with a small, “Go on,” and a motion of his hand, you take the offering slowly. 

Slipping it on, you pull the thing far over your ears, hating how your hair feels under it but not willing to take it off once the pounding on your skull ceases. 

“Better?” David asks, tilting his head as his short brunette locks get weighed down to his forehead. 

You nod wordlessly, attempting a small flinching smile in gratitude. Hesh delays his turning feet for a moment, seeing that with a barely-there flush to his pale cheeks. Clearing his throat once more, the Lieutenant clicks his tongue for Riley to continue, and offers you a hand over the rocks. 

Up and over, he helps you all along the way, suddenly not caring about how long it might take to get back to camp.

Walking beside you, you take glances at David, wondering aloud, “Who’s Logan?” 

He smiles, green roving over the terrain and now on even higher alert now that there’s someone else with him for the trip back. Riley sniffs along the badly flattened trail, though still takes time to stare back at you with distrust. 

“My brother,” Hesh pushes his hair back, expelling water like a rag, “Riley and I went out to scout territory while he stayed behind. Erm,” the brunette chuckles and another wave of thunder rolls overhead. “Don’t think too much about it if he’s a bit quiet when you meet. Logan doesn’t talk much.” 

“I won’t mind,” you also chuckle, though yours is more forced; subdued. It was easy to speak to Hesh, even if your arm was pulsing and your heart was rampaging.

The Lieutenant sends you an appreciative side-eye, smiling slightly, “Good. I’d hate for you to think he was being—”

Riley halts with a huff. 

Attention shaping forward, David steps in front of you with a quick foot, and your frozen view of the western cluster of trees is blocked by a broad back. 

“Riley’s got something.” He speaks low, deathly serious. “Keep behind me.”

You suck down stiff oxygen, body weary as you peek over to stare at the dog and his vest as it shifts when he moves. The large white lettering of ‘Beware of Dog’ on the side catches your optics like a knife in the dark. 

Hesh takes slow steps ahead, knowing you’re behind him by the way your breath stutters and brushes the back of his neck. His vision bores into the treeline, peeling back bark like the books of a page, his heart a steady bump in his chest. 

Riley continues to alert, paws shimmying and fur caked in mud as his tail begins to go wild. 

David levels his rifle to the shadows dancing, clicking off the safety with a thumb before his cheek finds the stock, staring through the scope with deep-set brows. The man waits for the beast to engage first. 

With the minutes ticking and the rain drowning everyone, you find every swaying branch and twitching leaf to be as anxiety-inducing as a typhoon; still, Hesh stays unperturbed in front of you. About to open your mouth and utter a confused plea to keep going, Riley suddenly rushes.

Pushing headlong into the treeline growls akin to a demon echoing off the atoms of the air when the puffy tail disappears. There’s a moment of strained silence right after where your legs are itching for you to run, but David stays and so that means you will too. He’s really your only chance for survival at this point.

“C’mon boy,” the brunette mutters, hips shifting weight. 

It’s only when pained screams enter the air that the two of you really tense up, a loud, panicked thing that bounces off your eardrums over and over again. You gasp and take a step back, and that’s when two black-armored individuals burst from the bushes, yelling behind them and pivoting to try and shoot an enraged Riley with blood dripping from his maw.

Hesh dispatches them with only four bullets—two for each as their exposed necks explode into crimson. Snapping your gaze away you swallow tersely, blinking as if to dispel the image from your mind. You had seen people die before, in painful and gruesome ways, but that didn’t mean you had ever gotten used to it. Lowering his gun, Hesh tilts his head at the two Federation soldiers, the third taken out by Riley before he drove the others to him. 

“Good, boy!” David praises, oblivious to your plight, and the dog trots over with a lolling tongue, eyes bright. His gloved hand pats Riley’s side a few times, ruffling the fur atop his head as paws tippy-tap before shifting to look back at you. He double-takes, gaze widening with a frozen smile. 

Green blinks at your nervous expression and your body that had backed up a good five feet with your hands stuffed into your pockets. His petting hand pauses and Riley barks. Hesh watches you flinch at the sound and tenses. 

Awkwardly standing up to his full height, his fingers itch at his stubble.

“I…” David pauses, not sure what to say to you. Shaking his head, the man grunts out, “Camp’s this way, Ma’am.” A finger points down the trail and you nod quickly, still not looking anywhere near the bodies or Riley. Or him, for that matter. 

“Okay.” Sharing a look with the dog at his side, he thinks his lips and pauses before he takes off down the grass, concern and apprehension stuck in his veins. Not knowing why, he begins to feel a bit strained.

You stay well behind him all the way back to Logan, thinking and worrying.

I don’t know this man, you tell yourself, arms wrapped around your middle and beanie heavy atop your scalp. Even if he’s nice—even if he says he’s in the military, I don’t know what he could do. I have to remember that. 

And that damn dog. 

You can’t get its eyes off of you—constantly watching and tense as if you’d bolt and he would get the chance to pounce on you. It didn’t trust you and that sentiment was entirely mutual. Pulling your injured arm closer, the image of flashing fangs is playing in your mind as you and David get closer to a dense cropping of stones and deep foliage; now it was worse. Now Riley had congealed blood dripping off his chin, all fur up to his eyes deep red and stained. Rabid looking. 

He was one minute away from ripping my throat out back in that house. 

You shiver, but not from the cold. If not for the kind way Hesh had wrapped your arm and the promise of further help and food, you’re not entirely sure you wouldn’t try to bolt. 

People haven’t exactly been kind to you out here—not for many years.

Your eyes whip away from Riley and stay on David’s boots until the man pushes through one last bush, holding it back for you as you shuffle past with a silent nod of appreciation. The presence of another man immediately makes itself known when you stare into the remnants of a campsite. 

Grass trampled to form a semi-circle, a stuffed backpack rests against a large boulder and, in the middle of the area, sits a small pit for a fire. The dig-out ground is now flooded over by the rain, creating a concoction of mud and brown water. A large overhang stemming from two gigantic rocks gives a small reprieve, though there’s little room for more than two people, and if the rain slants the other way it would end up being completely useless. 

But the figure standing under it is taking what little cover it offers. Shifting with a similar outfit to David and blinking at you with brown eyes. Quickly, he lowers his gun when Hesh calls out, “Woah, Logan—it’s me!”

Blonde hair lays flat over the brother’s head, and you instantly see the resemblance between the two in the same shape of their jaws; the angle of their twin noses. But Logan did seem to be the younger of the two, though not by more than one or two years. 

David saunters forward, hips swaying, and pats you lightly on the shoulder before looking back to send you a soft smile of reassurance. Water flows off his chin. 

“Now, let's get that arm looked at.” He walks under the overhang and bumps forearms with Logan, who continues to watch you carefully. Riley trots up and the blonde rubs his head when David bends down to grab his backpack. 

You awkwardly shuffle, still out in the rain with a cautious feeling in the back of your chest. If you could peel back your skin, you would see an amalgamation of alarm bells strung up by cords of hesitance. Who was to say these men were any different than the black-clothed ones? Could you know their character based on a simple tourniquet and a soggy beanie? 

Brows tight, your shifting feet slosh through a puddle. Did you have a choice? 

Hesh calls over the rain, peeling out a large medical bag from his pack—the white cross capturing your vision. “C’mere! We need to get that stitched up.”

Sighing deeply, you walk until the rock stops the sky’s tears, fingers twitching in your pockets and feeling quite tired. 

“Logan,” the Lieutenant orders and the blonde takes his eyes from you slowly, his stubbled skin sporting a scar up the right side of his jaw. Riley looks up at him when the pets stop. “Give her your spare blanket, would you?” Green flickers to your arm before they go to your face. “Feelin’ alright about needles, Ma’am? It won’t feel that great, but I promise I know how to stitch a straight line.” 

You watch Logan jumble through his own belongings, shivering and hearing the snap of latex gloves from David’s side. They both worked like a well-oiled machine, with gears and pins moving in stupendous arks of shared understanding. If you were being honest, it almost overwhelmed you when a heavy fabric was dropped over your shoulders. 

Fingers go to keep the blanket over your form as a small protein bar was held loosely in your face from Logan’s hands. Brown eyes blink when you carefully take the item, whispering out a small, “Thank you, Logan.” 

The silent man studies your expression before he nods firmly, backing up and taking Riley with him out into the rain with a whistle to allow you more room. You respond to Hesh as he waves you over with a hand.

“I don’t mind needles,” you admit and David listens, patting the rock beside him on the ground for you to sit on. Doing that, you unwrap your bar and hunch deeper into the blanket. “It’s the blood that bothers me.” 

You get a silent side-eye and a gentle hum in understanding. 

“I’ll be done before you know it,” Hesh offers a twitch of his lips, going to lightly twist your arm so that the stained bandage can be unwrapped and laid to the side. “Then when you’re back in the Fort I can get you home to your family. I’m sure someone’s pretty worried about you right now, huh?” 

Your face scrunches, confusion taking hold as you’re just about to bring the protein bar to your lips. Fort? Family? What was this guy talking about? 

Not noticing your look, Hesh, sets off to work, one thumb caressing your numb forearm as he sews your flesh back together. At some point, you turn away, content to bite your lip at the pain and glare into the stone beside you rather than see the crimson slosh down your arm. David wipes at it every so often, seeing the curved needle slowly bring the ragged ends of skin to a neat line. 

He does his best to move as fast as he’s able, careful not to dig too deep and cause you more stress.

You eat your bar with a ravaging hunger, done with it almost immediately and licking the remnants off of your fingers. Hesh chuckles deeply, but a part of him is concerned at the sight.

You had said you didn’t know how long you’d been out here—how were you getting food? The wildlife? You didn’t seem the type to go hunting; didn’t even carry a gun unless it was in your backpack. David doubted that, though.

“Hell, the only person I’ve seen devour those things like that is Logan.” He comments, cutting off the last suture with the small scissors from the pack. You turn to watch his face, seeing the concentrated lines above his eyebrows and the way his tongue lightly pushes out of the side of his mouth until he licks his lips. “Don’t know how he does it—they’re more bland than his cooking.” 

You huff slightly at that, embarrassment heating your cheeks as the needle stops its up-and-down motion. Hesh finishes up with one last look over, tilting his head to the side. 

“You seem pretty close,” whispering, you glance at the figure in the rain, the yellow ball being tossed absentmindedly to Riley before it’s dropped at Logan’s feet as he walks the perimeter. 

Hesh smiles, “Definitely. Couldn’t imagine my life without him.” Fresh gauze is spread and taped down, new bandages unfurled. “Feeling alright? You’re doing great.” 

Your eyes blink at him, slipping over his handsome features and the way his hand holds you so softly even if he is quite large. The cold didn’t seem to bother him at all. You clear your throat and nod shakily.

“Isn’t the first time I’ve been stitched up.” Muttering out your confession your fingers twitch as David tightly wraps your wound up, securing the end and unwrapping the tourniquet at your elbow when he’s done. 

“Really?” The brunette frowns. “Sorry, that must have been tough.” 

You flex your hand, closing and opening your grip as his own travels to the marks the ruthless tourniquet had made on your skin. Freezing your eyes lay stuck to his fingers as the tips of them brush the indents, imaginary pricks under the skin forming as blood begins to flow properly again. 

Hesh doesn’t know what overcame him to do so, slowly pressing into the flesh with a low grunt stuck in his throat. Maybe it was some ill-placed concern for you—some guilt left over for how Riley had treated you before he had shown up. The fear in your eyes when he had killed those Feds.

But you…he wanted to help you.

Unexplainable actions make your heart thump, blood rushing to your head as your limb shakes at the contact. 

Quickly, green orbs pull far open, realization dawning. Clearing his throat, David swiftly moves his hand back to his knee, not meeting your eyes as a red flush makes everything from his nose to his ears pink. Your lips part at the sight in shock, jaw loosening. 

“Well,” he says loudly, moving back to stand and taking off the latex, “that’s that. You’re all set to go.” 

Without meaning to, a small giggle escapes your mouth as you rest your opposite hand on your arm. If anything that makes Hesh all the more flustered, quickly picking up all of his supplies and zipping up the medical kit with a racing pulse. 

Running a hard hand over the back of his neck, you see David call Riley and Logan back as his cheeks go back to their normal color. Your vision narrows on him, trying to understand this individual like how you could understand the thunder that rips the sky or the blanket over your shoulders. You swipe at the last dredges of rainwater on your nose, seeing the two brothers converse in hushed voices. Riley continues to watch you, shaking off inside the overhang and huffing.

It was quite obvious the dog held a grudge for you shoving him to the ground. Warming glee leaving you, you frown at the canine and shift your eyes to the outside world; the downpour is softer on your eyes than feral brown. 

You only turn back when your name is brought up. 

Hesh stares at you, serious, as Logan goes to swing his pack over his shoulder. “We need to start moving soon. It’s bad enough to be in No Man’s Land but to be this deep in Federation territory is worse. Do you have enough energy to keep going?”  

“I…” your lips stutter, taken aback, “Yeah, I should be alright.” If the terrain was anything like it was getting out of that town, I’m not going to make it a mile. Pulling the blanket tighter to you, you ask, “How far away are we?” 

Wherever they were going, it sounded like a good idea to tag along as long as they were allowing it. 

Hesh shares a stiff glance with Logan. 

“Full day of hard hiking, give or take. Terrain’s changed so much it’s a gamble every time.” Your face blanks, throat closing.

“Okay, sure.” You don’t know when you had come to care whether these men left you behind or not, but Hesh’s caring attitude had struck something in your chest like a drum. 

Now that you had someone to talk to out here, someone to caress your wounds, it felt vile to stake out on your own again. Running from soldiers with yellow stars and black rhombus patches outlined in red. This pair wasn’t so bad, at least from what you knew as of now.

David’s lips tighten, eyes sliding half-closed to narrow on you. Green meets brown, seemingly telepathically communicating in that way only siblings can. 

Hesh nods his head, slapping Logan on the shoulder firmly as he calls Riley to a heel position.

“C’mere, boy, we’re leaving.” The dog lopes over as the brunette stops in front of you with a smirk. A silent Logan huffs a chuckle from his position, shaking his head to himself. You look up in confusion, a slow death seeping into you as a teasing expression makes Hesh’s face shift. His arms cross over his chest.

“How do you feel about piggyback rides, Sweetheart?” 

—

You yelp, gripping tighter around David’s neck as the ground nearly gives way, his handle on your hips increasing. His mouth releases a grunt though he quickly rights himself so he doesn’t send the both of you careening over the edge of this rocky hill.

“Easy,” he huffs, looking behind at you as the slowing rain falls on everyone. A brow raises, puffs of breath escaping Hesh’s mouth as he begins to continue on. “Or you’ll choke me out before we make it back.” 

You cringe and loosen your hold, muttering, “Sorry, David.” 

“Hesh’ is fine,” he laughs, turning back, “Only person that calls me David is my old man. And don’t worry about it.” Eyes twinkle. “There are worse ways to die than being choked by a pretty girl.” 

You heat, sputtering for a minute as the joke registers; glaring at his head below your chin. 

“Well then, I guess you wouldn’t mind if I just yanked you off this cliff? Pretty girl and all.”

The deal had been you would keep up with Logan and Hesh as long as you could, from then on the Lieutenant would so graciously allow himself to be the pack mule while Logan and Riley protected the both of you. In all fairness you had done better than expected—David had called you stubborn and practically forced you onto his back when you started dry-heaving on the side of the trail. 

Over the walk, you had gotten into a habit of softly arguing with the man, Logan sending back amused glances every once and a while. It felt good to speak to people again.

“Hm,” Hesh huffs through his nose, sidestepping a boulder and carefully finding footholds in the ascending ground. Riley barks from the top of the hill as if telling him to hurry up. “Y’know I don’t have an answer for that right now. Would you be throttling me on the way down or no?” 

“Depends,” you deadpan, not looking at the edge that the man walks confidently, shivering but still keeping Logan’s blanket over your shoulders.

Hesh blinks water from his eyes, glancing over his shoulder. “On what?”

“On if I can get to you before Riley chomps my hands off.” A loud bark of laughter springs from his chest, unexpected but pure. It echoes off the cliffs and the trees, and you have to laugh slightly with him. You feel his hold squeeze your thighs, hiking you a bit farther up as he makes it to the top, Logan looks at him with a slightly parted mouth before his gaze slides to you. 

You swore there was a spark of thankfulness in his expression, but he’s turning and whistling for Riley a second later. 

“Shit, that’s a fair point.” Hesh chuckles, and you notice his shiver when the cold wind whips past. 

Cheeks burning, you move your hands making the man under you make a noise of confusion. Ignoring it, you peel at the blanket around you and place it above the both of your heads, blocking out the water even if the fabric was already soaking. You rest your elbows on his shoulders and sigh, looking at your bandaged arm for any blood. 

Dark, yes, but all the red fluid was dried. It was seemingly all good. 

Hesh feels his lips pull in a heart-felt smile, stubbled cheeks gaining a sheen as you hide his head from the rain. He didn’t need you to, of course, but the action came from a place of genuine care. It felt…nice. 

“That’s kind of you, Ma’am. Thanks.” Green peaks slightly up, and you turn away so you don’t meet his eye, cheeks burning.

“Least I could do.” Your mouth mutters. “Thanks for not letting Riley eat me alive…and the stitches.” 

Hesh grunts softly, still smiling. 

“Well, I’m not one to let my dog rip apart civilians. Least of all ones that need help.” He keeps a close gaze on Logan and the canine, watching the treeline and the rustling bushes from the blanket edge. “It’s a good thing I found you when I did—wound like that’s a nasty thing to treat half passed out.” He dares to push, “How’d you get it if you don’t mind tellin’ me?” 

You noticed how he would try to ask unassuming questions in hopes you would be able to explain yourself but in reality, you were just as confused. The military was still functioning? You had no idea, stuck in the same areas for…a long, long, time. 

It made you afraid. How…how many years had passed from when the sky had erupted with fire, beams of pure light slamming into the earth. You try not to dwell on it. 

Holding the blanket edge tighter, you wiggle your chilly nose to push back sniffles and explain to the best of your ability. Hesh had called those men Federation Soldiers, and you had heard of that title before the world had fallen apart like a toy castle under the fist of a child. 

Federation…You speak slowly, thoughtful of your words.

“I was running,” David slows a bit, putting distance between the others as he watches Riley sniff an old rusted bucket stuck in the middle of a Black Sage bush. His lips thinned, and a tense feeling in his gut was forming. “I don’t know for how long or where I was going, but I knew that if I didn’t run, I would die.” Your arm was throbbing, but you only look at it and continue. “I bumped right into one of those men when I was trying to see through the rain.”

Voice dipping slightly, you hold back a squeak of surprise when David’s thumbs start moving back and forth slowly over your thigh. Blinking down at the top of his head, you pause and speak through a hitch of breath—the man mistaking it for upset and feeling his eyes crease. 

“...He swiped at me with a knife and I raised my hand up to block it. I,” you stare over at Riley as he runs next to Logan, that brown and black coat soaking wet. “I thought they had sent a dog after me when I saw yours in the house.” 

Hesh tilts his chin to the ground, lungs breathing down a sigh through his nose. Walking around the form of an abandoned and rotting side table, the Lieutenant tries not to imagine how scared you must have been in that instant. 

He moves his head and you look into the expression of a soldier who takes his job very seriously. At the intensity that lives behind his eyes—at close range—you see flecks of bark and mossy dirt; a delicate and almost pretty curve of lashes. You’re entranced by a rugged beauty as you sigh. 

“That’s never going to happen again.” Skin heating, you see his gaze search your face, hold firm. “I said I would get you home,” he declares, letting a small smirk peel his lips. “And I’m not one to go back on my word, you hear?” 

Your chest tightens. You don’t have the heart to tell him whatever place he’s bringing you isn’t your home, but you feel light at the statement anyways. The insinuation was enough.

“Okay,” you mutter, and you both stare a moment longer. 

Nodding subtly, David studies the dirt and grime on your cheeks, the weather on the epidermis in what could have been sun exposure or simple blemishes. Your expression turns shy at the blatant staring, and you move your head back just as Hesh chuckles deeply, blood pumping. Walking faster, the Lieutenant rejoins the other two with an alert eye and a soft smile as a thankful feeling grows for the blanket over his head and the woman holding away the downpour. 

He decided then and there that nothing bad would ever happen to you as long as he was around.

It’s an incredibly long walk, but when you see the Wall for the first time, you nearly fall right off of Hesh’s back. The rain had stopped by now, though the air was still moist and the sun low—giving the world a shivering temperature. 

But the Wall. 

Hesh had called it Liberty Wall in a passing comment as he had let you slide from his hold, your feet stumbling not from fatigue but from sheer amazement. It was…gigantic. Falling to pieces, sure, but nonetheless a great achievement.

“There she is,” David sighed, stretching out his arms and groaning as Logan radios in from where you all stand along the ridge. Riley lies panting at Hesh’s feet. “Good to see ‘er again, huh? Been outside for too long, I’m about ready to eat a whole plate from the mess hall—and that’s really saying something.” 

About to chuckle to himself, eyes narrow in confusion at the realization of your blank expression behind him, frozen body with wide-open lids and parted mouth. Hesh’s brows crease. 

“Hey...you alright?” Clearing your throat, you notice the twin brown and green gazes on you with a quick swivel of your head. 

The brothers share a look.

“Mhm,” you bite your lip, hands descending into your pockets as you shuffle, shoulders rolling under the straps of your backpack. 

Hesh crosses his arms as the radio on Logan’s chest statics with a garbled voice, “Affirmative. You’re all clear to proceed, Sergeant. Good to have you both of you boys back so soon—Riley too.” 

It was becoming even more clear that you needed to be brought to Fort Santa Monica and to their father. You had met Federation soldiers, were in No Man’s Land for who knows how long, and acted as if you’d never seen possibly the most recognizable landmark that had been made during the last ten years since ODIN. 

“Logan,” Hesh turns to his brother but keeps his eyes on you, “radio into dad, yeah? Tell him we’re back and going to be showing up at HQ. Ask for an empty room.”

You stare along the barrier, mind running back to all the events that had happened since the moment the world had changed, wondering. Thinking. 

If this had been here the whole time… Faces flash over the back of your eyes like a layered movie before you push them back. The trail that Hesh and Logan had taken to get here was probably only known to the likes of them—no one else, or you would have traveled it ages ago. The dark-clad soldiers were so numerous that you’d never even thought to take the main road up North, nor the woods. They were everywhere all the time.

A hand grips your upper arm and you flinch, focusing back as Hesh’s strong jaw comes into view. He flattens his lips in a still-line smile of comfort.

“Let’s get you inside, Ma’am.” His hand carefully presses down farther on his hat atop your head, pulling it over your ears once more. “Find you some less soggy clothes.”

“What about you?” You ask without really knowing what you mean, finding some strange sense of comfort when David was near to you. 

The man chuckles, heart jumping, beginning to guide you down the slope and watching you closely in case you trip. Riley keeps on his right, neck hair still bristled whenever he looks your way. 

“What about me?” He asks, cheekily.

“You just carried me more than halfway here,” you shiver and dig deeper into Logan’s blanket, “and you’re just as soaked—I don’t want you to get a cold because of me, Hesh.” 

The sentiment was true. David was feeling worn out, and some of the liquid dripping down his face was undoubtedly sweat, but seeing that adorably concerned expression was almost enough to make him forget the aches in his shoulders and thighs. He blushes and turns his gaze ahead, clearing his throat. 

“Ah,” the man shakes his head, “don’t worry about that. Could’ve been worse.” He smirks, “could have had to carry Logan.” 

You laugh quietly at him as everyone makes their way down into a large, underbridge, area made of concrete; heading quickly to a checkpoint in front of a large pair of black-steel doors built into the Wall. 

“I don’t think it would be that bad. Funny to watch, at least.” Staring at the back of the younger brother, Riley suddenly comes up from behind you, seemingly intent on getting there first. His ear brushes your swaying hand and the next thing you know, Hesh is shoving you to his opposite side as savage barks make you yelp. 

“Woah, Riley!” David hollers and your heart jerks to a ravaging pace, air trapped in your throat as you’re kept close to a strong chest by an arm around your shoulder. “Holy Hell, stand down!” 

Logan by now had turned and was jogging over, grabbing the dog by the vest and peeling him back across the concrete. Panting, you watch with shaking limbs and look down at your fingers. 

Nothing more than a large scratch across the top of your left hand, but it was irritated. You sink deeper into Hesh’s side and cover it against your chest. Green eyes jump back and forth from you to the raging canine, Logan’s grim-set face glaring down at the furry beast, putting Riley into a sit with a gloved hand to his behind. David smushes you closer and after a minute of more barking, the dog falls silent, though still glares at you violently. 

You struggle to take down air, face scrunched like crumpled paper. This dog… 

Hesh glares and clenches his jaw at Riley, for the first time in his life entirely frustrated with the animal. 

Guiding you forward quickly, the brunette doesn’t move his grip, scowling over his shoulder before bee-lining to the entrance. He speaks in clipped sentences to the guards who all know him and his brother well. 

“Take us to HQ.” You’re ushered into the back of an armored truck, Hesh taking your right side and telling Logan to stay with Riley in the next vehicle of the convoy. 

Blinking quickly, you swallow down saliva and hold your hand tighter, shivering and staring at the floor. 

“Let me see,” muttering, Hesh reaches out. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault…Christ, I swear he’s never like this.”

You shakily put your hand in his, the large mark aggressive looking but barely bleeding. But you remember the pressure of Riley’s fangs vividly as they slid past your flesh like soap.

“Ah, shit,” the man huffs, “I’m sorry, Sweetheart.” His thumb runs over the mark lightly, gritting his teeth and sending you a stiff glance. Your vision tilts as you look away, but the slide of his hold was addictive; the small twitches of his fingers and the warmth they bring. 

“Y’know,” you attempt a small, wobbly, chuff, “he looks a lot cuddlier than he is.” 

Still tense and feeling guilty, Hesh pushes forward a dull twitch of his lips; blaming himself. Maybe the dog needed more socialization if this was how he was going to act around injured civilians when they barely brush against him. 

“Yeah, I suppose.” Still holding your hand, he squeezes before stuttering nerves release you—hesitation to let you go bunching his knuckles for a second more. He liked the feeling of you in his hold, liked how your tension slowly leaked away when his attention was on you. “Doesn’t hurt, does it?” 

You feel the slight pulse in your hand, sighing before shaking your head.

“No, not really.”

“‘Not really’ isn’t givin’ me the reassurance I’m lookin’ for, Ma’am.” Shuffling out of the blanket, you place the water-heavy fabric in the seat beside you as the car flies over the ground, speeding you into safety.

“I think it would be worse if I lied.” Itching at his chin, Hesh huffs and nods, his large body so close to yours that his shoulder bumped yours with every movement of the vehicle. 

Your heart is steadily calming, and you rub at your face. The feeling wasn’t bad, and you almost find yourself leaning into him and putting your head in the slot of his neck.

Stop that.

“Guess so, but it would make me feel less like an ass.” Smiling, you raise a brow and view the way his chest beats quickly through his clothes, bouncing his vest up and down with adrenaline. Green narrows at you and your face heats. “But, no, honesty would probably be best, Sweetheart. I’d hate for you to be hurting and not tell me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you smirk, swiping fatigue from your eyes as you yawn. “You’re very nice, Hesh—your brother too. Not what I would expect.” 

Wide lids side-eye you, lips parted. There’s a second of still silence as you slouch back against the seat, placing your stitched arm over your abdomen and pulling Hesh’s hat farther down your head; even if it was wet, it had gained a semblance of a precious gift. Like a present on a holiday, one you shake because you’re so excited to open it you have to stimulate your mind with its hidden contents. 

David blinks quickly, looking away to stare out the window and see the dark sky outside and the shadows it leaves as the twenty-minute drive to Fort Santa Monica truly begins. He lets you rest your eyes, but the comment has genuinely struck him.

Nice was not on the list of what most people called him. Stubborn—a natural-born leader, ruthless, and prey driven. But…nice. He clears his throat quietly and watches the raindrops sneak down the glass. 

“You’re not too bad yourself, Ma’am.”

—

You’re sitting in a large room filled with screens playing black and white video footage, pulling at the collar of a two-size-to-big sweatshirt and shifting in large camo pants. They had taken your backpack. In front of you, the face of an older man was simply watching you as you looked around with fatigued wonder. Desks with stacks of papers; large computer data storage boxes, the entire works. One of the upsides to this, you blinked at a water dispenser and realized, was that the lights were dim in here and you were finally somewhere that had AC. 

Inside your head, you were at a standstill. Part of you thought this was a dream, was this really all here the entire time, and you and the others just—

“I think we can start with names.” Your eyes whip forward, finding Elias Walker’s cold brown stare and graying hair as he stands across from the table you’re sitting at; your feet shuffle under the wood.

Hesh and Logan are by the door, the younger leaning on the wall petting Riley and the older keeping his arms crossed and fingers loose on the collar of his vest. Green softens when you look over slightly, a comforting smile finding your vision. He nods.

No need to be worried, he seems to say, I’m right here with you.

Over your head, the damp beanie was still there, now only slightly water-logged. You pull it down over your ears with a slow grip and listen. 

“You can call me Elias, and those are my boys you met,” a pale hand is moved in explanation. He grunts, “I’d imagine you’re all acquainted well enough.” 

You nod giving your name and mutter, “Nice to meet you.” 

Elias crosses his arms over his chest—it’s not hard to see how all of these men are related, though Hesh is more of a carbon copy of the father. The older man has a calm but stern look on his face as he frowns.

“And what was it that drove a civilian down into Federation-occupied land? Past the Wall?” You fiddle with your fingers in your lap, licking your lips. Elias wasn’t one to beat around the bush. “Better yet, how exactly did you make it outside—only way out is through the checkpoint.” Brown darkens, “else there’s a breach I don’t know about.” 

You struggle to answer, not sure if you know how to formulate a sentence that would make any sense. But this was starting to make you nervous. The unyielding intensity, Riley glaring at you, your blatant tiredness. Shock was settling but you didn’t know how to explain.

“How…” speech falters, and Hesh watches closely, frowning but knowing that you had to show them how you had gotten beyond the barrier. It was a massive security breach—it was a miracle you were even alive, really. “How long has it been since that wall was built?”

Elias stills. By the entrance, Hesh’s expression freezes. It’s as if the very air flips at the bare insinuation you offer forward. 

Shifting his hips, the older man’s muscles tense, as if he’s thinking over something very important. “Ten years since ODIN struck. Work on the Wall started right after.” A silent pause. Expectant. You feel your face drain of blood; a blank horror. 

Ten…ten years? It was silly, but your mind quickly went to your age—adding the numbers together and the time you missed. Ten years of hiding; of watching rare acquaintances die, scavenging for supplies. Ten years and this entire time you would have been able to live normally had the Federation camps moved just a tiny bit Eastward to open a path for you. 

“I…” You clear your throat, forcing out a blatantly fake laugh through a whimper, “Wow. That’s something, huh?” 

“You mean to tell me you’ve never left No Man’s Land?” Elias leans forward, placing his hands on the table and closing in. He doesn’t look angry, but his tone is disbelieving. Accusing. “That’s impossible.” 

“Dad,” Hesh steps forward, holding out a hand in front of him and glancing at your numb face—the sway of oblivion. 

“Ten years,” you whisper, staring off into Elias’s tense neck. “But she died just a week ago. All this time we could have…” David turns his head to you sharply. 

It’s like time stands still in that room—a void completely separate from all else besides a brewing acceptance. No one knows who you’re talking about, but the context is little needed for the way you spoke. Obviously, you had lost someone terribly important to you and Hesh understood that the reason you had probably made it so far was because of whoever they had been. You weren’t exactly the perfect image of a natural survivalist—not helpless, no, just not like the Lieutenant of Sergeant. Certainly not like their father.

“Shit,” a hand is lightly placed over your mouth, stomach bunching in your abdomen. 

“Let’s do this another time,” David interferes, and his father throws him a sharp glance. “It’s late, Dad. Everyone needs some rest; we can pick it back up in the morning—first light.” His mouth quirks in a stiff smile, and Logan backs him up silently.

Elias stands back up to his full height, crossing his arms loosely, and you’re stuck in the well that makes up your consciousness, descending bucket being fruitlessly dragged back up by a rusty handle only to fail halfway in the air as the rope bunches. The father sighs deeply and shakes his head, giving in to his son after a clench of his jaw. But it was obvious you posed no great threat.

“Alright.” Hesh nods and walks over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder as you look up at him slowly. He plasters a small smile on his face. It looked incredibly kind—the strong set of his eyebrows now soft. 

“Why don’t you come with me?” Fingers squeeze into your flesh. “There’s a pretty good barracks building a five-minute walk from here—doesn’t smell like the others and you’ll get a room all to yourself.” Elias watches, face losing a part of that tense edge. He shares a glance with Logan and turns to resume his work. “That sound good? I swear I won’t put you up in building three.” You stare and he acts like he’s sharing some big secret as he lets you stand up. “Ant problem.” 

You spare a tiny, broken, chuff of a laugh and his face brightens. A small win.

“You coming, Logan?” The Lieutenant asks, but the blonde is already shaking his head ‘no,’ pointing to the back exit to the shooting ranges. He was a night owl, through and through, and hasn’t changed a bit since they were kids. “Sounds good. I’ll take Riley.” 

“You boys take it easy,” Elias says over his shoulder, and you stay at Hesh’s side as he leads you out of the room, whistling for the dog to come to a heel which the canine does with a lolling tongue and sharp ears.

“You too, old man. Don’t worry about us.” 

“I always do.” The door closes and once again you three are walking together—Hesh more present with using his own body as a barrier between your form and Riley with his right hand near the dog’s vest handle. 

“I think my dad came off a little heavy, sorry about that.” David’s voice brings you back, pulling that bucket a little farther up from the pit below. “It’s just…”

The sentence falls.

You bite your lip and say, “It’s just his job. Even when I think about it,” the man still hasn’t released your shoulder, but instead moves his hand to the span of your shoulder blades. You try not to shiver and fail when he listens as if you’re the most viable source of news ever created. “It does sound a little...insane.” For lack of a better word. 

David chuffs, tilting his head and scrunching one eye. “Maybe just a little.”

The man feels you shaking and he doesn’t think you notice. Eyes wide and fingers twitching from where you keep them. The noise probably doesn’t help.

Buzzing lights and conversations only a door away as the two walk down the hallway and make it to the stairs to lead down to the main floor. From there the sounds were more barking dogs, vehicles, and gunfire from the training grounds. 

This was a military base, after all, and it never really went to sleep. It must be grating to hear after the utter silence of No Man’s Land.

“...But you wouldn’t be the first, believe it or not.” David tries to keep your mind off it, keep your attention on him…but he was curious; desperately so. Yet still, he didn’t want to rush you. You looked so overwhelmed it made his chest squeeze. “Heard a few reports from Dallas before it fell—a family that had lived in a man-made bunker and were found by patrols five years in when they were out scavenging.” 

“Really?” Your lashes caress your cheeks, and a small smile comes to you. You wonder how this man can make you feel so comforted; at ease despite the dog at his side and the various intimidating-looking gear strapped to him. Hesh was good-natured, it almost seemed impossible to imagine him a hardened soldier like you knew he really was. Kind, if not a bit mischievous and blunt. “That sounds more interesting than what I lived like.”

“Well, I doubt that.” Lips perk in a smirk. “Anyone with brains knows that time spent outside the Wall is always interesting.” 

“We just moved around a lot,” you admit, “those soldiers were always changing camps so we never stayed long anywhere.” 

“Hm,” Hesh makes a sound in the back of his throat, nodding. “Could’ve guessed that. Bastards jump around like cockroaches—can never get a good hit on ‘em.” He doesn’t press. 

“Really?” You feel more present now, itching at your cheek before looking at Riley as he lopes along and watches the roads from where you walk on the sidewalk. “What about the pattern?” 

David blinks his green eyes at you, face creasing. 

“Pattern?” 

“Yeah, they shift in a hexagon pattern every month. I had a map with it marked so I knew where to set camp.” Breath stills and Hesh stares at you, shocked, but his tone changes to a serious rush. He turns you slightly towards him with two hands on your arms.

“Would…you be able to mark those points again? If you had another map.” You lick your lips, cheeks going hot as you stutter, and feel his hands press into you. His chest was incredibly close to you, body heat leaking into your bones. Riley glares.

“Y-yeah, I think so.” David studies your face, searching for any hesitance. He pauses, green glimmering. There’s a moment when you notice the fast blinking on his face, the slight flush to his stubbled jaw as he clenches it, and are reminded of the caressing thumb that had dug into your inner elbow. 

Delicate stitches. 

The world blurs like a reflection in unknown water. Ripples that distort the streetlights into the shadows on his face and create soft waves of old scars and pale flesh in their warm illumination. Hesh’s breath hitches.

“G-good.” And he’s releasing you quickly as you wonder if being found by him was truly the best thing that could have happened. You spare a glance at Riley with racing blood, trying to stop the smile that insists to form for no reason. The dog cocks its head. “We’ll…get on that tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Whispers dance on airwaves as David keeps his eyes forward. Clearing his throat as you clock that tick and pull his beanie off. You bump your elbow to his side and he snaps his neck back over like a line with a hook. “You should have this back.”

You both walk slowly, side by side down a back street, and spare each other quick glances with flaming faces.

“No, that’s alright,” Hesh utters, rubbing at his neck and avoiding looking at you head-on. Your fingers brush the fabric and your expression softens. “I have a whole bunch in my room, don’t worry about it. I’d…” he chuckles to dispel the strange tension in his shoulders. “I want you to have it. Don’t want you cold.”

Your eyes crinkle, and the man swallows.

“So you think that your hat will help with that?” Teasing, you take it back anyways and situate it back on your head, shyly putting your hands into your pockets. “What? Is it special?”

“Woah,” Hesh, smirks with a raise of a hand, pointing lightly at you. “Hey now, Sweetheart, don’t disrespect my beanies like that—they’ll save your life.” 

Laughs bounce off the street. 

“I guess I’ll have to keep a close eye on it then,” Riley huffs and Hesh pats his neck firmly, giving him attention. “For my safety.”

“Damn right.” Your heart hurts from how fast it’s beating, that great muscle like a large drum that echoes in your ears. Skin tingles with an undeniable tension in the air.

The barracks building comes into view. 

It’s nothing extravagant, but the thought of a soft bed and a pillow not filled with mold was addicting. Your eyes blink along the structure as Hesh leads you in, keeping the door open for you as he tells Riley to sit at the entrance. The dog does so, though obviously with disapproval—grunting in that lupine way as the barrier separates him and his handler.

“He really does not like me,” you mutter out, raising a brow and catching back up to David who waits a few more feet into the building. 

The brunette sighs.

“He does tend to hold grudges. Once he wouldn’t play fetch with Logan for two days because he forgot to give him his dinner.” 

“Hell,” your brows raise up, “my odds are in the ground.”

“Probably, Ma’am.” You elbow his side again and he chuckles, bumping his shoulder into you as his hands sway at his sides. “Ah, don’t hold it too close, Riley’s just a special case. My father trained him so he’s all business.” A smirk, “Nothing like me.” 

You stop as Hesh does—in front of a nice-looking wooden door.

“Here.” He points to the handle and you grasp it, twisting and pushing past. 

You enter a tiny but clean room smelling like linen and golden light. Delicately, as if the world would break apart if you touched anything you stare at the lamp on the nightstand, the curtain over the window; the…comfort. The sight of an extra blanket on the end of the bed almost made you cry. 

“Now,” Hesh slides past you as your lip quivers, wide eyes looking around. “No one else can access these barracks without an ID, so there’s nothing that should go…wrong…” 

He trails off when he sees your face.

“Hey,” David takes a step forward. “What’s wrong?” His eyes slip around, looking for what might have upset you as he comes back to you.

“Nothing,” fingers lightly rest on your collarbone as you shake your head; vision going blurry at the man’s worried face. “Nothing’s wrong, Hesh, I promise. Just…” you laugh wetly, and a tear drops down your chin. “I forgot what it was like to have an extra blanket.”

It was more than that, but the statement was all you could describe right now without making a complete fool of yourself. David’s breath stills, hand stuck an inch from your arm. 

He watches the tears fall from you and, without thinking, he reaches up the back of his pointer finger and brushes it along the flesh; creating a line of fire up until he completely swipes it away. After a second of quivering silence, the air flimsy as your lungs jump, he finds no fear or discomfort in your expression and does this again—wiping away any trace of past hurts. 

Blinking, you tilt your head forward and bump it into his chest. Startled slightly, Hesh grunts, but his hand finds the back of your head above his beanie and cups it, staring down at you with hot cheeks and a thick throat. 

“I…” he begins but can’t find the words. You made him want to skin his hands of calluses so that the roughness of his touch was foreign to you. 

You only deserved warm flesh and extra blankets. As much food as you could eat—soft mattresses and even softer clothes. So short of a time he had known you, but not a second more did he want you to suffer. 

Ten years. He can’t even imagine it, and yet here you are in his arms. Kind. Unbroken.

Hesh’s head stutters, hesitating, before his neck bends and he presses his face into the top of your head, closing his sad eyes and running his other hand up and down your back. 

Sniffling, you melt even more into him.

“She died a week before you found me—my friend. She was with me since the beginning.” The hitched voice that comes out of you is so quiet that the brunette has to strain his ears to listen but listen to you he does. Silent as a bug and tightening his hold so you hear his strong heartbeat rampaging in his chest. 

Logan and him did this a lot when their mother died. Just hugged and held each other as if their lives depended on it. He doesn't know why, but he knows it has to be the same for you as well.

“Infection. She fell,” your voice cuts out, “fell on a rusty nail. She’s the only reason I made it this far.”

“Where were you?” Hesh asks, lungs aching for you. “When ODIN struck—in town?” 

You return to that time, hand sliding up to wrap around his waist to ground yourself. David lets you, increasing the pressure of his gentle hand on your spine. “Hiking. It…it was a family vacation.”

His jaw clenched tight. A swelling hatred strangles his neck, a feeling that makes his eyes slip back open—forests burning in his iris’ in great waves of an inferno. He had never wanted to charge out into San Diego more than at this very moment.

A family vacation had turned into a decade of surviving. Hesh didn’t have the heart to ask about where your family was now. He already knew the answer.

“Everything just…fell apart.” Your ribs hide your fast-paced lungs, your sniffling nose stuck deep into fabric.

“I know,” the man grunts, “I know it did, I’m sorry.” It’s all he can say. He knows. David pulls you back by the shoulders after a moment and slightly moves his head down to look at you head-on. “But you’re here now, okay? Behind the Wall. You made it. And I’m gonna make sure that you’re never alone like that again.” He attempts a smile as you see his concerned expression, shining with sincerity and honor. “I’d stake Riley on it.”

The wet giggle that exits you is automatic, and Hesh chuckles right back; put at ease and ears bouncing with that sound that he commits instantaneously to memory. 

“That’s counterintuitive, Hesh. I don’t want your dog.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing I never break my word, huh?” Perhaps why he was so good at this, comforting people, was because of Logan. Only two years apart, but he’d taken the big brother role easily—loved it, in fact. It made him feel good to see people smile.

But it made him feel on the moon when it was you.

You watch his green eyes slip over your face, thumb going to wipe away the last drops on your under eye as a deep heat starts smoking inside of you. David speaks lowly, compassion so visible you find you want to gaze upon his face for hours; mapping lines and piecing together what made this man…him. 

“Feeling better?” Smiling softly, you find yourself leaning into his hands on your face. The brunette smiles back and chuckles. It wouldn’t be so bad, you decide, to stick by his side—even if Riley was less than approving.

“Feeling better.”

You sleep that night with an extra blanket wrapped around your body and a dark beanie on your head; taking in the scent from the fibers of thistle and dog hair. You’d never smelt something more comforting.

—

A week passes with a flurry of activity. You find out that Los Angeles is still habitable—in fact, there’s a stable economy in the city and people are thriving. Fort Santa Monica is home to not only a handful of civilians from before the war but also an incredibly large amount of military personnel all under Elias Walker's command. 

Hesh had taken you out on the third day for a ‘tour’ as he called it, but it was also due to the fact that you’d been too afraid to leave your room when not called upon. There were so many…noises…again. People laughing, happy conversations, and greetings thrown your way.

“Word got out about the girl that lived in No Man’s Land,” David had teased as you awkwardly waved at a woman in fatigues that had slapped your shoulder and invited you out for drinks with her friends. You had politely declined. “Everyone’s eager, seems.” 

“I think I forgot how to properly speak to people,” you had sent a frown and a huff his way, keeping close to him as he led you on with a wave of his hand and a deep chuckle. 

But in all this time you had earned yourself a big reputation for being the woman who handed over intel that others had only just begun to unravel. Federation base locations. Patterns on movement—irreplaceable data.

Which was why you’d been asked, rather told, by Hesh that you’d be going to the bar with him and Logan for drinks. On the house. 

You’d quickly found it to be a strange affair.

“Not feelin’ up to it, Sweetheart?” your eyes lift from where you’d been swirling your still-full glass of amber liquid. “I know it can be a little loud—I’m sorry. Merrick’s a giggly drunk.”

Green eyes stare at you with pity, throat bobbing as a beer bottle sits on Hesh’s lips; the last dregs going down before he wipes his mouth with his sleeve. 

“If you wanna leave I’ll walk you back, okay?”

“No,” you wave a hand, touched but hesitant, “that’s alright. I’m fine, really.”

The lieutenant smirks and tilts his head—raising a dark brow in disbelief. The two of you had gotten close over the days; he had told you early on that you were easy to read for him.

“Don’t make that face at me, David.” You glare, pointing from your seat at the bar top. Hesh rolls his eyes and shakes his head as if disappointed.

“Whoa, first name—that’s illegal.” 

Your lips pull up in a sharp smile, leaning over the table as the music from the building plays in your ears; warm light on your cheeks and nose. “David, David, David!” 

“Hey! Quit it!” You’d grown fond of him in a way you can’t describe. So short of time and yet you both still get giddy when you see one another—hearts hammering. Even now as the laughter spills from both of your lips and people in the bar spare knowing glances, you don’t address it. 

“But really,” Hesh levels and you watch him spread his hands in surrender, beer bottle still shimmering in one hand, “whenever you want to go, just ask.”

“Hesh!” A call bounces from the far corner and you both look over, startled, to Ajax at the pool table. “Get over here so I can wipe the floor with you!” 

There’s a bout of laughter from the other bar patrons, bets being placed loudly. 

“Hey, it won’t be that easy—you’re on!” Hesh is off with a rush, patting your shoulder as he passes. You watch after with a wide smile and a raised brow, muttering to yourself.

“He’s unbelievable.” You can’t deny the loftiness that you feel when he looks happy like that. Really happy. It’s nearly a curse to try and think about what he would have become if the Federation hadn’t fired ODIN. He would have been in the military still, no doubt, but not quite the same. 

Hell, what would you have been like, even?

A shadow slips into the chair next to yours, and you look over, content. “Hey, Logan.”

The younger brother nods to you, sipping from his glass of water, a greeting smile on his square jaw. True to the brunette’s word, he was very quiet, but you didn’t find it in a disrespectful way. Logan carried himself with a subdued power, and the dichotomy between Hesh and him was laughable when you really thought about it; polar opposites.

You didn’t mind in the slightest.

Holding an easy conversation with nods or tiny comments back, you spoke with him for about twenty minutes while Hesh and Ajax called each other names and threw baseless threats through smirking lips like toddlers. At one point a very drunk Petty Officer Second Class, Thomas A. Merrick, had to drag a laughing Ajax off the pool table while you and Logan watched with exasperated glances. 

But the air was easy and the drink was flowing—soldiers from all over the Fort were here tonight. For you, though most just came for a good sip of alcohol and you didn’t blame them. You just did what was right, nothing more. 

“I think I’m gonna head out,” you tap a fist to Logan’s shoulder and he looks at you, sparing a quick glance at Hesh. You smile. “Nah, I think he’s going to be at it for a while. I’ll just walk back by myself—I’ve got my keycard, so I’m all good.”

A yell of victory rings from the corner before a loud exclamation of, “Rematch, right now! Your foot hit one of the balls to the left when you were climbing it!”

“It did not!” Logan stares blankly behind you and you laugh, slipping past. 

“Tell Hesh I said to have a good night!” You call over your shoulder, catching adoring brown eyes following you out and a mock salute from his water glass. 

Riley sits outside, resting his eyes, but when the door closes behind you the canine springs to his feet. The week hadn’t soured your relationship, but it definitely didn’t make it better either. Frowning, you pause in the night and look at the empty food dish and the filled water cup set out by Hesh for him.

“Tough luck, bud?” A muzzle lightly curls, but at least he wasn’t barking at you. Ears stand alert and ready. “Look,” you level, pulling Hesh’s beanie farther down your head as those beady eyes glare. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, okay? It’s not like I want you to hate me—I was protecting myself. You,” your finger points, and a lupine huff warns you, “came at me.” You point to your chest. “Remember?” 

It was comedic the way Riley yawned harshly at that moment, and you scoff.

“Who am I kidding, you’re hopeless just like your handler. I shouldn’t even be doing this,” reaching into your jacket pocket, you produce a small, soggy, napkin. Bending down, Riley growls low in his gut, but you ignore him. Not to say that the sound didn’t make your lips thin, though.

Unraveling the knot you’d tied in the bar, you look down at tiny cubes of medium-rare steak and sigh. “Look if this doesn’t work, I’ll give up.”

Flattening out the napkin, you pick up a piece and turn your vision upwards to an intently watching dog. At the sight of the food in between your thumb and first finger, the dog’s mouth gradually opens, tongue beginning to lull. A black nose twitches quickly. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you grumble, “Hesh said you were a food fiend.” 

Tossing one of the pieces on the ground, you let him sniff it before his teeth flash and he grabs it quickly, tossing it up and munching on it. When Riley’s done he looks back at you expectantly, shoulders less wound up but still uneasy. 

“Well,” you push the rest forward before standing, “go on then. Don’t let me stop you.” 

Shaking your head to yourself, you leave him behind and set off down the street, mumbling, “You can’t say I never did anything for you…” 

You hear the sniffing before the clammer of biting teeth, happy pants, and tapping feet. Huffing, you can’t deny the slight jump that affects your heart. You’d have to tell Hesh about the progress tomorrow. 

Your cheeks heat, smiling to yourself as you think about the brunette. His hands always seemed to be on you one way or another and during the last two days he’d been holding onto you for longer; firm touches that he had to blink himself back to the present to take away. The actions made your skin tingle and more than once you’d caught your gaze lingering on his visage—his body. As if trying to will him back to you when he had to leave. 

But the staring was mutual. You had sworn at one point you had seen him more intent to fuzzily look at your moving lips than to focus on what you were explaining. Fingers absentmindedly tapping on a desk and humming at every word from you. The look had been…your body shivers warmly in remembrance, staring giddily at your shoes. 

You continue down the street, circles of light from the lamps hitting you one by one as you glide under them like a moth. Humming a light tune, you take the route that Hesh had brought you down the first time, imagining his hands on you and his lips on yours. 

When you giggle silently and chastise yourself for thinking like that, you hear the last whispers of a distant conversation that lead you to pause.

Your face freezes, smile stuck as your legs stall. It was Spanish wafting over the air, hushed and harsh. That wouldn’t be alarming, many people here spoke the language fluently as it was the native one of the entirety of the Federation—it was needed for intelligence gathering, or at least that was what Hesh had explained. No use going into No Man’s Land if you can’t understand the driving force occupying it. 

But this was hushed arguing, not some common conversation. It didn’t sound normal and the scuffling feet over the concrete gave you pause. The night suddenly became very cold. Backing up a step as you stare in the general direction of the increasing footfalls, the sudden sight of three heavily armed men as they round a corner with strong eyes. 

Your vision finds them immediately—and they do the same for you. It was instinctual, then, when your suddenly fevered face snapped to their patches. 

Gold stars and a black rhombus. Red outlined. Your expression utterly drops. 

There’s a single instance where no one moves, neither you nor those three Federation soldiers that now stare right back with an equal amount of shock. 

“Eh,” you make a sound in the confines of your throat and all hell breaks loose.

Jolting away, shouts ring out as hands snatch at your limbs, and you can’t even begin to think about how these people got into the Wall undetected. 

Everyone’s at the fucking bar!

Yelling loudly, you dash to the side, a quick swipe going above your head as the beanie is wrenched off of you instead of your hair. Not bothering to fight for it, though a large part of you wanted to, your feet take you anywhere but here. 

Roaring in anger, the soldiers pursued with rampaging boots and vitriolic order. Why they don’t shoot you is a wonder. Maybe it was because they wanted to try and salvage what they’d already lost. 

The screams escape you as you dash backward, retracing your steps but it isn’t going to be long before they catch you—true to that idea, just as the words exit your mouth, a harsh hand captures the back of your neck. 

“David!” The other winds around your mouth, muffled screams stuck behind gloves. Legs and arms striking out, your body is dragged into a back alley; the others all join to force you to submission. 

Your boot connects with someone’s kneecap, and a hoarse yell echoes as you rage with a frenzied pulse. Wide eyes look this way and that, sweat forming on your brow as a punch finds your gut and a resounding insult flies to your ears. 

Going slack for a moment, the violent white that bursts behind your vision leaves your straining muscles useless and you try to breathe behind the unrelenting hand over your mouth and nose. Like a shot deer, your dragging legs give out; coughing and gasping for air. 

Pain shoots down your chest with ruthless efficiency. 

You suppose in that moment of ringing ears, that it was chance that you heard the dull shunk of a knife being taken from a sheath. It wasn’t chance, though, when your desperate teeth snapped into the heavy hand, ignoring pain and the tears smeared over your face.

With a sharp cry, the hand loosens enough for you to get the last word, a brief moment of clear realization, “Riley,” you scream with little breath but sufficient volume, “Come!” 

The knife descended on you, but you jerked your shoulder to the side, head ripped back to bare your neck to the silent moonlight as the hand recovered your face. Black dots swirl, shadows lingering like phantoms in the recesses of your mind and spilling demons from your eyes. Hatred flares in you, but not as much as fear does. That silver blade connects with the meat of your neck and shoulder junction, tearing past muscle and tissue to rent a large slash open to the air. 

Your legs kick before arms wrap around them—more quickly called orders and insults directed at the one who had missed your neck peeling back the drums inside of your ear. Thick, hot, blood stains your clothes; the copper scent gets stuck in your nose as you gag and try to force your lungs to function with nothing to suck down. Darkness seeps deeper, and the knife is brought up once more, the tip digging into your cheek with a firm bite when you try to flinch away.

That’s when a guttural and vociferous yowl exudes from the chest of a rampaging canine as it bursts from around the corner of the alley, white teeth glinting and eyes red. 

Riley has the man with the knife by the neck in two seconds flat, reaming him back and clinging to his spine with only his fangs on his nape. Multiple wet crunches echo for but a moment, a small sliver in time, but then the loud pained bellows that follow after drown out all else. Like a bomb had been dropped, the man Riley keeps ripping apart falls sideways, hands reaching behind his head to try and pry the dog off. In a fit of fear and stupefaction at the turn of events the remaining men release you, tossing your body to the side and into the adjacent wall in panic. 

Hands reach for guns but it’s already too late. Riley has ripped the entire back of the man’s head off in a flurry of fur and jerking maw—flesh peeling back in long strings into a waiting mouth as the screams continue. Now, though, they come from only the remaining soldiers as you watch with mute horror; gripping your leaking cut and vision fuzzy from the blow that your head had taken from slamming into the wall. Lack of oxygen. 

With all the ruckus, it was only customary that the streets were soon awake with confusion and rising tension. You swore you heard your name being called streets over, hurried yelling as the lights flicker on from the building across the road.

But Riley. Christ, Riley. 

The second man’s pistol was stopped from rising any farther as fast fangs found a wrist, the shot bouncing off the ground as you balked back against the wall and cried out. Across the Fort, the yelling starts up. Louder now. That remaining soldier unaffected thus far by the feral rage is snapping into a ready stance—shaking as the barrel is leveled with the dog’s skull as sharp points go for the kill once again. 

“Riley!” You snag out a leg and rip it back, curling your foot around his ankle. Black clothes hit the ground hard, as the man inside went with them. 

It carried on just the same. 

Panting you stare into the blood-dripping muzzle that now turns your way, three opened necks pooling to the ground and twitching. Gargling gasps dribble like glasswork exploding in kilns; such a vulgar, primal, sound. But you only stare at the beady brown eyes as they seem to bite you as well. Framed with crimson, whiskers droopy as droplets hit your knee and rancid breath slides over your stalled face.

“Please…” you mutter, bruised head turning to the side, eyes clenched shut. Licking lips resonate and you clench your hands as you finally hear the frantic calling of your name coming down the road. Fast-moving shadows.

Hesh.  

Riley breathes on you, but before your swallowing throat can call out the brunette in fear of what the dog will do, a wet tongue licks a long stripe over your cheek. Eyes bugging, you snap your head back up, jaw slackened and brain struggling to calm down. 

The dog watches with a slow tilt of his head, tail lowly swishing. 

“What the fuck,” gasping wetly, the hand on your wound lessens, hot fluid gushing between fingers. 

Riley huffs, feet shifting. 

Laughing slightly in anxious confusion, your free hand lightly raises. Soft fur conforms to you, letting your digits weave through the locks. Riley licks his lips once more and sits on his fluffy behind, ears sharply up and twitching. 

Hesh nearly runs past the sight, heart too fast for his chest and teeth clenched tight together. His mind was as sober as it could be—a deep sense of unease clawing in his gut. 

He’s heard the screaming; the gunshot. When he’d run out of the bar after doing a quick headcount for you and being unable to place your form, Riley had already been gone. A trail of dust and a floating napkin were the only indicators. But the fear was worse than that.

Where had you gone? Were you in danger? No thought was behind his sprinting, just a flushed face and a deep need to keep you safe. He’d promised you. 

No one had been able to stop his senseless searching as he took off at a racer’s pace, looking down alleyways and carrying the pistol in his right grip until his knuckles had gone white and see-through. Like a loyal hound, Hesh was intent to find you. Even if it turned out to be nothing. 

And then the real screams started, and so he screamed too—your name.

But now he slams a hand into the concrete wall and reels himself back, a hunched shadow stiff in the side of his green vision before he can fully pass the alleyway entrance. 

“Holy…” Hesh trails harshly, gaze going wide. 

You were there surrounded by three Federation soldier’s bodies and while that was alarming, there was only so much you could do when you were a corpse. Riley held in your arms was something that Hesh couldn’t begin to explain. 

But the shock was short-lived.

“Sweetheart!” He called, boots propelling him forward as he slid to one knee in front of you, hands pushing past fur and muscle to bring yours forward by your shoulders. A handgun is placed into the back of his belt. “Woah, woah, hey. Tell me what happened. Where does it hurt?” 

Staring into your eyes you immediately relax at the presence of the man, his large body seeming to shield you away while sending glances around the area; not liking the thought of more attackers. 

“Hesh,” you breathe, massive weight coming off of you even as you bite your lip in a pained whimper. 

“I’m here. I’m right here.” Hands travel over your body, gliding over bumps and bruises quickly and efficiently. “What the fuck…” he growls deeply. “It’s all gonna be okay.” 

A swift glance is sent to the canine who watches blankly. 

“Good job, boy.” You stare blurrily into Hesh’s neck as he carefully peels back your hand, face scrunching and body pulling together as sparks of agony alight as the gaping cut meets the breeze. 

“I,” stuttering, you ignore his harsh inhale, the ripping of his shirt as he presses the tattered cloth to your neck. You shiver. “I lost your beanie.”

Fearful green eyes lock on your as the calls from the rest of the soldiers from the bar finally make an appearance. How fast had Hesh been running to find you? 

“Hey, don’t even worry about it,” his palm encapsulates your cheek like a prized family heirloom, keeping your face pointed toward him as you shiver. The soft scraping of his hard calluses itches your flesh. A strained smile graces his lips, “I’ll give you another one.” He looks the rest of you over and grits his teeth. 

He doesn’t care about the dead soldiers—the possibility of a breach. Suddenly, all of his priorities had shifted in the short span of a week, horrible loyalty rearing its head.

“I need you to stand up for me, Sweetheart, okay? I’ll be right here, I just need you on your feet. I know you can do it.” You nod shakily, pulling strength from his resolve as his arm pulls you to his chest like it had when you’d first hugged; using his muscles to drag you up a second after checking to see if you weren’t in too much pain. 

Standing now, his grip stays around you, propping you up into the crook of his arm and increasingly looking more and more worried. 

When you flinch and whine, he looks about ready to burn down cities to bring you comfort. 

“Riley, come on!” Hesh calls, then softer, “I know it hurts, but you’re doing great. Keep at it just a little longer.” 

He moves you quickly, and the pounding in the back of your head threatens to drown out everything—your neck and ribs barely made a dent like that did. A pan being hit with a spoon. Nails on a chalkboard.

“Logan!” David yells, and he feels incredibly warm. Riley brushes your staggering legs, keeping close and looking up at you. Leaning in more heavily, you gaze up into Hesh’s frowning face, his continued glances, and the furrow in his brow. 

You wonder how you’d never noticed how truly handsome he was before. Hesh had a strong face—good bones and a soft nature to his skin besides the stubble. And his eyes. Oh, his eyes. You blink up at him and he spares a stiff smile, mostly dragging you down the alley. 

Other feet pound the ground near the entrance.

“What’s that look for? Huh? Makin’ me nervous over here.” His fingers squeeze your shoulder. “Got something on my face?” 

“You’re kind, Hesh.” You whisper, blinking and stumbling before he grunts, twisting his grip to bring you up into a bridle hold. “Far kinder than you should be.”

His heart breaks.

Clenching your teeth, you bury your head into his neck before the brunette starts to run again. He pounds past Logan and a group of armed soldiers, who slide to a quick stop. Hesh only spares his wide-eyed brother a single, horror-stricken, look on the way through. Riley follows.

“Just keep talking.” He pleads, your dead weight in his grip worse than anything he’d ever experienced. “Y’know, you keep ending up in my arms.” He rounds corners, heading to the MTF with a bursting pulse. Hesh keeps looking down at you, pressing your head closer with a hand as if he could bleed himself to give you strength. “I think I should get my own plaque—Pack Mule. What do you think?” 

Laugh, please, laugh. Please, I need to hear it.

You laugh slightly, ear ringing to his blood flow. You want to melt into him, let him keep holding you like this and keeping you to him like a stuffed animal. His breath on your cheek, his glassy eyes and bitten lips. 

You’d known he was good from the moment you had seen him standing and gaping at your form in that bathroom cabinet, willing to treat your wound without even knowing if you were armed.

He’s good.

Hesh sprints past an entrance, shoulder slamming into a glass door as it’s thrown to the side. 

“Nurse!”

You don’t know why, but hearing his voice crack like that made you want to sob.

—

The soft antibacterial whip made you glower and flinch back, frowning straight into Hesh’s serious face.

“If you clean it anymore my skin will fall off.” You shoo his hand away from your shoulder, pulling the hospital gown back up in the process. 

“Just making sure it’s healing,” he looks up at you from his chair as you sit on the end of the bed. “Can’t be too careful.”

“Says the man who’s been here every day and leaves Riley to watch the door when he has to go to the bathroom.”

“Hey,” Hesh blushes, pulling back to slouch and crossing his arms. “It’s called being cautious. We still don’t know where the breach is.” 

You stare with a soft smile, exasperation in your eyes. 

“David,” he raises a brow at the title, “I’m okay.” 

Moving your hand from your lap, you absentmindedly pet the dog that sleeps on the hospital bed, itching behind Riley’s ears. Hesh watches, moments passing as the small tension seeps out little by little. He glances at the outline of stitches that he has to place bandages on soon but quickly looks away, frowning to himself. 

You sigh, shaking your head. 

“When I heard your voice from the alleyway entrance, I knew I would be just fine.” Green slowly slides back, gaze softening considerably as he watches your expression. A low grunt is forced out, a rubbing of a hand on his neck. “You promised, didn’t you?” Your head tilts. “You haven’t broken it.”

“No, I haven’t,” Hesh breathes, standing, “and I don’t intend to.” 

You smile, face hot as his vision blinks to the upturn of your lips. “Hey,” Riley stirs next to you, “at least I know I won him over.” Your hand pats the dog’s head. 

The brunette stares and a moment passes before he whispers, “knew you would.”

Blinking, you turn to find the most delicate expression on David's face and your breath hitches in your chest. He swallows but doesn’t hesitate. The words had been eating at him for a while, and as he was never one to shy away from speaking his mind, it was like torture to keep this from you. But now…now events have forced him into the spotlight. He can’t forgo this anymore, he can’t lie and say he hadn’t been sneaking glances or daydreaming about you. Your smile, your voice—even the way you walked or how your eyes lit up when you were passionate about something. 

It was just right, and seeing you like this now only strengthened that. Hesh had felt fear like he had when he was carrying you a total of a mere handful in his entire life. 

He mutters, “I knew from the second I found you out in No Man’s Land that you were special.”

Not believing your ears, you stop your petting. Wide eyes like dinner plates and a half-parted mouth. 

Was he…?

“I knew when you made me laugh when I was carrying you through the hills,” Hesh takes a step closer and grabs you lightly by the chin, tilting it up with a finger. His face was adorably burning, but you short-circuit at the words that continue to flow with candor. Your heart skips beats and with a clammy hand, you reach up to brush his wrist. Shivering, confidence builds. “I knew when I hugged you the first night you were here and,” he looked down, “I…I knew you were special when I felt my heart bursting out of my chest when I found you in that alley.” 

“Hesh,” you whisper, and you realize you close the two of you had become, breath mixing like a cocktail of glorious infection and stolen words. 

“If I hadn’t gotten there on time…” 

“Hesh.”

“...Even if I’ve only known you for a short while, Sweetheart, I can’t stop thinking the same thing every time I see you.” You stare, eyes wet, and suddenly no longer aware of where your head is anymore. 

His lips brush yours, but all you care about are those green eyes; digging, drilling past membranes and thoughts more effectively than any blade. You’re entranced, wholeheartedly frozen just for him—just as he is for you. 

It’s nothing but a whisper now. You feel the words more than hear them. His thumb tightens on your chin, and you don’t pull back as you steal his warmth. His kindness. 

His loyalty.

“...that even if I hadn’t entered that house on that rainy Tuesday,” he shutters, “I’d still be looking for you everywhere I went.” 

When his lips meet yours, you capture his soul, dragging him down into the depths of your lungs and breathing hope back into him. You smile through it, bandaged and stitched but happier than you’d been in a long time. 

Pulling back from a soft and delicate meeting of flesh, both faces are heated, burning under the pigments. There’s a moment of sanctity—holy silence one would find in a church during high mass—as you stare at one another. Hesh’s fingers run small movements on your skin. You beam and he says in a whisper, “Hey…I guess that means I did something right.”

“You’re lucky you’re perfect, David.”

“I could say the same about you, Sweetheart.” You giggle and drag him back in as Riley snoozes on, legs kicking in a silent dream. 

When the nurses come to check on you in four hours, they’ll find the bed occupied by three forms. 

A soldier, a patient, and a dog. All curled up in a pile of multiple blankets and hard pillows—arms wrapped around one another with the man pressing the woman’s face deep into his chest; even breaths of a soft sleep that sing like rare lullabies. All, in their own way, seem to have heavy smiles stuck into the lines of their faces.

They leave them be.

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegelll, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @shoe1412,@jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @nanialis, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9, @anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @emerald-valkyrie, @michirulol, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora21, @bespectacledhuman, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaunt2009, @shmaptin, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce,

[nahoyasboyfriend]

Obedience & punishment

a/n: baby's first angst fic and my first time writing kit. hopefully this isn't too bad 😭 I tried.

warning: I don't think there's anything besides caning.

word count: 1.6k

sister mary had changed after she took over briarcliff. she wasn't the meek girl you'd seen from afar. She was cruel, outspoken, and authoritative. you happened to be the one chosen to do her bidding. so when she unexpectedly asked you to go fetch kit walker, it made you wonder what she wanted from him.

“if I may ask, can I know what you need him for?” you mumble, keeping your voice measured.

she glances at you, mouth flattening into a thin line, and then tersely replied, “he’s in trouble.”

nodding, you don't press it any further, and scurry off to go find him. you don't know why he's in trouble. you haven't heard any rumors about what he could've done, and nobody mentioned anything until now. you hadn't spent any personal time with him, but he seemed nice, or at least as nice as you could be stuck in here. he was cordial the few times the two of your paths crossed, and it was surprising that such a mild mannered man could do the horrible things he did.

surveying the bleak common room, your eyes hone in on him. even from afar you see how the asylum was wearing down on him. he was staring off into the distance, wholly out of touch with the real world. his spirit had dulled, emptiness filling the void where ardent desire to be free once burned. your heart aches simply looking at his despondent form. his eyes had grown heavy bags underneath them, his lips chapped. he looked a mess. you edged closer, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder, but he noticed you before you could, flinching away. it was a justified reaction so you didn't acknowledge it, “I need you to come with me.”

he eyes you cautiously, chewing on his bottom lip, “why?”

you give a weak shrug, “sister mary asked for you.”

it takes a moment for him to get up, but eventually he slowly rises from his seat. your eyes follow him up until he's standing in front of you. then you turn around and head straight to her office. she doesn't appreciate waiting. occasionally, you peek behind you to see if he's still there, feeling a sense of relief wash over you when you do.

once you reach her door, you shoot one more cursory glance his way before knocking. you hear a muffled voice, that you assume is telling you to come in so you do. you push the door open, holding it so kit can slip by. you go to leave, but you hear her say, “no, stay. I need you to do something.”

rather hesitantly, you follow him in, letting the door fall shut behind you. she gets up out of her seat, walking around to lean on the desk. the tension kills you, makes an aching pit in your stomach. it makes you feel uncomfortable in your own skin.

“confess,” she proclaims. he looks confused like he's unaware of what she's questioning him about.

“admit that you murdered those women,” she asserts, crossing her arms and cocking her head.

“I didn't do it,” he snaps, like he’s repeated many times before. you've heard those words so much they've started to become blurry. a muddled heap of truth and lies. it doesn't matter if it's true. nothing they say really matters in briarcliff but they say it anyway. usually because it's what they want to hear, what they need to believe to survive in this place. if you're guilty then you deserve it, and nobody wants to believe they deserve this.

sister mary lets out an annoyed sigh, a frown tugging at her features. she falls silent for a few seconds, then she looks at you, “go grab a cane.”

she barely spares him a glance as she says, “pull your pants down and bend over.”

she pushes herself off the desk, stepping to the side. succumbing to his fate, he obliges. there's no point in fighting a losing battle. you walk to the cabinet, and pick out a cane. you pick the one you think hurts the least, mainly for your peace of mind than out of concern for him. you attempt to hand it to her, but she shakes her head, “you do it.”

worms breed in your stomach. a heaviness settling on your heart. you thought about saying no, and running off with your last shred of morality. sensing your dread, she gives you a deceitfully warm smile. a silent threat. now wary of the consequences, you stayed. bearing witness to the atrocities that took place in the asylum was difficult, but you could get accustomed to it– you had. you hardened your heart, convinced yourself that these people are supposed to be treated like this. but you had never been the one to deal out any punishments, and when you do it just happens to be oh so respectful, awfully polite kit walker.

you shouldn't feel bad, you know that. he murdered and skinned those innocent women in cold blood, but as you peered down at him, you almost couldn't believe that he would do such terrible things. you raise your arm, and begin the motion to swing, but you don't make contact with his skin. panicked, your eyes flit over to her but she doesn't look annoyed, instead she looks amused like this is free entertainment.

with a dismissive wave, she urges you, “go on.”

you swallow down the lump in your throat, lifting your arm once more. you do make contact this time, and you see him jolt at the feeling. his head falls onto the desk. you strike him again. he manages to muffle his pained cries by biting his bottom lip and shoving his face into his elbow.

“tell me you killed those women, walker,” she asks again. like a stubborn child, he wildly shakes his head. she tuts, “three more.”

and you obey because it doesn't matter how you feel. all that matters is her word and the fact that he needs to be punished. tears roll down his cheeks, and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“admit it.���

“I didn't do nothin,” he grits out. his will power is commendable despite the circumstances, and it makes the weight on your shoulders heavier. she doesn't need to say it, because you're already hitting him again, four more.

“this could be over if you would confess,” she snaps, annoyed, and he lets out a watery chuckle.

“yeah, right.”

she isn't entirely wrong, this would end. although, it would be used against him in trial, ultimately leading to his execution. if it wasn't for that, you'd encourage him to confess too. though a sick part of you wished he would suddenly profess everything, save yourself from the heartache that you could be beating an innocent man. your arm aches, and your hand is throbbing from how hard you're clenching the damn thing.

he winces with every strike, though he tries not to. they’re measly attempts to cover up his weakness. stray tears intermittently slip down his cheeks, and there’s blood seeping onto his spit-shiny lip from all his biting. his ass is covered in raised welts and tiny specks of blood from the thin cane. It looks like the air simply brushing against it would hurt. in spite of all this, he remains resilient, taking each swat in stride. you've lost count on how many times you've hit him, or how many times he's had to repeat that he didn't do it. you can barely listen to her complaints, and her snide remarks about how he could end this.

when he still doesn't come clean, mary gets tired of him. quickly turning peevish and brooding. she goes quiet for a long while, until finally she lets up, ordering for you to stop. you try to brush off all of it just as one more smudge on your conscience, something else to keep you up at night, but the sight of him sticks with you. he looks so… broken. piteous little sobs leaving his pink lips, trembling through the pain.

“leave. now.” she huffs, and you can tell it's meant for the both of you. you wait behind to watch him leave.

he uses his arms to push himself off the desk, carefully tugging up his pants. you can see the way his eyes threaten to gloss over again and how his breath hitches from the pants rubbing against his welts. it must hurt like hell. you don't attend to his needs yet. not now, not under her watch, so you wait until he's out the door. you catch up to him in the hall.

“um, I can fetch you some salve to soothe the pain later.”

he doesn't seem too pleased with your presence because he flat-out ignores you, picking up the pace. determined, you match his pace. he scowls, shooting you a harsh glare, “don’t you have someone else to bother.”

“I just wanna help you.”

“I don't need it,” he remarks, continuing to walk away. accepting the fact that you're not going to make it through to him, you stop walking, allowing him to get further away from you. you feel a dull ache in your chest watching him step away. a hollow empty feeling. you just did something terrible to him, and you can't even convince him that you only want to help him. it's completely understandable on his part, but it still makes you feel helpless. so you retreat to your room for the day. you hope that he seeks you out and takes your offer. you don't know if it's the guilt or the genuine concern for his well-being that makes you desperate to help him, but all you can do now is pray that he comes back.

[babyyblues]

Back Together

prompt 25: "How'd you survive this long on your own?"

Era: Prison (Mid-season 3) no spoilers,

Summary: When you're searching for food, you were threatened by two strangers, but who knew that these strangers would lead you to your family. || sister!reader x daryl

Word Count: 1,847 

warnings: hunting, threatening, weapons (just twd things) heavy dialogue (sorryyy)

a/n: umm can you guys tell that I love the prison era?? I'll try to switch it up for my next fic, promise. anyways, enjoy some uncle!daryl, let me know if you want more! feedback is greatly appreciated.

Silence rang in your ears, you closed your eyes tightly honing in on the repeating of your brother's voice. “Focus on the target. Take your aim. Don’t be nervous, take a breath. Okay good now shoot.” A shot rang out, your vision blurring as the rumble in your stomach intensified.

“Fuck,” you growled, watching as your hunt ran away, startled by the sudden noise and movement around it. Your energy was completely diminished, and honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time you ate or even had a clean drink of water. Letting your eyes drop and your head fall back, you sniffled, willing the tears to stay in, praying to a god that you didn’t even believe in that this damned world would give you some kind of break. Shaking off the failure and wiping the wetness off your cheeks, you began a new search; at this point, berries would have to do, you needed something to keep going, something for her. 

The leaves rustled around you followed by a loud snap of a branch. Stopping in your tracks, your vision darted around, your grip tightening on the weapon, your knuckles turning white. 

“Put the gun down, now.” A low voice growled, the hammer of a gun clicking dangerously close to your ears. The metal against your skull sent shivers down your spine as you swallowed your pride, dropping the gun to the floor. 

“Now let me see your hands and turn around.” You did as told, your mind racing as your eyes shot around, trying your best to think of plan. Think of a way out. 

“How many of there are you?” the man asked. You looked him up and down, studying the tattered light brown button-up and dark-colored denim that adorned his body. Looking back up at his face, his bright blue eyes pierced into yours, the dirt and stubble scattered on his chin. 

“I won’t ask you again. How many of you are there?” Your jaw tensed, teeth clenching as his grip tightened around the gun.

“Don’t have nothin’ you want. Jus’ let me go.” Before he could speak again, the branches next to him moved. 

“Rick wait,” a voice called, another man appearing in front of you, your daughter in their arms. Panic filled your eyes, your heartbeat increasing as he held his arms tightly around the young girl. 

“Get off of her! Jus’ leave us alone!” you demanded, taking a step toward the young Asian man. 

“Take one more step and I will not hesitate to pull the trigger.” Presumably, Rick threatened. 

“Rick,” Glenn spat, setting your five-year-old on the ground and letting her run up to you. 

“Mommy,” she whimpered, You shushed her slightly, before picking her up and holding her tightly in your arms as she tucked her head into your neck. You felt her tears wet your neck as you looked back up at the men. 

“‘S just us. Now jus’ let us go, we were jus’ tryna to find somethin’ to eat.”  

Rick took a breath, lowering his gun before glancing over at the other man. 

“How many walkers have you killed?” he asked, placing in gun back in his holster. Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked him over. 

“Just answer the question,” the other man told you, before grounding down to dig through his back. You swallowed harshly, clearing your throat. 

“Dozens.”

“How many people have you killed?” Your breath faltered and your chest flared with anger as a flashback ran through your brain.

“Two,” you spat out, your teeth involuntarily gritting. 

“Why?” 

“Tried to kill me ‘n take my daughter,” you answered quickly, shaking your head to keep the memories away, squeezing your daughter a bit tighter.  Rick took another look over his shoulder before nodding towards the little one in your arms. 

“Where’s her daddy?” 

“Dead hopefully. Wasn’t no good in the first place.” 

Rick nodded his jaw clenching and unclenching as he watched his companion hand you a slightly crunched-up granola bar. Looking at it for a second, Glenn nodded, pushing it toward you. You took it not hesitating to rip open the packaging and take a small bite to ensure its safety before whispering quietly to your daughter that you had something for her to eat. The men watched as you handed her a small piece and she gobbled it down, quickly moving on to the rest of the bar. Rick leaned over to grab your gun, turning it over to hand it back to you. Thanking him with a nod, you placed it back in your holster before gathering yourself to walk back into the unknown. Rick cleared his throat, however, before you could even take a step.

“We uh, we have a camp nearby, food, water, walls. It’s safe. Your daughter would be safe.” Rick said. You stayed silent, turning back around to look at them. 

“Why should I trust ya?” 

“If you didn’t, you would’ve killed us with that gun you have in your boot,” the Asian kid pointed out. Taking a deep breath and letting the silence linger, you watched as your daughter finished chewing the granola bar. “It’s all fer her now, ya know that right? Ya gotta give that kid a good life, better than what we had.” You hesitated but nodded nonetheless.

“Alright. Yeah, alright.” 

“Good, just know we do expect you to earn your keep. Now come on, just about half a mile from here.” You nodded, beginning to follow them, readjusting the young one on your hip.

“Names Glenn by the way, Glenn Rhee, and that's Rick Grimes,” Glenn offered, his hand outstretched to be shaken. 

“Y/n, Y/n Dixon and this is Hope,” you replied, reaching your hand out only for both of them to stop in their tracks. 

“What did you say?”

“Uh, my name?”

“No, what’d you say your last name was?” 

“Dixon?” 

“Huh, that makes a lot of sense,” Glenn interrupted. 

“What are ya on about?” you scowled taking a step back. 

“Come on, Dixon, I think camp might be closer to home than you think.” Your face wrinkled in confusion, listening to the way your name rolled off his tongue with familiarity. You let them lead you, fear filling your chest as if you had fallen right into their trap. “Don’t you trust nobody, all you got is you and me and Merle when he’s around. Keep your guard up- always.” You swallowed, reaching for the gun swiftly and cocking the hammer back. 

“What’s gon’ on? This some kind of trap?” you barked, waving the gun between the two as Rick raised his gun in your direction. Glenn looked at Rick, pushing his weapon down and placing his hands up. 

“Woah, hey no! We swear.” 

“That doesn’t mean nothin’ these days. Now ya tell me or I attract every dead one for miles around and send ‘em straight to your camp,” you threatened. 

“Daryl. Daryl Dixon.” Glenn knew immediately he had struck a cord, seeing the way the anger melted from your face and your eyes began to gloss over as your muscles weakened. 

“Is he- He’s-,” you stumbled. 

“He’s alive. He’s with our group.” You let the tears flow, holding Hope even tighter as you holstered your gun, quickly beginning to jog in the direction they had been leading you. 

“Y/n wait!” Glenn called quietly, “Rick come on.” They jogged behind you, not stopping until the large prison appeared. You slowed, waiting for the men to catch up as they whistled and the gates opened. You followed them, your head shooting around taking in your surroundings, searching. Hope wiggled in your arms, uncomfortable with the sudden movements. 

“Daryl!” Rick called to the man that was hunched over his bike. You watched with teary eyes and quickened breath as he looked up at you, recognition flashing over his features. Your chest heaved, a wobbly smile spreading on your lips as your legs moved quickly toward the man, toward your brother. You didn’t stop until your chests collided, Hope whining as she was momentarily smushed between you two. Hands shaking, you let her down, returning your arms around Daryl’s torso. 

“I thought I’d never see ya again,” you whispered, gripping his shirt and making sure it was real. His hand found the back of your head, supporting you as your face buried into his chest. 

“I-I looked for ya, every day, and when I couldn’t find ya I-” 

“Ya did what you had to do. It’s okay. Merle? Is Merle okay?” You felt him stiffen, a sharp pain aching through your heart as you held back a sob. 

 He reluctantly broke apart, a wet smile on his lips as he crouched down to be eye level with Hope. 

“Hey sweetheart, member me?” She nodded meeking, sucking her thumb anxiously. 

“Yer hair ‘s messy,” she spoke quietly, reaching her hand toward the undoubtedly longer locks. Daryl couldn’t stop the wet chuckle that escaped his lips, closely followed by the tears pricking at his eyes. He reached his arms out pinching her sides, a high pitched giggle escaping from her lips before being swopped up by the man in front of her. 

“Missed ya sunshine,” he sighed, holding her close, “now let’s get you guys somethin’ to eat, yer mom looks like she’s about to fall over.” 

-

You sat inside, taking in the cold concrete walls around you, waiting for Daryl to return with both your daughter and hopefully some form of protein. 

“Here, just caught it this morning,” Daryl hummed, setting a bowl in front of you full of some kind of meat. At this point you didn’t care, pain stabbing through your body from hunger. You looked up, making sure Hope had something as well before digging in. Daryl aided Hope in using her fork, something you couldn’t recall her ever using before. A comfortable silence lulled in the air, Daryl mumbling every so often to Hope as she finished her plate. 

“Daryl?” he hummed in response looking back up at you. 

“You trust these people?” you asked sinceriously. He nodded, readjusting Hope as she let out a yawn. 

“I do, yeah.” You nodded, shoveling the last bite in your mouth. 

“Okay, I trust you.” 

“You uh- you been alone this whole time?” he  asked reluctantly, guilt creeping in. You answered with a nod. 

“How’d you survive this long on your own?”

“Don’t be stupid, I’m a Dixon. Ain’t nothin’ different than livin’ with dad,” you scoffed, doing what you did best, hiding your fear and any sign of emotion.

“Y/n-” he sighed.

“You and M-merle went camping, and the radios started goin’ crazy. I tried to find you both, but things got- it was bad Daryl. I did what I had to do. Fer her,” you nodded towards the resting child. 

“Want me to take her?” 

“No- no. Jus’ a bit longer,” he swallowed. You nodded, sucking in a deep breath as tears filled your eyes yet again.

“We’re gonna be alright, ya know?” he whispered, placing his hand ontop of yours. 

“Yeah- yeah we are.” 

[lol-jackles]

I saw this post about THR discussing Jared and the CW: https://x.com/Cherryoliv40095/status/1794016212281864455

Which led me to their podcast. I thought I'd forward it on because they make some really great points, not just about losing Walker, but the current state of the CW, what the industry is losing with their new direction, and how the industry, as a whole, is losing creative pipelines for up-and-comers. I thought it might be something you'd be interested in, in case you haven't already listened!

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/tv/tv-news/tvs-top-5-podcast-the-cw-freevee-netflix-ratings-1235907525/

(The section about the CW starts right about the 28:00 mark.

Link and Link. lol at the 29:00 mark the reporters dissed Gotham Knights.

Summary: They discuss the old CW network purpose as marketing platform for two studios for international and streaming rights, thus it was "massively profitable for the studios''. Rights for All American and Walker were already sold off before Nexstar took over.

The end of the old CW era is a "heartbreak for the entire industry" because for countless number of writers the old CW was the entryway into the industry to hone their talent and learn on the job by being on the set. Old CW essentially gave the key to showrunning and these writers went on to write and/or showrun on bigger networks. CW basically set the stage for Marvel to become the juggernaut it became.

And now it's gone.   The loss of CW is a loss for the TV ecosystem. Not just CW, there are number of networks are going away from their brand and just becoming remnants. (I like to say it's an era of channel drift.)

Time stamp 44:45 "What was so innovative and interesting about the CW when it as at its most successful was when Pedowitz said the ratings were not telling the story." And understood the audience they were appealing to aren't watching live TV and they can still run a business because they weren't worried about profit, which is a great luxury to have.

An emailer asked who is the new CW that can fill the void?   The answer is, "I don't know".

At least two from Hollywood Reporter doesn't plan to cover the CW anymore. End summary.

This was part of the reasons why I had a soft spot for the old CW, not only did they had a plethora of comedy, drama, sci fi and fantasy shows outside the formulaic procedural shows glutting the 3 big networks, but they also��mentored countless up and coming tv writers that heavily contributed to the tv eco system.   (sidenote, probably why I watched Walker because it wasn't straight procedural, I got NCIS for that).

[dansconcepts]

Loveybug AU Headcanons/Concepts

Bc Loveybug is such a cute cute cute idea and I wanna create some stuff but we start with brainstorming my interpretation (I love seeing all the different interpretations) because of course.

I really wanna see what would happen if Adrien had to choose the Ladybug miraculous (although bad idea as it is) and I really feel like Adrien would choose Marinette despite her previous insistence on not being a good enough hero hero and being "easily exposed" as Multimouse ("I don't know Plagg, she really would be great at this! She's the most creative person I know. I really think she deserves a second shot. She would do a great job as Ladybug- although no one's better than her." And cue Plagg being like: Kid please. And also cue Marinette, a bit later, being given back the earrings and going "W-what am I supposed to do now?!"

Also, I do like the idea of flirty or just unshamelessly open about her feelings Marinette as Lovey, but also consider how she would do quite literally anything for the people she loves and gets kinda silly around those she has a crush on, and I wanna hone in on a Loveybug who's really big on gift giving (she makes so much stuff for everyone omg, the rest of the team is constantly given food or little trinkets to keep in their suits) and acts of service. Or even just consider Loveybug + love languages (she'll be so committed to trying every single one until she nails it on the head on how best to show appreciation for someone). I think as Lovey, her most prominent way to show love is through her support and devotion. So she's open-hearted until she's proven wrong in doing so. Essentially: she's loving and loveable.

In battle, that's very prominent. Her heart's on her sleeve. She has an enhanced attentiveness to the emotions that may have caused an akuma, willing to hear them out before needing to fight (will only stay on the defensive until all other methods are exhausted), being gentle to sentimonsters and giving her farewells to them, and sticks around to offer some kind words and a little gift to victims or a hug (she always asks first) after purifying the butterfly.

I imagine an average encounter with Chat (not Cat Walker because that's gonna be a separate thing ;>) to be a mixture of flirting (mostly on Chat's end, but we all know Mari can match it so easily) and a bunch of affectionate touches. Touch-starved Adrien would MELT. And Lovey would never miss a chance to tell him he's done something great or cool. She would be playfully swooning at him and everything.

Once Cat Walker's there, she's tentatively affectionate and flirty before realizing Cat Walker responds positively to casual touches and hugs better. His gentlemanly nature and reservedness does make her back off slightly. Although, as she falls deeper, she can't help her increased affection with silly lil ploys to achieve touch (i.e. Cat Walker catching her or holding her). Her being both purposefully clumsy and then the one time she's actually clumsy that causes Cat Walker to be like: Oh no, she's cute.

There's also the immense amount of angst potential, because yknow: love is beautiful, but it can also hurt. Marinette deffo knows that so damn well. She's constantly positive about it, until she sees something like someone getting broken up with, and she'll be very empathetic. Being cheated on, an unrivalled fury. Falling out of love with someone?

Oh.

Oh.

Chat notices Lovey leaning against a balcony's railing. She greets him with a grin, but her eyes are so, so sad as she gazes back at the Paris landscape. Chat: Lovey? Is everything okay? Lovey: ... She sneaks a glance at him, with a look he can't decipher, before letting out a sigh. Lovey: I think- I think I'm falling out of love with him. Lovey: Did I even love him at all? Chat, coming up next to her: What makes you think that? Lovey: I've fallen in love with someone else! How could I have done that?! How could I have dared to-?! Chat: Lovey, stop. What makes you think you don't love him anymore? Lovey: Because- because. Chat: Do you dislike him? Are you annoyed with him? Have you stopped wanting to be around him? Lovey: I- no, but... Chat: You can love multiple people, you know that. There's nothing wrong with it. Lovey: Not like this! Chat: Just use communication, lovely bug. Just communicate how you feel. That's how relationships are, right? Communicating. Lovey looks at the guy she's in love with, and turns back to a billboard to see her first love, the love she still loves. She lifts the gloved hand clutching hers, kissing it gently in gratitude: Yeah, you're right. You always know the right thing to say.

[whywontyoucomeout]

The one with the shadows

————————————-

The full moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the sprawling grounds of Edo Castle. Perched on a nearby hilltop, Akira surveyed her target with keen eyes. The legendary "Shadow Wind" had accepted many challenging contracts, but this one promised to test even her unparalleled skills.

The castle was a formidable fortress. High stone walls surrounded the complex, topped with sharpened bamboo spikes. Akira counted at least twenty guards patrolling the outer perimeter, their armor glinting in the moonlight. Watchtowers stood at regular intervals, manned by alert archers scanning the grounds below.

Akira's lips curved into a small smile. The daimyo's paranoia had turned his home into a veritable prison, but no defense was impenetrable to one with her skills. She began to formulate her plan, analyzing every shadow, every blind spot in the guards' routines.

As silent as a whisper, Akira descended from her vantage point. She approached the castle walls, timing her movements to coincide with the shifting shadows cast by passing clouds. When she reached the base of the wall, she paused, listening intently for any sign that she had been detected.

Satisfied, Akira began her ascent. Her fingers found nearly invisible cracks and crevices in the weathered stone. She scaled the sheer wall with inhuman grace, her body moving with fluid precision honed by years of rigorous training. At the top, she deftly avoided the bamboo spikes, balancing on the narrow edge of the wall like a tightrope walker.

A guard passed directly below her, oblivious to her presence. Akira held her breath, staying perfectly still until he had moved on. Then, in one smooth motion, she leapt from the wall, landing silently in a shadowy corner of the inner courtyard.

Moving from shadow to shadow, Akira made her way towards the main keep. She froze as a pair of samurai rounded a corner, engaging in quiet conversation. Without missing a beat, Akira scaled a nearby tree, concealing herself among its branches until the danger passed.

Finally, she reached the daimyo's private chambers. A quick examination revealed a window left slightly ajar - an oversight that would prove costly for the castle's occupants.

Silently, she slipped into the daimyo's private chambers. The portly noble lay snoring on his opulent futon, oblivious to the intruder. Akira's eyes scanned the room, searching for the hidden compartment containing the scrolls she sought.

As she moved towards a suspicious-looking panel, her loose-fitting garments shifted, revealing the swell of her pregnant belly. Akira paused, placing a gentle hand on her abdomen. In the moonlight filtering through the window, her condition was unmistakable - the feared Shadow Wind was heavily with child.

Just as her fingers found the latch of the hidden compartment, a sudden, sharp pain lanced through her. Akira froze, gritting her teeth against the unexpected contraction. She held her breath, willing herself to remain silent, but a small gasp escaped her lips.

The daimyo stirred in his sleep, mumbling incoherently. Akira remained perfectly still, her heart pounding. After what felt like an eternity, the nobleman's breathing deepened once more, indicating he had fallen back into a deep slumber.

Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Akira gently caressed her swollen belly. "Please, not now, little one," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "We're almost done here."

With renewed focus, she retrieved the scrolls and secured them within her garments. Casting one last glance at the sleeping daimyo, Akira slipped out of the room and made her way through the castle grounds, as silent and invisible as a shadow.

Once beyond the castle walls, Akira raced through the surrounding forest. Several more contractions hit her as she ran, causing her to pause momentarily each time. However, she noticed that they were becoming less intense and more irregular.

As she leaped over a small stream, Akira realized with relief that it had been false labor. A small smile played on her lips as she addressed her unborn child, "Trying to keep your mother on her toes, aren't you? Don't worry, we'll have plenty of real adventures soon enough."

The contractions gradually subsided as Akira continued her journey through the night. Her steps were light, buoyed by the successful mission and the knowledge that her child was safe and content within her.

Akira slipped through the shadows of the forest, her breathing steady despite the night's exertions. The stolen scrolls were securely hidden in a secret compartment of her garments. As she neared her isolated mountain hideout, she allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. Another contract completed, another hefty bounty earned.

The false labor pains that had troubled her during the mission had subsided, leaving only the familiar weight of her unborn child. Akira placed a hand on her swollen belly as she approached the hidden entrance to her home, a cave concealed behind a waterfall.

Inside, Akira carefully stored the scrolls in a locked chest before finally allowing herself to relax. She sank onto a pile of soft furs, her back against the cool cave wall.

"We did it, little one," she murmured, caressing her belly. "Your mother's still the best, even with you along for the ride." She felt a strong kick in response and chuckled softly. "Already eager for action, aren't you? You'll be a force to be reckoned with, just like your mother."

As Akira rested, she reflected on the path that had led her to this moment. Orphaned at a young age, she had been taken in by an aging ninja master who recognized her potential. Under his tutelage, Akira had honed her skills to near perfection, surpassing even her mentor's expectations.

By the time she was eighteen, Akira had already made a name for herself in the shadowy world of ninja and assassins. She took on contracts that others deemed impossible, completing them with a level of skill and precision that left even her employers in awe.

Unlike most ninja, Akira chose to work alone. She answered to no clan, no daimyo, no shogun. Her loyalty was to herself alone - and soon, to her child. This independence, combined with her unparalleled skills, had earned her a fearsome reputation.

In the teahouses of Edo, in the war rooms of ambitious daimyo, in the hidden gatherings of rival ninja clans, Akira's name was spoken in hushed tones. Some called her "The Shadow Wind," for her ability to slip in and out of the most secure locations without a trace. Others knew her as "The Silent Blade," a nod to her lethal efficiency.

Most had never seen her face or knew her true identity. But all feared the possibility of becoming her target. Powerful warlords slept uneasily, knowing that their strongest defenses were as paper to Akira's skills. Corrupt merchants and scheming courtiers glanced nervously over their shoulders, wondering if their misdeeds had earned them a place on her list.

Yet for all her notoriety, Akira found a strange sort of peace in her solitude. Here in her hidden home, with only her unborn child for company, she could let down her guard and simply be.

"What do you think, little one?" she asked, running her hand over her belly. "Should we retire after this? Find a quiet village somewhere and live a normal life?" The baby kicked again, and Akira laughed. "No, I didn't think so either. There's too much excitement out there for us to give it up just yet."

As the night deepened, Akira prepared for sleep. She checked her traps and alarms, more out of habit than necessity - few would dare to hunt for her, and fewer still would have the skills to find this place.

Lying down on her bed of furs, Akira continued to talk softly to her child, sharing stories of her adventures and plans for the future. "I'll teach you everything I know," she promised. "And then you'll forge your own path, create your own legend."

With one hand resting protectively on her belly, Akira drifted off to sleep. The most feared ninja in Japan slumbered peacefully, dreaming of the new adventure that awaited her - motherhood.

Here's the continuation of the story with the details you requested, including verbal dialogue:

The following morning, Akira made her way to a nondescript teahouse in a bustling market district. Inside, she found her contact, a middle-aged merchant named Hiroshi, seated in a private booth.

"Ah, the Shadow Wind graces me with her presence," Hiroshi said, his eyes widening as he took in Akira's pregnant form. "I must admit, I had my doubts when I heard of your... condition. But you've proven your reputation once again."

Akira smoothly produced the stolen scrolls. "Your doubts were misplaced. Here's what you requested."

Hiroshi examined the scrolls, nodding with satisfaction. "Exceptional work, as always. Your payment, as agreed." He slid a heavy pouch across the table.

As Akira secured the pouch, Hiroshi cleared his throat. "If I may ask, when do you plan to... rest and welcome your child?"

"Soon," Akira replied, a hand resting on her swollen belly. "This was likely my last job for a while."

Hiroshi nodded, a hint of concern in his eyes. "Well then, I wish you the best of luck with the little one. May your child be as formidable as their mother."

Akira allowed herself a small smile. "Thank you, Hiroshi. Until we meet again."

Leaving the teahouse, Akira felt a wave of relief wash over her. The weight of the coin pouch at her hip assured her that she could provide well for her child's arrival.

Her next stop was the local midwife, an elderly woman named Hana. As Akira lay on the examination mat, Hana's practiced hands moved over her belly.

"My, my," Hana chuckled, "this is quite the impressive little one you're carrying. Strong and healthy, from what I can tell."

Akira couldn't help but smile. "That's wonderful to hear. Though I must admit, the size is a bit... daunting."

Hana nodded sympathetically. "Yes, it's a sizable baby indeed. I won't lie to you, the delivery may be challenging."

Akira looked down at her protruding belly, running a hand over its curve. "I suspected as much. This little one seems determined to make everything a challenge, even before entering the world."

"Just like their mother, I imagine," Hana said with a knowing smile. "But don't worry too much. You're strong and healthy yourself. With proper preparation and care, I'm confident you'll manage the delivery just fine."

As Akira sat up, she felt a powerful kick from within. "Well, little one," she murmured, "it seems you're eager to prove the midwife right about your strength."

Hana laughed. "A spirited child, without a doubt. Now, let's discuss your birthing plan and what you can expect in the coming weeks..."

As Akira left the midwife's house later, she felt a mix of excitement and apprehension. The reality of impending motherhood was setting in, but she was determined to face this new challenge with the same courage and skill she brought to her work as the Shadow Wind.

The next morning, Akira rose with the sun, determined to maintain her skills despite her advancing pregnancy. She made her way to a secluded clearing near her hideout, the perfect spot for her daily training regimen.

As she began her warm-up exercises, Akira couldn't help but chuckle to herself. "This would be so much easier without you, little one," she said, patting her swollen belly. "But I suppose you're just helping me stay on my toes."

She moved through a series of stretches, her body still remarkably flexible despite her condition. As she transitioned into more complex movements, Akira marveled at how her center of gravity had shifted. "You're certainly making your presence known," she murmured, looking down at her protruding abdomen. "I've never seen my belly so round and full."

Despite the added challenge, Akira's form remained beautiful and graceful. Her limbs moved with fluid precision as she practiced her katas, each motion a testament to years of rigorous training. Her long, dark hair, tied back in a practical braid, swayed with her movements.

As the morning wore on, Akira focused on exercises designed to strengthen her core and pelvic muscles. "This should help when it's time for you to make your grand entrance," she said, addressing her unborn child.

After a brief rest and light meal, Akira spent the afternoon honing her weapon skills. Though her movements were slightly slower than usual, her accuracy remained impeccable. Shuriken thudded into targets with deadly precision, and her katana flashed in the sunlight as she moved through complex sword forms.

"Not bad," she said, admiring her handiwork. "We make quite the team, you and I."

As the sun began to set, Akira concluded her training with meditation and breathing exercises. These not only centered her mind but also prepared her body for the challenges of childbirth.

Exhausted but satisfied, Akira made her way back to her hideout. She prepared a nourishing meal, eating heartily to replenish her energy and provide for her growing child.

As she settled into bed, Akira ran her hands over her swollen belly one last time. "Rest well, little one," she whispered. "We both need our strength for the adventures ahead."

With a contented sigh, Akira drifted off into a deep, restful sleep. Her body, honed by years of training and now nurturing new life, relaxed completely. Even in sleep, one hand remained protectively over her belly, a silent promise of the fierce love and protection she would provide for her child.

The following day, as Akira was preparing her morning tea, a messenger bird arrived with a note from Hiroshi. Intrigued, she unrolled the small scroll and read its contents.

An hour later, she found herself once again in the secluded booth of the teahouse, facing Hiroshi.

"I wouldn't have called you if it wasn't important," Hiroshi began, his expression grave. "There's a mission. It's dangerous, more so than usual, but the reward is substantial."

Akira raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

"It involves threatening a tyrant, a daimyo who's been pushing his weight around. The client wants him... discouraged from certain actions."

Akira's hand instinctively moved to her swollen belly. "Hiroshi, you know I'm close to my due date. I was planning to lay low until the birth."

Hiroshi nodded, understanding in his eyes. "I know, and I wouldn't ask if there weren't more at stake. This daimyo, he's planning to impose heavy taxes on a village. Your hometown, Akira."

Akira's eyes widened, her jaw tightening. "What? But they're already struggling as it is."

"Exactly. This could devastate them."

Akira fell silent, her mind racing. After a long moment, she spoke. "I'll do it. Not for the money, but for my people."

Hiroshi handed her a scroll with the details. "Be careful, Akira. And... good luck."

Back in her hideout, Akira spread out the mission details on her table, her mind already formulating plans. As she worked, she found herself talking to her unborn child.

"Well, little one, it seems we have one last mission before you arrive," she said, caressing her belly. "I know it's risky, but I can't let our people suffer. You understand, don't you?"

She felt a strong kick in response and smiled. "I'll take that as a yes. Now, let's see how we can pull this off."

As night fell, Akira finalized her plans. Sitting on her bed, she looked down at her swollen abdomen. "Alright, my child, I need you to do me a favor. This mission is important, and I need to be at my best. So please, wait until after we're done to make your grand entrance, okay? Just a little longer."

She felt another kick, as if in agreement.

"That's my little ninja," Akira chuckled. "Now, let's get some rest. Tomorrow, we show this tyrant why they should fear the Shadow Wind... and why they should never threaten our home."

With that, Akira lay down, one hand protectively over her belly, her mind focused on the challenge ahead. Despite the risks, she felt a sense of purpose. This wasn't just about her anymore; it was about protecting her child's future and the future of her village. With that resolve, she drifted off to sleep, ready to face whatever the next day might bring.

The full moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the tyrant's fortress. From the depths of one such shadow, Akira emerged, her black garb melding seamlessly with the darkness. Her heavily pregnant form was barely discernible, a slight bulge in the night.

With practiced ease, Akira approached the outer wall. Her nimble fingers found purchase in the tiniest cracks, and she began her ascent. Despite her added weight, she moved with fluid grace, each movement calculated and precise. At the top, she paused, scanning the courtyard below.

Guards patrolled in predictable patterns. Akira timed her descent perfectly, landing silently between rotations. She darted from shadow to shadow, her footsteps muffled by years of training.

As she neared the inner keep, voices approached. With no time to retreat, Akira squeezed into a narrow gap between two buildings. Her back pressed against one wall, her swollen belly protruding slightly into the open. A bead of sweat formed on her brow as two guards passed by, engaged in idle chatter. One guard paused, mere inches from her hiding spot. Akira held her breath, willing her child to remain still. After a heart-stopping moment, the guard moved on, none the wiser.

Exhaling silently, Akira continued her infiltration. She scaled the inner walls with the same fluid motions, though her movements were noticeably slower, her body adapting to its new shape.

Finally, she reached the tyrant's chambers. Slipping in through an unlatched window, Akira found herself in a lavishly decorated room. There, on an ornate bed, lay her target, sleeping soundly.

A small, satisfied smile played on Akira's lips. Despite the challenges, she had made it. The Shadow Wind had struck again.

But as she took a step towards the sleeping tyrant, a sudden, sharp pain lanced through her abdomen. Akira's hand flew to her belly, her eyes widening in surprise and dawning realization.

"No," she whispered, barely audible. "Not now. Please, not now."

As if in defiance of her plea, another contraction gripped her. Akira's confident smile faded, replaced by a look of concern and disbelief.

The Shadow Wind, master of stealth and timing, found herself facing an adversary she couldn't outmaneuver: the imminent arrival of her child.

Akira gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus through the pain. In the brief respites between contractions, she moved swiftly towards the sleeping tyrant. Despite her condition, her movements were still graceful and silent.

As she approached, the tyrant's eyes snapped open. Before he could cry out, Akira's blade was at his throat.

"Not a sound," she hissed, her voice low and menacing. "Unless you wish to breathe your last."

The tyrant's eyes widened in fear. "W-what do you want?" he stammered.

"The tax on my village. Cancel it. Now." Akira's voice was steel, betraying none of the discomfort she felt.

"I... I can't just-"

"You can, and you will," Akira interrupted, pressing the blade closer.

The tyrant swallowed hard. "Alright, alright! I'll cancel it. Just please, don't-"

Suddenly, the most intense contraction yet wracked Akira's body. A small cry of pain escaped her lips, and her grip on the blade faltered.

The tyrant's eyes narrowed, comprehension dawning. He rolled away, scrambling to a safer distance. "Well, well," he sneered, reaching for a nearby sword. "The feared assassin, brought low by her own womb."

Akira straightened, her face a mask of determination despite the pain. With a flick of her wrist, a hidden blade shot out, knocking the sword from the tyrant's hand.

Enraged, the tyrant lunged at her. Despite her condition, Akira moved with surprising agility. She sidestepped his charge, using his momentum to send him sprawling to the floor.

In moments, she had him pinned, her foot on his chest and her blade once again at his throat. The tyrant's bravado crumbled, replaced by naked fear.

"P-please," he whimpered. "Spare me. I'll do anything."

Akira looked down at him, realizing with a touch of amusement that her swollen belly blocked her view of his face. She had to sway slightly to meet his terrified gaze.

"The tax. Cancel it. And if I hear of any retaliation against the village, I will return. And next time, I won't be so merciful."

"Yes, yes! I swear it! The tax is cancelled!"

Akira stepped back, allowing the tyrant to scramble to his feet. As he fumbled for a quill and parchment to make the decree official, she felt another contraction building. She knew her time was short.

"Remember this night," she warned as she took the signed decree. "Remember the mercy of the Shadow Wind. And the consequences of crossing her."

With that, Akira slipped out of the window, leaving the shaken tyrant behind. As she made her way out of the fortress, moving as swiftly as her condition allowed, one thought dominated her mind: she needed to find a safe place, and fast. Her child was coming, whether she was ready or not.

Akira moved swiftly through the fortress, her steps silent despite her condition. Every few minutes, another contraction would grip her, forcing her to pause and lean against a wall for support.

"Please, little one," she whispered, her hand on her swollen belly. "Just a bit longer. We're almost out."

As she neared her exit point, voices approached. Akira quickly ducked behind a large decorative vase, pressing herself against the wall. Her protruding belly, however, refused to cooperate fully, still visible from certain angles.

Just as the guards were about to pass, another powerful contraction hit. Akira bit her lip to stifle a groan, but couldn't stop her body from tensing. The slight movement caught one guard's attention.

"Hey, did you see that?" he said, gesturing towards Akira's hiding spot.

In an instant, Akira knew her cover was blown. As the three guards approached, weapons drawn, she sprang into action.

The first guard barely had time to register her presence before Akira's foot connected with his solar plexus, sending him stumbling backward, gasping for air.

The second guard swung his sword in a wide arc. Akira ducked under the blade, her pregnant belly making the maneuver more challenging than usual. As she came up, she drove the heel of her hand into the guard's chin, snapping his head back and dazing him.

The third guard, more cautious after seeing his comrades fall, circled Akira warily. He feinted left, then struck right, but Akira read his movements easily. She sidestepped the attack, grabbed his outstretched arm, and used his own momentum to flip him over her hip. The guard hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him.

The first guard, having recovered his breath, charged at Akira with a roar. She waited until the last moment, then pivoted, allowing him to rush past her. As he stumbled, off-balance, Akira delivered a precise strike to the back of his neck, rendering him unconscious.

The second guard, still dazed but determined, lunged forward with his sword. Akira parried the blade with her armored gauntlet, then countered with a swift knee to his midsection. As he doubled over, she brought her elbow down on the back of his head, dropping him to the floor.

The third guard, having regained his feet, took one look at his fallen comrades and turned to flee, likely to raise the alarm. Akira couldn't allow that. With practiced aim, she threw a small, weighted cord. It wrapped around the guard's ankles, sending him crashing to the ground.

In moments, all three guards lay incapacitated. Akira stood among them, breathing heavily. The fight had been swift and decisive, but in her condition, it had taken more out of her than she cared to admit.

Knowing that time was of the essence, Akira quickly bound and gagged the guards, hiding them in a nearby storage room. Then, moving as fast as her pregnant body would allow, she made her way to the exit.

With one final look back at the fortress, Akira slipped into the surrounding woods. The dense foliage swallowed her form, the Shadow Wind once again becoming one with the darkness. But as she moved deeper into the forest, seeking a safe haven, she knew her greatest challenge still lay ahead. Her child was coming, and the safety of the woods would have to serve as her birthing chamber

.

As Akira moved deeper into the forest, she placed a gentle hand on her belly. "Thank you, little one, for staying calm during the fight. You truly are a warrior's child."

However, her relief was short-lived as the contractions returned with increasing intensity. Each wave of pain grew stronger, the intervals between them shortening. Akira pressed on, determined to reach her hideout, but fate had other plans.

As a cave came into view, a particularly powerful contraction brought Akira to her knees. She gasped, realizing she wouldn't make it home. "It seems you've chosen your own birthing place, little one," she murmured, making her way to the cave.

Inside, Akira quickly assessed her surroundings. She removed her outer garments, arranging them to create a makeshift mattress on the cave floor. As she shed her constrictive clothing, her belly seemed to expand even further, finally free from its confines.

Akira marveled at the sight of her bare abdomen. Her once toned stomach had transformed into an enormous, perfectly round sphere. It protruded impressively, a testament to the life growing within. "No wonder you were making things difficult, little one," she said with a mixture of awe and amusement. "You've grown so much."

As the sun began to rise, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, Akira found herself in the throes of labor. She pushed with all her might, drawing on the same strength and determination that had served her so well as the Shadow Wind. Yet, despite her efforts, progress was slow.

"Come now, my child," Akira coaxed between contractions. "Earlier you were so eager, and now you hesitate? The world awaits you."

Hours passed, the sun climbing higher in the sky. Akira continued her labor, her body working tirelessly to bring her child into the world. Though exhausted, she remained focused, her warrior's spirit unbroken.

As midday approached, Akira realized with a mix of frustration and admiration that her child seemed to have taken her earlier pleas to heart. "I asked you to wait until after the mission, and you listened well," she said, a wry smile on her face despite her discomfort. "But now, little one, it's time to join me. Let's meet face to face at last."

And so, in the secluded cave, surrounded by the sounds of the forest, Akira continued her most challenging and rewarding mission yet - bringing new life into the world.

As the labor continued with little progress, Akira found her legendary patience tested. The baby would begin to emerge, only to retreat as she paused to catch her breath. This cycle repeated, wearing down her resolve with each iteration.

Finally, overwhelmed by the intensity of the experience, Akira let out a primal scream. The sound echoed through the cave, a stark contrast to her usual silent demeanor. In this moment of vulnerability, several realizations washed over her.

The pain she endured was unlike anything she had experienced before. Her well-honed body, capable of incredible feats, seemed powerless in this situation. The arms and legs that could strike down any foe were now trembling with exertion, unable to hasten this natural process.

Akira reflected on the irony of her situation. She, who had taken lives with ease, now struggled to bring one into the world. This realization brought a newfound appreciation for the sanctity of life and the strength of those who nurture it.

The ninja who prided herself on stealth and silence now found herself vocalizing without restraint. Every grunt, moan, and cry echoed her raw determination and vulnerability.

On her hands and knees, hips raised, Akira pushed with all her might. She, who had always been in control, now felt at the mercy of nature's forces. This position of vulnerability was foreign to her, yet she embraced it, understanding its necessity.

As exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her, Akira made one final, desperate plea. "Please, little one," she begged between ragged breaths. "Come out now. Join me in this world."

Just when Akira felt she couldn't endure another moment, she felt a shift. With one last, monumental effort, she pushed, and suddenly, the cave was filled with a new sound – the cry of a newborn.

Panting heavily, Akira turned to see her child for the first time. A wave of emotion unlike anything she had ever experienced washed over her. Love, pride, and a fierce protectiveness consumed her as she gazed at the tiny life she had brought into the world.

As she cradled her newborn, Akira whispered, "Welcome, my little warrior. Our greatest adventure begins now."

In that moment, in a humble cave far from the world of shadows and secrets, the feared Shadow Wind discovered a new identity – that of a mother. And she knew, without a doubt, that this would be her most challenging and rewarding role yet.