#I learned about horizon lines like a month ago

[valentinesapprentice]

Heartbreaking : You Have To Study Art To Get Better At Art

[lowkeyrobin]

JJ MAYBANK ; i remember everything

summary ; after returning home, you & jj get in a fight after you try and ignore the presence of john b and sarah ; a part two to replacement

warnings ; language, physical fighting, 2nd person pov is omniscient and reveals that reader blames themselves / they're in the wrong

disclaimers ; never finished s3 bc it was so boring and idk what's going on w s4, so they're back home safe and without any gold I guess. the story will be that they're all waiting for court dates or smthn lol

track ; i remember everything, zach bryan & kacey musgraves

word count ; 1.6k

masterlist ; part one

You sit on the sand, the water creeping up on your sneakers as you're fully dressed and just out of school. You think in silence, your eyes glazed over as you stare out at the horizon. You'd texted your friends that you were coming down here. You had a rough day, you just needed some alone time for a while to sit with your thoughts.

You think back to your real friends, the ones who didn't like you just because you were a walking yes button.

You remember how Kie and Pope clearly wanted to talk to you, but JJ always needed to step up and be an ass. You wished you could've just tried to speak to them, you didn't realize that they'd be leaving for good, apparently.

It'd been four months, you'd become more worried than ever. Your texts and calls were always left sent and unanswered, any attempt of constact futile. Kie's and Pope's parents were obviously the most worried as their children had run off with no trace.

They'd interrogated you over and over to no avail, as you didn't know anything. They just kinda left without you.

You wished you would've just for a second believed that maybe John B and Sarah were okay, but no, you had to start a fight. It was your fault, who were you kidding?

You remember the beat-down basement couch at JJ's that you all lounged on the few times when his dad wasn't around. You remember the time when you sang love songs to JJ as practice while he'd tell you about how his mom ran off and pawned her ring.

You remember that last smile, he only smiled like that when he was drinking.

Every time you thought of him, though, you smelt CrazyArt crayons, the ones that didn't even draw, you saw the same brown carpet that needed replacing years ago. Vertical wood in the hallway to paint the walls, it was engraved in your mind. You remember the dead flowers resting over the sink in the little windowsill above it, having been dead for months at least. They were completely wilted, most of the petals having fallen off, the glass vase stained with a little brown line across where the water sat still.

He probably didn't feel anything about it now, but you felt like you were driving through a hurricane. You felt like those dead flowers on JJ's kitchen windowsill, dead yet still not thrown away yet.

You lay back on the sand, your limbs sprawled out like a sad starfish. You pull your knees up, solidifying your spot in the sand. The grain knots itself into your hair, which wouldn't come out completely for a solid week since you learned the hard way long ago.

After twenty or so minutes of staring into the afternoon sky, you sit back up, attempt to shake any loose sand out of your hair, and stand up, gathering your thoughts in the process. You walk up the beach, returning to the road where your bike is perched on the curb. You hop on and peddle your way back home, cutting through town to do so.

You hoped a cold shower on this hot day would relieve you of the burning sensation on your skin, or at least help with your overwhelming, guilty thoughts. As you ride, you notice a few people walking down the sidewalk in front of you, thankfully leaving you some room to go past them.

As you grow closer, you notice their faces belong to those of your friends and an extra, for some reason. You smoothly swerve to the right, past Kie, not paying them any mind.

JJ minded, though, having tried to send a smile your way, for whatever reason. Kie did as well, as she opened her mouth to say hello.

"Hey, Y/n!" She defeatedly waves, letting her hand rest at her side as she watches you ride away.

You, out of fear and surprise, hide the sight away in your mind, because they were definitely your friends, or used to be your friends. Either way, they were home.

The next day, you had your headphones on while riding around town on your bike. You decided to enjoy some Zach Bryan and the heat, considering it was Saturday. You didn't end up going to that party with your friends, you just felt too groggy and gross after seeing them again.

You stop for a minute at Twist & Shake, wanting to get some French fries and some of that pineapple Dole Whip ice cream you'd been craving. You pull into the little parking lot and lean your bike against the building's right wall, not wanting to fight with the stand at the moment. You grab your wallet out of your back pocket and pull your headphones down around your neck, walking up to the order window.

You place your order and stand off to the side of the pickup window, hoping that no one was actively stealing your bike since it wasn't in view. You see a group of teens your age walk up to the window, of course, your old friends. You quickly turn your head away after getting a glance of them, tapping your foot on the pavement impatiently as you wait for your food.

"Y/n, oh my God, hi!" Sarah smiles, waving at you.

Her smile falters as you stare down at your feet, arms crossed as you wait. Her blonde hair frames her saddened face as she looks over at John B and Kie with a confused look. She looks hurt, she'd never left anything off on horrible terms with you, even if, lightly bad. She thought you were friends now.

Kie shrugs, pulling a twenty from her pocket as John B turns to JJ and Pope. Kie and Cleo lean against the sill against the ordering window as they order for themselves and their friends.

JJ rolls his eyes. "I told you, they replaced us"

"What do you mean?" Sarah asks, "I- They aren't here with anyone? What happened? Did we do something?-"

"No, they did something," JJ clarifies, "We got in a fight, and now they won't talk to any of us, like I said."

Pope shakes his head, "You got in a fight with them," He corrects, "They had a right to be suspicious about if they were really alive. They've been through enough, JJ. If you even cared, you'd notice that, but you had to put yourself first-"

"I didn't put myself first, I put John B and Sarah first!-"

John B rests a hand on JJ's shoulder, silently telling him to back off and calm down. The blonde stops himself, taking a breath.

"Try speaking up, maybe they didn't hear you" Pope hopefully says to Sarah, seeing her desperation to talk to you again.

"Y/n?" Sarah calls, making sure she's loud enough for you to hear. "Hey, it's me, Sarah?"

You continue to ignore her, feeling guilty as you do so. You just weren't ready to speak to them yet, you already felt awful but you didn't realize you were only making it worse.

JJ, now upset, walks up to you, shoving your shoulder. You look up at him, nearly glaring at him.

"Fuck is your problem?" He asks, "John B and Sarah are alive and you're gonna ignore them? You're gonna ignore us?"

"I'm not ignoring you. I don't want anything to do with you" You mumble, "Leave me alone"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" JJ asks, "You're seriously still doing this shit? You really never cared, did you?"

"Shut up, JJ. It's almost like I don't wanna fucking talk to you right now-"

"Yeah, cause you replaced your actual friends, you peace of shit." He spits, "Shows how much you care"

You push him away, not wanting to interact. Kie turns her head as the employee hands her change back, seeing you push the blonde away from you.

"Guys?-"

JJ pushes you back with a snarky comment. You push him back, cursing him out for some blind sighted reason.

He responds with a punch to your face, urging Pope, Kie, and John B to try and pull him away from you as you hit him back. Cleo and Sarah rush to your side, trying to pull you away as well, both parties unsuccessful.

Shouting, gasps, and yells fill the air as you two hit each other over and over, yelling profanities back and forth. You end up tackling him to the ground somehow, the three behind him stepping back as he falls. You straddle him, landing blow after blow on him, like revenge for that fight months ago.

His face is bloodied, and in that moment, you pull yourself away, realizing that look in his eyes. You'd become his father. In some alternate universe, you were the abuser all along. You stand up, falling into Sarah's and Cleo's open arms. Shit, you didn't even know Cleo, but here she was, letting you fall into her.

JJ glares at you, wiping the blood pouring from his nose.

Pope shares a look with John B, then you, an apologetic and slightly scared expression in your eyes. You didn't even know why you did it, you couldn't even feel yourself when you did it.

"What the fuck?" Kie nearly shouts, looking between you and the blonde. "It is never that serious to fight in a parking lot of Twist & Shake"

"Apparently, it is." You spit, walking away to grab your food before you're kicked off the property. "I didn't replace you. I don't wanna die trying to save some gold, that's it. See you later, " you grumble, walking away with a sore eye and knuckles.

The group, minus JJ, share confused and worried looks, watching you glide away on your bicycle.

"Jesus Christ..."

[starrydixon]

Despair (Part 2)

Part 1

Era: Season 9 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Pronouns: She/Her Word Count: 7.1k (whoops) Warnings: language, cheating, grief, brief mention of suggestive themes (if you squint), self-loathing, anxiety, angst

Summary: After three years of struggling to cope with the reality that the love of your life had cheated on you with another woman, your questions are finally answered when Daryl makes an unexpected visit to Alexandria.

You couldn’t sleep most nights. Despite how hard you had worked that day, desperately trying to distract and tire yourself out by volunteering for numerous jobs around the community: working in the gardens, helping construct new homes, taking inventory of weapons and supplies, doing laundry, or cleaning every square inch of your house…you still couldn’t sleep.

You would try every remedy, drink any herbal concoction Siddiq would recommend, and practice mindfulness and meditation…it didn’t matter. You would still end up wide awake at night, staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom, and envisioning how it had happened.

Each night was a different scenario, a different position, a different view. But it was always the same in the end; seeing Daryl’s bare body pressed against a blurry and unidentifiable figure of a naked woman that wasn’t you. In lightbulb succession, these visions would plague your mind as you tossed and turned in your sheets. An ache would weigh heavily on your chest while burning nausea rose in your throat whenever you got to the part where Daryl would touch the woman in the ways that he used to touch you and only you.

And just when the sun would begin to peek over the horizon, and you had cried every last tear your body could spare, you’d then get a few hours of sleep before repeating the same cycle all over again.

You needed closure from him. You didn’t know the exact kind you were in search of, but you knew that you had questions that needed answers. Each day you would tell yourself that you were ready to face him, but those days began to turn into weeks, those weeks turned to months, those months became a year, and before you knew it, three more years had gone by since you had last seen or spoken to Daryl.

So, when Michonne came back from the Hilltop after helping Siddiq escort a group of new survivors, and told you that she had seen Daryl there, you felt like an invisible force had punched you in the gut. You didn’t know if it was hearing his name and getting an update about him after so many years of nothing that had you thrown for a loop, or if it was the fact that he had finally left his isolated camp in the woods and was taking shelter at one of the communities again. 

From what you had gathered, Carol had asked Daryl to be her son’s temporary guardian while he learned the trade of blacksmithing at the Hilltop. Although it hurt you to learn that Daryl left the woods after six years for Carol and her son that he barely knew instead of you, you were curious as to what had finally driven him back to civilization. You assumed it was because Carol had the uncanny talent of persuasion.

That was days ago, and since then, you had been keeping yourself even busier around the community. Not only were you trying to distract yourself from the new and old thoughts you had about Daryl, but also from the potential new threat that could endanger all four of the communities. From her visit at the Hilltop, Michonne also learned that there was a group that hid themselves in herds of the undead by disguising themselves in walker skins. Without having run into a major threat in a little over six years, you couldn’t help but be on edge about a potential new war.

“I think you need to slow down.” 

You practically jumped out of your skin at the sound of Michonne’s voice. Spinning around on your heels, your eyes fell to her figure leaning against the side of the house that the communal clothes line was attached to. You were currently in the process of taking down your freshly washed, and now dried, laundry. Although the breeze was beginning to get colder and feel more prominent, the sun that shone down on Alexandria still managed to cancel out the gusts and cast warm rays down on your laundry, drying them rather efficiently.

“Shit Michonne, you almost made me piss my pants—and I just finished washing my clothes for the week.” You sighed as you rubbed a hand over your erratic heartbeat. 

One side of Michonne’s mouth quirked up in an amused smile as her shoulders shrugged loosely. “Seems to me that you’re off your game.”

Rolling your eyes at her comment, you turned back to the clothes line. “I’m fine.”

“Only a person who’s not fine would say that.” Michonne spoke with a teasing lilt in her voice. 

Shaking your head, you picked up the t-shirt you had previously dropped. Folding up the fabric haphazardly, you lightly tossed it in the laundry basket that was placed beside your feet. Turning back to the clothesline, you focused on taking down the bed sheet next. “Do you need something? Or are you just here to scare me for your own amusement?”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end when Michonne’s prolonged silence became unsettling. Removing your hovering fingers from the corner clothespin that secured the bedsheet to the wire, you slowly turned around to reface Michonne; who was uncharacteristically avoiding your gaze. 

“What’s wrong?” There was a slight quiver in your voice as your chest began to swell with unidentifiable emotion. There were about a hundred possibilities as to what could have caused Michonne’s sudden unease, and each possibility that flashed through your brain seemed to become worse than the last the longer she stayed quiet.

“Daryl’s here.” Michonne bluntly stated once she was able to meet your worried gaze. 

At the sound of his name alone, your ears began to ring and the blood that flowed through your veins rushed to all the major muscle groups in your body, leaving your head pounding and your arms and legs feeling heavy and constricted. Your breath got stuck in your throat, and your previously recovered erratic heartbeat began to pick up again.

Why was he here?

Did something happen at Hilltop?

He’s here?

Why?

At the sound of Michonne’s concerned voice calling out to you, you snapped out of your increasingly spinning thoughts. Focusing your vision back on Michonne, who had taken a few steps towards you in the midst of your fight or flight response, you struggled to form a coherent thought. 

“Are you sure?” The second the words came out of your mouth, you knew it was a stupid question to ask. Daryl Dixon was one of the most distinctive guys who had ever met; it was hard to mistake him as someone else. 

“I’m sure.” Michonne stated confidently as her arms crossed over her chest. For a moment, all you could manage was a nod of your head in acknowledgment as you took one step back to reground yourself. It felt like the verbal confirmation was akin to a physical push in the shoulders.

Although you couldn’t find the capacity to verbally ask Michonne why Daryl was suddenly at Alexandria, she seemed to have sensed that the question was running through your head. “He also came with Henry, Connie, and Lydia, that girl from the skins I was telling you about…I guess Henry decided to go after Lydia once Hilltop handed her over to the skins, and Daryl had to go after him.”

“Oh…” You ran a hand over your face in distress before placing the same hand on your hip. Every nerve ending in your body felt like it was on fire, causing tingling sensations to form in the tips of your fingers, and sweat to begin to prick at your hairline. 

“Are you okay?” Michonne voiced again worriedly as she eyed the way you seemed to become increasingly weary. 

“Yeah…I’m fine. I just need a minute.” You weakly reassured Michonne while straightening up your once slumped posture the best you could. 

“Okay…he’s with Judith down by the water, just in case you decide to either talk to him or avoid him.” Michonne stated with a barely there teasing lilt in her voice.

Nodding your head in acknowledgment, your unfocused gaze fell onto your boots as you saw Michonne’s figure leave you from the corner of your eye. You found yourself cursing under your breath and bringing your hands to the sides of your head once Michonne was completely out of sight. 

You knew this day would come eventually; you had been anticipating it for almost three years. Hell, some days you even prayed that you could will yourself to go out in the woods and find him, just so you could get it over with. Now that it was so close to happening, so close that you could almost touch it, you found yourself being filled with panic instead of relief. You weren’t sure when you wanted to confront Daryl, as you could hardly form a coherent thought, but you figured you had a little while before you had to face reality. Wiping your clammy hands on your jeans and shaking your head to get rid of the frantic thoughts that raced through your mind, you got back to work with removing your laundry from the clothesline and placing them in your laundry basket.

Before you even knew it, you were walking back to your townhouse with a filled and heavy laundry basket digging uncomfortably into your hip. Although it took longer, you found yourself avoiding the path home that passed the waterway. Rapid thoughts that wouldn’t quiet, not even for a minute, raced through your mind as you walked.

How do I talk to him?

What do I say?

Does he even want to talk?

Am I ready for this?

Your thoughts were interrupted when you felt something brush against your legs, and something wet poke at your hand that was cradled underneath the laundry basket. Gasping out of shock and taking a few stumbling steps back, your wide eyes fell down to a furry creature; who was wiggling its body excitedly and wagging its tail happily at you.

“Oh! Hello!” Dropping the laundry basket forgetfully, you gaped in awe at the dog in front of you. “Where did you come from!?” Before smothering the dog in affection, you raised your hand to its nose.

After the dog had given your hand a few sniffs, he practically jumped up onto you, as if he knew you. Unbeknownst to you, the canine was already quite familiar with you, as he spent most nights sleeping on top of a blanket that was laced with your scent.“You’re friendly, huh?” You couldn’t help but laugh as you knelt down and scratched the dog behind his ears.

You figured the dog belonged to one of the residents in Alexandria. Since you have been in your own bubble as of late, you had fallen behind on learning about who you were living around and what new things they had achieved or done. Like for instance, getting a dog. 

As you continued to pet the dog, you couldn’t help but laugh and coo at his adorableness. You couldn’t remember the last time you had interacted with a dog, so you were taking full advantage of this moment before his owner came looking.

“Dog! Where are ya!?” 

As the familiar shout reached your ears, your hands stopped moving against the dog’s fur, as if they were struck frozen. Your eyes widened with shock as you stared into the dark brown eyes of your furry friend, who was tapping his paws excitedly against the sidewalk and eagerly poking his tongue out of his mouth in an attempt to give you friendly kisses across your stricken face. 

“Where the hell...Dog! Get over here!”

His voice now came from somewhere behind you, closer in range. Falling back on your haunches, your hands fell onto your lap as the dog continued to affectionately nudge his wet nose against your loosely clasped hands, as if asking you for more pets. Your vision was completely unfocused, making the dog in front of you seem like a moving blob of black and brown fur. The muscles in your body tensed as you anxiously anticipated the moment Daryl realized that it was you who was capturing his dog’s attention, and not some random resident of Alexandria.

Your distinctive light blue sweater with white clouds sewn into the cotton was the first thing Daryl’s eyes landed on when he had gotten close enough to identify you. He remembered the day you found it; at a rundown and nearly ransacked thrift store. Daryl found it to be one of the tackiest things he had ever seen, but you saw it as a diamond in the rough. The archer grew to love that sweater, purely because you adored it so much and it always made you smile when you wore it. Even without the sweater, Daryl could have recognized you, as he had the shape of your body engraved in his mind. As his eyes danced over the back of you, his heart beat fasted and his mouth became dry. 

For a moment, his brain seemed to short-circuit as he struggled to find the right way to announce himself to you. Not knowing if you even wanted to see him, the last thing Daryl wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. Sweat began to accumulate around his hairline and trickle down his back. 

“Uh-” Daryl cleared his throat as his words got caught in his throat. “Dog, stop botherin’ her.” The archer scolded his canine before commanding him over with a whistle.

“He-He’s fine…” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you brought one of your hands to the dog’s head to give him a few gentle pats. 

“He ain’t usually like this…always listens,” Daryl sounded abashed as he tried to explain his dog’s apparent unusual behavior. “Guess he just likes ya more than me.” 

You found solace in the canine as he laid down in front of you with his head resting in your cupped hands that sat in your lap. Despite his calm and console exterior, the dog’s tail wagged wildly in happiness. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from the dog’s, mesmerized by the adorable puppy eyes he looked up at you with. 

“Sorry if he ruined your laundry…” Daryl awkwardly stated with a sheepish rub of his neck once he noticed your disregarded laundry basket. From your peripheral vision, you could see Daryl’s broad frame standing a few feet away from you.

Shaking your head dismissively, you slowly rose to your feet and brushed off the dog hair that stuck to your jeans. The dog jutted his wet nose into your hands, that now hung loosely by your sides, before leaping over towards Daryl. The archer muttered some reprimanding words to the canine for disobeying his commands.

There were so many unsaid words and thoughts that sat in the space between you and Daryl, each weighing heavily and making the air that surrounded you unbearably thick. You had no idea what to say to him, despite having thought about this exact moment and playing out every possible scenario for almost three years. 

You’ve found yourself becoming overwhelmed and drained due to so many different thoughts and emotions coursing through your mind and heart all at the same time. Your once rigged body now slumped in dejection; your arms feeling heavy and weak as they hung by your sides, head ducked that caused a few loose hairs to fall in your face and hide your dull and downcast eyes that mindlessly flickered across the concrete beneath you. 

For three years, Daryl had spent everyday thinking about you and the mess that he had made because of his actions. When he laid on top of his fur pelts at night, under the night sky in his slowly deteriorating tent, he would try to remember how vibrant the color of your eyes were, and the charmingly bright smile that often adorned your lips and never failed to make his chest swell with warmth. He would try to remember the sound of your laugh that always sounded like a symphony of the most beautiful pieces of music. With each day that passed, it was harder to see and hear, especially when the image of your anguish stricken and tear stained face, and the sounds of your body wracking sobs, were the only thing engraved in his mind now. 

When he walked through the front gates of Alexandria after nearly six years, he hoped that he would run into you during his quick stay; seeing you healed and with that smile he loved so much stretched across your brightened face. He hoped that you had found happiness again, even if it meant he had to be cut out of your life indefinitely.

Now, as his eyes flitted over your troubled face and dejected figure, he realized that you were still hurting from his actions; that the wounds he had caused you weren’t healed in the slightest. If anything, his sudden presence was probably akin to putting salt on those sensitive legions. He felt helpless as he watched you reel, once again, because of him. At the sight of you, Daryl felt his sinuses suddenly swell and tingle with emotion, his eyes pooling with tears that he had no right to shed. 

Wordlessly, you shuffled over to your disregarded laundry basket and crouched down to replace a few of the tangled clothes back in the basket. With weakening tingles still sprinkling in your arms and hands, you found it difficult to get a good grip on the handles of the heavy hamper. Noticing your struggle, Daryl instinctively reached out a helping hand. “Do ya want some help with that?”

Letting out a heavy exhale in a mixture of frustration and defeat, you sat the basket down in front of your feet. For the first time since he’s been there, you turned your gaze to look at Daryl. His unkempt dark caramel bangs framed his face and the long strands of hair fell a few inches above his collarbones. He still sported his classic leather vest, although it was placed over a distressed gray button up top that had one of the sleeves cut to his bicep, while the other was cut to the middle of his forearm. You hated the fact that you still found his face handsome, and that he was still able to take your breath away, even after all that had been said and done.

Blinking out of your slight haze, you shook your now ducked head dismissively. “You don’t have to.”

“I know…but I wanna.”

After seeing the genuineness in his steel blue eyes, you silently stepped away from the laundry basket and gave a curt nod of consent for Daryl to assist you. You didn’t know why you were letting him help you, but the thought of struggling with a heavy laundry basket was less appealing than standing in awkward silence for an indefinite out of time with Daryl. 

The walk back to your townhouse was quiet; the only sounds filling the air around you were the tapping of the canine’s nails against the pavement, and the howls of wind whenever a breeze passed by. You lead the way, with Daryl’s dog following closely beside you, and Daryl trailing behind. It was hard to tell who was more nervous as you neared the home you once shared together.

The canine was the first to bound inside once you opened the front door of your home. The corners of your mouth couldn’t help but twitch upwards in amusement at the sight of the dog’s excitement. From behind you, you could feel Daryl’s steps falter to a halt in the entryway. Turning towards him, you raised an eyebrow at the pensive expression on his face. 

Clearing his throat, Daryl’s abashed gaze fell down to the laundry basket he was holding. “Can I—Do ya want me to come in?” The archer sputtered out while shifting nervously on his feet. He knew he didn’t have a place in this home anymore, and wanted to respect whatever boundaries you may have. 

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Swallowing hard, you instructed Daryl to set the basket down on the couch in the living room. 

Hearing the excited bounds and leaps of the dog as he explored the lower level of your home, you found yourself gravitating towards the kitchen in search of a possible treat to give the canine. After rummaging through your pantry, you settled upon a few crackers. Holding the package in your hand, you shuffled back into the living room; where Daryl was patting his dog on the head and muttering commands of ‘be good’ and ‘don’t be a troublemaker’ under his breath.

“Can he have a few crackers?” Your weary voice brought Daryl’s attention back to you, and he found himself straightening out his posture when he noticed your eyes on him.

“Don’t see why not.” Daryl shrugged his shoulders loosely before commanding his canine to go over to you with a point of his finger.

Kneeling on the ground, a ghost of a smile formed on your lips as the dog eagerly took the few crackers from out of the palm of your hand. “You have a dog…” You trailed off in more of a statement than a question as you watched the canine practically inhale the treats you had given him.

Daryl hummed a vague tune of conformation as he stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Was walkin’ around in the woods a few years ago and when he was a puppy, he just came up to me outta nowhere…looked like he was starvin’ so I brought him back to camp. Been with me ever since.”

It was almost as if the canine knew he was being talked about, because in an instant, he was back in front of you; basking in the attention that you bestowed on him. As an animal lover, it wasn’t all that shocking that you had instantly fallen in love with the dog the second you met him. You couldn’t help but give him pets whenever you could. “What’s his name?”

“Dog.” 

Pausing your scratches to the dog’s belly, you turned your gaze to look at Daryl. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.” 

“So he always knows who he is.” Daryl shrugged his shoulders loosely in nonchalance, not understanding what you found so staggering.

“Dog…” You repeated softly as you stared down into the canine's eyes while his head rested in your cupped hands. At the sight of you and Dog, Daryl’s chest swelled in warmth, making his heart feel like it was seconds away from bursting out of his chest. His breath was nearly taken from him as he watched your once dull smile morph into a more prominent and bright one; like the smile he had spent years yearning to see again. 

As you gave Dog a few more crackers, the tension began to seep back between you and Daryl. There was still a giant elephant in the room that had yet to be acknowledged, and Daryl was anxiously waiting for the moment it was. He had half the mind to bring it up himself, but he didn’t want to overstep; and if he was being honest with himself, he was selfishly enjoying the brief moments of ignorance.

You had no idea how much longer Daryl was planning on sticking around Alexandria for. But as the silence began to become even more heavy and loud, your need for peace was starting to come to a breaking point. You still weren’t sure if you were ready for the answers, but you knew it was time to rip the bandaid off and ask for them. 

Slowly, you rose from your crouched position and shuffled over to the couch. Sitting on the edge of one of the cushions, your hands clasped loosely in your lap and your eyes fell to the rug beneath you. “I have questions.”

Although he was anticipating those words coming out of your mouth, his stomach still dropped to the floor. He knew you deserved answers, and was willing to give them to you, he just wasn’t ready to see that anguish and despair morph onto your face again. Wordlessly, Daryl moved to the armchair that was a few feet away from you, and sat down on the armrest. “Ask away.”

Your mouth became dry and your heart rate picked up as you silently pondered over your next choice of words. You were embarrassed that you were suddenly drawing a blank on all the questions you knew you had. They had been plaguing your consciousness and dreams for nearly three years. As if sensing your distress, Dog trotted over and hopped onto the couch beside you before resting his head in your lap. 

“I guess my first question is…what’s her name?” You could feel bile begin to rise in your throat as your hands instinctively grasped onto Dog’s fur, as if you were anticipating a punch to the gut at any second.

“Leah.” The archer’s throat constricted, as it was suddenly hard to swallow. His unblinking eyes, which were focused on your hands running through Dog’s fur, burned as uncontrollable images of his affair flashed through his mind in lightbulb succession.

You found yourself repeating the name a few times to yourself, under your breath, as you processed the information. When you felt like you had fully digested her name, you wet your dry lips and moved on to your next question. “H-How long did it last?”

“Only happened once.” Daryl’s gaze immediately lifted to your face once the sentence came out of his mouth. Your bottom lip was tugged in between your teeth as an uncertain expression contorted your face. You didn’t believe him. “It was just a one time thing…I swear it.”

Swallowing hard, you felt salty liquid begin to sting your eyes as the next question you had burned the tip of your tongue and sent your stomach feeling like it was doing backflips on a continuous loop. It was the most dreaded one you had, and the most prominent one that hadn’t left your mind since the day Daryl had first confessed his unfaithfulness to you. “Do you love her?”

Daryl almost wanted to snort at how absurd that question was, but he quickly remembered that you didn’t have an insight on his mind; unable to know how he truly felt unless he explicitly told you himself. You didn’t know how he thought about you every single waking moment for those three years before his time with Leah, and after. You had no idea how much he loved you with every fiber of his being and how unwavering it was. Most importantly, you didn’t know how little he thought of her, and how he never saw her again after the affair had happened. Daryl found himself hating himself even more, knowing he had made you feel like he had fallen in love with someone else.

“No.”

“Then why did you sleep with her!” Your raised voice surprised you as you jumped up from the sofa you had been sitting on. At your sudden outburst, Dog jumped up onto his paws as well. Heavy silence surrounded you and Daryl as you tried to conceal the tears that threatened to pour from your eyes. Your chest heaved with heavy breaths, and your bottom lip trembled between your teeth. “You could have come home…I-I would have welcomed you in with open arms! I-” 

You were cut off by a choked sob escaping past the confines of your throat as a few tears fell unwillingly onto your cheeks.

Running his fingers through his hair in distress, Daryl began to pace in a line across the living room rug. The amount of pain you were in, that he had caused, was borderline unbearable. 

Stopping his stressed strides, Daryl turned to face you again. “‘Cause I’m a fuckin’ idiot.”

Sitting down on the cushion of the armchair, Daryl pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to gather his thoughts. The archer knew how important his next sentences were, and wanted to word them correctly. Your body stood rigged as you anxiously awaited for Daryl to continue. The unease that swelled in your body climbed painfully up your chest, making your lungs heave labored breaths. 

“It feels like everyone that’s ever been in my life, has always left at some point. They either died or didn’t find me useful no more,” Daryl spoke in a careful drawl as his clasped hands tightened around each other in order to ease the tremors that were wracking through his fingers. “I knew you’d leave too at some point…get tired of my bullshit, tryna find Rick. You’d get sick of me and move on, and I selfishly couldn’t deal with the thought of it. So I did it first; I pushed ya away.”

Your knees began to weaken under your weight, and you found yourself sitting back onto the couch so you wouldn’t end up dropping to the floor. A wave of fresh tears pooled in your eyes as you soaked in Daryl’s words. You knew he had more to say, and the tantalizing pause was making your heart feel like it was about to burst out of your chest.

“I was certain you wouldn’t want anythin’ to do with me no more, and it killed me, knowin’ that. So when I met Leah, I guess I was just tryin’ to fill that hole I made. I really only saw her as a friend–I could never be in love with anyone but you…” Daryl’s weary voice trailed off as he rubbed one of his fists in his damp eyes. The archer’s solemn face seemed to age him a few years, as his downcast eyes flitted over the rug that covered the majority of the wooden floorboards in the living room. 

“When we were stuck in the cabin during that storm, we started talkin’ about what we’ve lost. I didn’t really go into detail ‘bout anythin’, but I guess I said enough to make me wanna push those feelin’s away and forget about ‘em,” Pausing, Daryl took a few moments to compose himself as the emotions that were swelling up his chest began to seep through his voice and take control of him. “There was nothin’ to it for me, it-it just happened. That’s the only way I know to describe it, I’m sorry.”

The only sound that filled the otherwise silent room were your muffled cries and Dog’s whimpering as he desperately tried to comfort you. There was so much information to unpack, and it overwhelmed you. Despite everything that had happened, you still cared about Daryl; it was hard not to as he had been your everything for years. So hearing him express to you the agony he felt that led to the decision of pushing you away, hurt. On the other hand, you were upset at the fact that he thought so little of your loyalty to him, and didn’t believe you’d stick beside him as he grieved Rick’s disappearance.

Daryl’s head was ducked in shame as he subtly wiped away the few tears that had fallen onto his cheeks with the palm of his hand. As each one of your cries reached his ears, a pang shot through the archer’s chest painfully. For a moment, he wondered if he was physically feeling his heart break. Unable to bear the weight of witnessing your agony anymore, Daryl stood up from the chair he was sitting on and strode over to the front door. 

“I-I’ll give ya some time alone. I gotta get goin’ soon…just bring Dog over to the front gates by nightfall.” Daryl’s gravely and tight voice broke with each word he uttered. Without giving you a second glance from over his shoulder, the archer walked out of the house; leaving you alone with your spiraling thoughts and a fury and loyal companion sitting by your feet.

-

The once warmly hued sky was now a inky black as you walked towards the front gates of Alexandria. Dog trotted by your side, occasionally looking up at you to make sure you were still beside him. The gentle breeze that occasionally blew through the air earlier that day now became colder and more prominent, causing you to wrap your arms around your body in an effort to stay warm. A stocked backpack filled with granola bars, bottles of water, medical supplies, and a few articles of clothing, hung on your forearms by the straps. 

You were still upset, and feeling like you were barely holding it together, even after having a few hours to process all that was said earlier that afternoon. Although there was still a lot of information to digest, you felt stable enough to get a few coherent thoughts put together. Conflicting feelings warped your being; your heart telling you to feel empathy for Daryl and to begin to work things out as you still cared for him and loved him deeply. Meanwhile, your brain was constantly reminding you of how hurt you still were from what he had done, and that things couldn’t be forgotten or healed overnight.

Anxiety weighed heavily on your chest and your stomach felt like it was being tied up in knots as you got closer to the front gates. Your gaze fell upon a small group made up of three shadowy figures, which you quickly identified as Michonne, Judith, and Daryl. With her arms crossed over her chest, Michonne watched on from a few feet away as Daryl crouched down in front of Judith, undoubtedly saying his goodbyes to her. From beside you, Dog let out a happy bark as he bounded towards Daryl and Judith when they were within his sights. The corner of your mouth quirked upwards in admiration at the canine’s loyalty. 

After giving Judith one last final hug, Daryl was standing upright again and shifting nervously on his feet as his eyes fell upon you. The first thing he noticed was the stuffed backpack that hung off your forearm, and his stomach dropped when he realized what could be in there. Aside from the last supply bag you had given him three years ago that had a few articles of his clothing in it, he had no idea what you did with the rest of his clothes, or even his stuff, after he confessed to you about his affair. 

For all he knew, you were about to give him the last few things he owned; which would be your official act of cutting him from your life forever. Daryl knew he deserved it, and was quite surprised that you had talked to him for as long as you did, but it still made his heart sink that one of his fears was about to officially come true. 

You could see the look of concern on Michonne’s face when you met her gaze. As an attempt to ease her worries, you could only muster up a weak smile and a nod of reassurance. Seeming satisfied by your response, for now, Michonne gave your hand a squeeze before practically corralling Judith and Dog towards the front gates in order to give you and Daryl some privacy.

Rubbing the back of his neck anxiously, Daryl averted his gaze to the ground. “I’m-uh-sorry ‘bout earlier…I shouldn’t of left like that.”

“Oh…” Your eyebrows shot upwards in surprise, not expecting that sentiment to come out of his mouth. “It’s ok…I actually kinda needed to be alone for a little while.” You confessed rather sheepishly as you uncomfortably shifted the backpack on your arm. 

“I hope Dog didn’t cause ya any trouble. He can be a handful sometimes.” The archer was now shoving his hands in his pockets, in fear that they would start to shake at any moment due to the anxiety that was beginning to course through his veins. 

“He’s great, really,” A smile formed on your face as your eyes briefly drifted towards the front gates, where you could see Dog betowing affection on Judith. “I can see why you’ve kept him around.”

Daryl could only hum in acknowledgement as his teeth dug into his bottom lip. For a few moments, awkward silence fell over you two as you both struggled to find the right words to say. Swallowing the dry lump that was beginning to form in your throat, you wet your lips and opened your mouth to speak. There was no easy way to begin the conversation, so you figured the only way to start it was by being blunt. 

“I appreciate everything you told me today…I still have a lot to process and figure out.” You found yourself inhaling sharply through your nose as you struggled to put your delicate thoughts and feelings into words. “You hurt me so much, Daryl. I-I just don’t know if I’ll ever be able to want to work things out.”

Salty tears stung at the corners of Daryl’s eyes as he nodded at your words. He knew it was coming, and had been anticipating them since there was no other response he expected you to say. Daryl supposed he was becoming more upset with himself, than at you, for what you were telling him. 

“I get it…I don’t blame ya for not wantin’ me in your life anymore. You're better off.” Daryl’s sadden gaze fell to his boots as he uncomfortably shifted the crossbow that was draped behind his back with a shrug of his shoulders. It suddenly felt like the crossbow was becoming too heavy for him to carry.

“No, no…I-” You shook your head dismissively as emotion swelled up your chest and seeped in your voice. “I don't know what I want, but I can’t imagine you not in my life. I still care about you, Daryl.”

When your admission reached his ears, Daryl found himself bringing his wide eyed gaze back up towards your face. For a moment, Daryl was ready to utter endless sentences filled with all of the devotions he felt for you, but realized how overwhelming and off putting that would be for you to hear at the moment. So instead, he instinctively took one step towards you. Wetting his dry lips, Daryl opened his mouth to respond.

“You don't gotta decide, hell, you don’t ever gotta decide. I just…I just want a chance to make things up to ya, make it right.” 

You bit down on your bottom lip nervously as you silently pondered over his declaration. “I can’t promise that things will ever go back to how they were…romantically.”

“I know. I just want you to let me try.”

All you could manage was to nod your head in agreement as an overwhelmed haze overcame your brain. You could feel fresh tears pool in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall onto your cheeks. You had cried enough tears for a lifetime, and quite frankly, you didn’t have the energy to deal with them tonight. The backpack hanging off your arm became unbearably uncomfortable as your arms began to weaken due to the emotional turmoil your body was going through. You couldn’t bring yourself to look Daryl in the eyes when you handed the backpack to him.

“There’s some supplies in there for you and everyone else for the trip to the Kingdom…” A heavy silence filled the still night air as you struggled to stay put; you couldn’t stop shifting your weight from one foot to the other in unease. 

“What?” That was the only thing Daryl could utter out of his mouth as he stood frozen in front of you, his wide eyes staring at the backpack you were holding out to him as if it was a foreign object he had never seen before. 

“Like I said before, packing you a bag is kinda an instinct at this point. It still is” 

Swallowing hard and unable to mask the gawk in his face, Daryl took the backpack from you. “I-uh-” Pausing, Daryl took a few moments to compose himself so he didn’t continue to choke on his words. “I didn’t expect that bag to have supplies in it.” Daryl admitted sheepishly, since moments ago he was convinced you were about to hand over the few remaining possessions he had.

“What else would I put in the bag?” Your head tilted to the side curiously as the two of you began to walk towards the front gates where the rest of the group were at. 

Shrugging his shoulders loosely, Daryl gripped onto the strap of his crossbow that was draped across his chest. “I don’t know what ya did to my stuff that's still at the house…shit, maybe ya burned it, but I thought you were gonna hand me my shit back and tell me to fuck off.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh from bursting out of your mouth, hands instantly raising to your face to muffle the noise. Daryl wished you let yourself laugh for a little longer, as the sound was like music to his ears. It felt like a lifetime ago since he last heard it.

“The thought did cross my mind once or twice, but I don’t think I could ever do something like that.” You shook your head as a genuine smile stretched your lips. 

“Only once or twice?” The archer mused as a lopsided smile formed on his face. His heart felt like it was swelling one size too big to fit in his chest at the sight of your smile.

God he missed you.

“Okay, fine, definitely more times than that.” You admitted truthfully as a sly glint sparkled in your eyes under the moonlight. 

You both strode in silence for the remaining distance to the front gate. Once you arrived, Dog was instantly at your feet, demanding pets by nudging your hands with his wet nose. Grinning, you bent down to say your goodbyes to the loyal canine.

“Hey…” The sound of Daryl’s soft voice took your attention off of Dog. After placing a kiss on the top of Dog’s head, you stood up to your full height once again. “I’ll-uhm-I’ll see you soon, okay?” A nervous quiver was barely noticeable in his voice, but you knew Daryl well enough to be able to detect it. 

“Okay. See you soon.” You could only offer Daryl a small smile and a wave of your hand as you watched him leave.

As he stepped out of the gates of Alexandria, Daryl swore to himself that he would do anything it took to do right by you and prove himself worthy again. He didn’t care if it took days, weeks, months, years, or even up until the day he died. Daryl knew there was little to no chance that you would ever see him as a romantic partner again, but the archer wouldn’t stop trying to prove to you otherwise, and show you how much he still loved and cared for you.

-

-

A/N: So, what do you guys think? I know I left it a bit ambiguous, again, but I think it’s up to you to decide if Reader eventually forgives Daryl and is able to reconnect with him. Also, I changed Dog’s origins a bit in this fic, considering I established that Daryl’s fling with Leah was only a one time thing. Anyways, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!!

Part 3

[lucky1013]

On Leaning In

I've been thinking about you a lot more than I should // My mind is stuck on loop [soot-lovejoy-soot-soot soot-lovejoy-soot-soot] and it has been for months. If you're reading this, you’ve probably been down this particular rabbit hole. Maybe you're still here. It started innocently and progressed quickly. [hey, who is that?] __[oh... I'm intrigued] ___[let me find pictures and clips] ____[god damn, he's smart and beautiful] _____[please, please, someone save him] ______[oh my god my brain's been hijacked] Punchdrunk. Lovesick. Bewitched. A physical buzz from the dopamine cocktail caused by every little picture, song, bit of news. A crippling celebrity crush was the very last thing I expected and it felt like high school. It felt childish to care so much about a stranger's welfare. It felt shameful and adulterous to be undeniably attracted to someone other-gendered, extramarital, not my real-life love. Obsessed, pathological, delulu, irrational, crazy. HOW DO YOU INSULT YOURSELF? My therapist called me out and told me to knock it off. Why are you ashamed of this? This is fun. This feels great. This is natural. Is it causing problems for you? Think of all of the things you have learned about yourself. It will subside eventually and maybe you deserve to enjoy it. Infatuation feels amazing; the euphoria and pain of new, unrequited love makes your mind and body feel alive. After a few desperate tries to excise the cancer in my brain I figured out that I don't actually want to let go. Not yet.

So I'm willfully indulging it. LEANING IN.

‘Cause this is the part where I shut up and let you infest my brain Wrap your arms around my cortex dig you in and let you drain //

You’ll never get rid of me I’m like a fucking disease I’ll make a home in your gut ‘Cause it’s somewhere warm to sleep // I'm containing it somewhat and letting it grow and change. I added parameters to keep it from interfering with my life. I widened the aperture and turned it into a broader love for the music and the band. I'm accepting that it will subside and appreciating it while it lasts. The trick is to revel in the romance without allowing it to be disruptive. To walk the line between passionate and obsessive. There will be a day -- maybe weeks, maybe years - when you can't put your finger on exactly how you felt. I know this because I've been here before, years ago, head over heels, and now the feelings are over the horizon and out of reach. Your intense emotions will grow up and dull. If you get a chance to experience it again, indulge it. It's temporary. It's agony. It's marvelous. Enjoy.

[corpocyborg]

Secure Your Soul: A Cyberpunk 2077 Fanfiction

This fic was previously published under the title “Before the Event Horizon.”

Summary: Six months ago, V’s boss at Arasaka ordered her to assassinate his rival. Instead, with the reluctant but invaluable help of her old friend Jackie Welles, she pushed them both off their thrones and claimed one for herself. Now the new Director of Arasaka Counter Intel has a problem. She’s uncovered information that indicates that Yorinobu Arasaka, the heir apparent to the Arasaka dynasty, is a traitor. But without solid proof, she’s forced to take matters into her own hands.

An AU in which Corpo!V never leaves Arasaka.

CHAPTER SIX: LIKE A MILITARY COUP

[read on ao3]

PRESENT DAY

“Get up, you backstabbing bitch.”

V’s mind crossed the threshold into consciousness, and she jolted awake. Her neck ached from sleeping at a desk, but it was a familiar ache. She’d pulled all-nighters at a desk her whole life, staring at a pile of paperwork or a computer monitor until the lead she needed jumped out at her. She looked up at Abernathy. “Morning, m’am. Do you have more questions for me?”

Abernathy slammed her head into the desk. 

“Fuck,” V muttered. She had cranial armor implants, but they’d been taking a serious beating lately. Abernathy must have gotten the same holiday bonus that she had. No one without gorilla arms could exert that much force so effortlessly. “That's the second time in 24 hours someone’s done that to me.”

“It won't be the last,” Abernathy promised. She lifted V’s head and slammed it back down again. Then she lifted it once more, but this time she held it so that V’s eyes were looking into her own. “What did you say to him to get him to squeal?”

“I've been locked in here for hours,” V said through clenched teeth. Despite the armor implants, her head was pounding viciously. “I haven't had any communication with anyone since you were last here. You can check your surveillance footage if you don't believe me.”

“Then you planned it together.”

“Jenkins and I? What would be the point of that? Just to fuck with you?” V’s words were muffled by Abernathy’s hold on her face. “I came to you because I was trying to switch sides. I wanted to work for someone more level-headed. Although this display is making me doubt whether I was right about you.” 

“How dare you?” Abernathy spat, but V was pleased to hear a slight catch in her voice. She’d guessed that line would work on Abernathy primarily because it would have worked on her.

“Look,” V began, wincing as Abernathy squeezed her head. “You can waste your time here, tormenting someone who isn’t even in on Jenkins’ plans, or you can go after your actual enemy. One option is far more productive than the other.” 

Abernathy paused, her grip never lessening, for a few seconds that felt much longer to V. Her vision was just starting to swim when Abernathy abruptly released her head. Inertia slammed it back into the desk one final time. When V looked up again, Abernathy was gone. 

She crossed her arms on the desk and rested her head on them, struggling for air at first, then progressively slowing and deepening her breaths. It was a technique she’d learned from her life coach at Quantified Satori. It helped, but only to a degree. The pounding in her head had not subsided, and V wasn’t sure how long it would be before she’d have the strength to lift her head again. She supposed there’d be no point to now, anyway. Whatever happened next was outside her control. And, despite their differences, she trusted Jackie. He’d know what he had to do. 

Continuing to breathe deeply, she began a new neuromotor relaxation exercise—one targeted at releasing tension in various muscle groups, one at a time, in a particular pattern. It seemed like a good choice because it occupied her mind as well as her body. With this welcome distraction to guide her, V gradually found her way back into unconsciousness.

—

When she woke up again, a different coworker was standing over her.

“Nostra,” she said groggily, “Abernathy sent you?”

“No, V,” Nostra replied. “Abernathy’s offed herself.”

That snapped her awake. Ever since Jenkins had first given her the order to go after Abernathy, V had been anticipating every potential resolution to the situation that she could come up with. She thought she’d become especially effective at predicting Abernathy’s reactions, largely because she so often reacted the same way that V herself would have. But she hadn’t seen this coming.

“You look so shocked,” Nostra commented. There was a slight twitch at the right corner of his mouth. “Weren’t expecting it, huh?”

“Were you?” 

Nostra sighed quietly. “In a manner of speaking. She wasn’t depressed, if that’s what you’re assuming. Wasn’t a quitter either. Hell, I’ve seen the woman dodge shit thrown at her from every angle and still walk away clean. She wasn’t weak, V.”

He paused, looking directly at her. Gauging her reaction, V knew. She didn’t try to hide her confusion. A poker face was a decent enough tactic for certain types of lies, but generally the superior strategy was to react the way you would have reacted if you were innocent. 

“Then why-” she began.

“Why did she kill herself?” Nostara finished her sentence for her. “Because she didn’t have any interest in life after Arasaka.” 

A sudden sense of understanding dawned in V’s mind. Nostra nodded at her. “Now you get it,” he said. “Anyway, that’s the internal factors. As for the external factors, your man Jenkins got too trigger-happy. He was blackmailing her, as you know. Hadn’t released anything, was just making demands at first… then, suddenly, he uploads it all, every bit of dirt he’s got on her, to Arasaka’s intranet.” 

Well done, Jackie, V thought instinctively. She forced that thought into the back of her mind. Her face showed nothing but doubt. “But why?” she demanded. “And how do you know it was him?”

“Fair question. He deleted any metadata or other digital trails that could lead to him. He tried to, anyway. It was a tech specialist from your department who caught him, actually. Carter Smith. I believe you know him.”

“I do,” V replied cautiously. She was unsure how Smith factored into the situation and that made her nervous. He knew about her deal with Jackie, but he didn’t know exactly what was on the datashard she’d left him, and he certainly didn’t know about the dirt she’d added to it over the past six years. But it was hardly an impossible intuitive leap. If he'd connected the dots… “We’ve worked together in the past.”

“Apparently, he’d been keeping an eye on Jenkins since he overheard him telling you to ‘make sure Abernathy won’t be a problem anymore.’”

“Jenkins did tell me that. And as you know, I didn’t listen.” 

“Didn’t you?” Nostra asked. “Abernathy won’t be a problem for Jenkins anymore, will she?” Before V could say anything in her defense, Nostra added, “Of course, Jenkins will hardly be able to benefit from that, seeing as he’s dead.”

“Jenkins is dead?” V was intrigued to find that she was actually a little sad about that. She’d barely known Abernathy, but Jenkins had been a constant presence in her life for several years. She wouldn’t have called him a friend, but then she spent more time with her coworkers than she did with her friends.

“Yes. Apparently, Smith didn’t like the sound of Jenkins’ plan either. Went directly to Abernathy and reported everything he’d heard. Then offered to keep an eye out for her regarding any further developments. Interestingly enough, he said he didn’t think you’d go through with it. He seems to like you.”

V looked down at the table, smiling slightly. Well, well. You never did know which allies could turn out to be valuable in the long run. “That’s kind of him,” she mused, momentarily lost in the private joke. “But you still haven’t told me how Jenkins ended up dead.”

“Smith kept his word. He was monitoring Jenkins’ online presence. After the blackmail data leaked, he was able to trace a pattern of suspicious activity that indicated that Jenkins was the source. Abernathy had just gotten back from your last interrogation. He showed her what he’d found. She decided if she was going down anyway, Jenkins was coming with her.”

“So she killed him?”

“Yes. Personally, in fact. A first for her.”

V didn’t miss the implication. Abernathy had killed coworkers before, but never by her own hand. V knew that, of course. It made up the bulk of the info that “Jenkins” had revealed. Still, it was interesting that Nostra was comfortable speaking about it so openly. She wondered how much of that reveal had not actually been a surprise to him.   

“What about his security team?” she asked.

“He had one, of course. But they primarily look out for threats in disguise, assassination attempts. Not a known coworker who simply walks directly into his office with a weapon. That’s the danger of an enemy with nothing left to lose.”

V stayed silent for a moment, allowing her mind to mull over this new information. It was hard to be certain how much of this story Nostra actually believed, but she suspected it wasn’t all of it. “So what happens now?” she asked finally.

“Now Arasaka has two high-ranking positions to fill on rather short notice. I’m acting Director of Spec Ops, naturally. The acting Director of Counter Intel, by the typical order of succession, should be you.”

V looked up at Nostra. A deep and familiar hunger roared to life in the center of her chest.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Nostra warned her. “It’s temporary. A full investigation of the incident is pending, then Arasaka will decide if you can keep the position. But, yes. It’s you. For now.”

V released a deep breath. She inhaled another one, held it for four counts, then released that one too. “Okay,” she said. “Then I’m free to go?”

In answer, Nostra walked over to the door and opened it. 

—

V sat behind the desk in her new office. For the last eleven hours, she'd been suppressing her sense of awe in order to allow herself to focus on the seemingly endless stream of meetings and holoconferences she'd been hosting. There had been much to do. The Frankfurt incident had still needed resolving. As soon as she'd gotten to the office, she'd put her extensive collection of international contacts to work, trading favors and information in exchange for influence over the appointments of the new heads of the European Space Council. 

By now, she felt secure that she'd managed to position a majority of figureheads who would either be loyal to or manipulatable by Arasaka. It had been easier than she'd expected. The job wasn't desirable lately, and she could offer a level of protection and security that had skyrocketed in value. She mentally thanked Jenkins for that. 

Jenkins… 

Now that she had a second to breathe, it hit her again. She was sitting in Jenkins' chair. Behind Jenkins’ desk. In Jenkins' office.

In the last few years, she’d spent more time in the Tower than she had in her own apartment, and as she'd risen through the ranks in Counter Intel, she'd spent more and more time in this office in particular. It was such a familiar place. 

Still, she gazed around, sponging in the sights as if she'd never seen them before. Memorizing every detail. The giant Arasaka logo on the floor. The couch in one corner with the liquor cabinet beside it, the full length dining table in the other. The plants displayed behind the glass built into the walls. And finally, the windows and the view outside. Her gaze lingered there the longest, her chair angled to face the window.

Someone knocked softly on her door. 

“Come in,” she called out. She swiveled her chair back towards the door. 

Carter Smith was poking his head through the crack. “Hey, V,” he said nervously. “Are you still busy? I didn't want to interrupt.”

“It's fine. You can come in.” 

He walked across the room and sat in the same seat she'd occupied yesterday. Had it been yesterday? It felt like a lifetime ago. She cleared some papers off her desk and closed her laptop. “What do you need, Carter?”

“I wanted to see how you're doing.”

“Well, we've made good progress in mitigating potential future issues with the Space Council. Our lunar base licenses—”

“No, V. I meant I wanted to see how you’re doing. Personally.”

V paused. “Oh.”

Carter’s cheeks turned a telling shade of pink. “I just… I know Abernathy had you locked up, and… after learning what she’s capable of, I wasn't sure…”

“I’m fine,” V reassured him quickly. “She didn't do anything to me that I can't recover from.” 

“Okay.” Carter looked relieved. “Good. I couldn't stand it if anyone else got hurt.” V had the sense that he wanted to say something more. He rubbed the back of his neck, then sighed. “Can you believe what happened? Abernathy… I wanted to protect her… I never thought…”

It was rather sad. Abernathy would've wiped him out without a thought if she'd deemed it necessary, and yet here he was, lamenting his part in her demise. Some people just refused to look out for their own best interests. “There’s no point in blaming yourself,” she said. “Abernathy made her own decision.”

“I know. I know that. But V… you didn't see it…” His eyes scanned the room warily, and V wondered if he was considering revealing some sort of secret information. 

“Didn't see what?” she pressed.

“This office. Afterwards.” For a moment, his eyes glazed over and V knew his mind was reliving the memory.

“Carter?” she said, trying to anchor him to the present. “It's all right. Just breathe.”

He took a deep breath. He shivered, but seemed to come back to himself. “Anyway,” he said, looking abashed again. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I'm gonna go now. I've wasted enough of your time. Just needed someone to talk to, I guess.”

“That's fine,” V said cautiously. She didn't want to alienate Carter. He'd proven valuable lately. But she didn't have time to become his regular shoulder to cry on. “Maybe try focusing on your work?” she suggested. “I know you like working with tech.”

“Yeah,” Carter said. He smiled, but it was obviously forced. “Thanks, V. I'll try that.” He left the office.

Well, either he didn't suspect V’s involvement in Jenkins and Abernathy's downfall, or he was the absolute damn best liar she'd ever met. She almost hoped it was the latter. That would make him much more interesting. 

She rotated her chair back towards the window. The sun was setting, and the city was coming to life. It lived up to its name, she thought. Its neon colors looked more beautiful against a backdrop of black. And the sky in City Center was always a deep, pure black at night. Night City—the city so bright, it blotted out the stars.  

The clock on her optics started flashing, an indication that it was time for her to go home. She dismissed the alarm, but made no moves to leave. As acting Director of Arasaka Counter Intel, it was her right to sleep in her office if she deemed it necessary. She pulled a cigarette out of a desk drawer and lit it. It was Jenkins’, but he wouldn't be needing it anymore. She reclined her chair, took a deep drag from the cigarette, and exhaled slowly. 

Night City, she decided, looked its absolute best from out the windows of Arasaka Tower. 

[kaeyahiya]

"Crossroads"

Kaedehara Kazuha x (GN) Reader [platonic]

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Pairing: Kaedehara Kazuha x (GN) Reader

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, platonic friendship, implied depressive episode, mentions of feeling directionless, hurt/comfort, aka angst with a semi happy ending

Word count: 916

Authors note: Hi I'm writing this as another ✨ self-indulgent fic ✨ however I hope this can also provide solace for anyone else who is at a weird crossroads in their life. This is all over the place, I just needed to put this out. If not for me then for someone else. I see you and I feel you. You aren't alone ❤️ I choose Kazuha specifically bc of that fucking line he has when it rains. It always strikes a chord in me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy or find some peace here.

-------- ••• ------- ✧ °✧° ✧ -------- ••• -------

Kaedehara Kazuha has always been someone you turned to in times of crisis. When the Vision Hunt Degree was issued and he went with Captain Beidou to Liuye to collect the travelers help, you felt at odds with yourself. He has a knack for knowing just what to say when you need it most.

After the Traveler helped abolish the Vision Hunt Degree. You stood at a crossroads in your life. You had returned from Mondstat after having the opportunity to study under The acting Grand Master Jean. As a budding tactician, she was an excellent mentor. Kazuha was the one who encouraged you to go, stating 'you'd be foolish not to', so you did. You learned so much there, made so many new friends, and got to experience many different things.

After a few months you came back to Inazuma. You felt like a new person! You even secured a position under one of the best tacticians in Inazuma, Sangonomiya Kokomi. Things were great... At least for a few months. Until you fell back into a routine, where day in and day out felt the same. Again you were at that crossroad.

You felt almost depressed, as if all the struggle and growth you made abroad meant nothing now. You felt the same as you did before you left. You find your days filled with work and sleep, repeat. The few enjoyments you got were getting letters from friends in Mondstat, and seeing your friends back home.

After a particularly long day you found yourself at Ritou Harbor, a bottle in your hand as you stared out at the endless ocean on the horizon. "You seem to be troubled about something." Kazuha's gentle voice observes behind you. You crane your neck to look at him. As he walks over and seats himself next to you at the edge of the harbor.

"Hey Kazuha... When did you get back?" You ask not wanting to discuss the issue at hand. "Only a few hours ago. Captain Beidou is docking here for a few days." You hum in acknowledgement. "I thought I'd find you elsewhere, but Lady Ayaka informed me who was told by Miss Kokomi you'd be in the area for a couple days on personal business." You nod again." This doesn't seem like business." He gestures to the bottle in your hand. "It's personal though." You laugh bitterly, placing the bottle down.

You place your head in your hands. "Kazuha, I don't know what to do." He smiles almost knowingly. "What seems to be the issue my friend?" You sigh. "I'm unhappy. All the stars that once aligned for me seem out of place now. I know I set this plath for myself and even though I've made progress I feel like I'm still stuck at the starting line..." You heave back a sob you can feel coming on. "I wish I was back in Mondstat. I wish I was anywhere but here you know?" He chuckles. " All too well, it's suffocating isn't it? Being in one place for too long." He muses. "However, as you said so yourself you made a path for yourself. Miss Kokomi seems to be very pleased with the work you're doing as well." You shrug. "I know but... I don't know Kazuha... I'm still unhappy. Sometimes I wonder if I should just become a wanderer like you. It's not like I don't have friends I can stay with or meet elsewhere..."

You gaze back out at the ocean and Kazuha joins you." Is that truly what you want? " You snap your head to look at him in confusion. " As simple as it sounds, being a wanderer means you have nothing. You travel from place to place, sometimes in the worst condition. Unsure if you'll even have a place to sleep safely or have food to eat. I'm at the will of Captain Beidou's schedule because I myself cannot operate a boat or run a crew myself." Kazuha smiles out at the ocean sadly. "Sure the traveling is nice but even I sometimes find myself stuck in a loop."

You're quiet for a long time before finally asking Kazuha the question you find yourself always asking him. " What should I do? '' Tears spilled from the corners of your eyes. " Continue on your path. Though the road ahead is unclear, and may be tumultuous and foggy at times, eventually you'll find yourself exactly where you're supposed to be. " "And if I don't?" "You find a new path." You laugh through the tears. " You're a strong person. Stronger than you give yourself credit for. The people around you see it but you don't, at least not yet. " He closes his eyes peacefully. " I have a hunch eventually you will. "

A few more tears spill from your eyes as you gaze back at the ocean. The sun was setting and the view was gorgeous, the ocean looked as if it was a sparkling gemstone surrounded by the vast orange sky. "I don't know how you do that." You finally say. Kazuha cocks his head to the side." Do what? " He inquired. " Know how to fix me. " You sigh before tossing him a grin. "What are friends for if not to lift each other up!" He grins back. "I promise Kazuha, one day I'll pay you back for all the wisdom and advice you give me." He simply smiles and stands offering you a hand. "No need. Just keep being you, that's all I ask."

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[megaboy335]

Anime and Manga Log [06/04/2023]

This week featured the monthly Jump SQ chapters, a brand new Choujin X chapter, and Ron Kamonohashi returning for Part 2. I also got my copy of March Comes in like a Lion Vol.1. I’ve been looking forward to that ever since it was licensed many years ago. A very good week of manga and anime overall. Discussion with spoilers about the following series below the Keep Reading: One Piece 1085 Blue Box 103 Mashle 158 Show-ha Shoten 19 Ron Kamonohashi: Deranged Detective 97 Pokemon Horizons Ep.9 Soaring Sky! Precure Ep. 18

One Piece 1085: One Piece has been going stronger than ever before in recent months. The Straw Hat pirates defeated Kaido in Wano and moved to Egghead. Since then the story has only begun to accelerate at a faster pace. The situation on Egghead is teased to end in a way that will shock the world. Meanwhile, Shanks has taken out Kid, Blackbeard took out Law, Kuma is climbing the Red Line, Garp went to Pirate Island, and now Sabo is finally revealing the second half of the Reverie. The status quo of the world government at beginning to crumble. This week’s chapter expanded on the D lineage in the Nefertari family. Naturally Cobra has learned too much and must die. Poor guy, too smart for his own good. We got a tease to the true form of the elders and even bigger teases to several fundamental story questions. The chapter concludes by showing how Wapol and Vivi ended up together. Oda’s paneling and layouts were oddly clearer than usual this chapter which was refreshing. Sometimes it can be hard to tell what’s going on these days. Its so surreal to essentially be getting a world update intermission in the middle of an arc. Oda is moving all the characters into position for the home stretch of the story. I’m sure the battle for the final Road Poneglyph will be fierce. Hopefully next week we get back to Egghead. I really can’t wait to see what fate befalls our crew. This is the opening act to the sequence of events that will bring the series to its end game scenario. Blue Box 103: This week’s chapter went by in the blink of an eye. It was fast paced as Taiki and Chinatsu rush to meet back at the frozen lake we saw last chapter. The climax starts in Taiki’s POV with him running up to the lake and they both sit down on the frozen lake. Miura used 3 back to back spread pages for the moment. The first spread shows there is nothing between Taiki and Chinatsu any longer. They are isolated in the same space, quite literally without panel boarders, where only the spine crease separates them now. On paper it gives the image of both looking each other in the eye. The second and third spread follows Taiki saying his long awaited confession and the camera zooming out for impact. Its just these two, and his words are the only thing that can be heard. Now the big question is will the confession stick or will something interfere with conveying those words? Knowing the nature of this series I think it will take some time for those words to resonate with Chinatsu. I hope next week starts with the same scene in Chinatsu’s POV. Surely the series can’t be ending soon. At least this is sure to shake the status quo going forward. They might be more self conscious of their living situation. Regardless, good on Taiki for this taking big step forward. Mashle 158:  After what felt like a billion years, the final fight comes to a conclusion. I do enjoy Mashle for the most part. I think Mash’s out of this world solutions to overcome supernatural magic is hiralous, and that was of course on full display in the final fight. But I can’t deny this last arc has been a slog to read. Mash underwent power ups twice which severely slowed the plot. My theory is Komoto was told or decided that the manga shouldn’t end while the anime is airing. Anyhow, the fight comes to a close with the power of friendship. Current friends and former foes unite to help Mash deal the final punch to the villain. It was a great moment that culminates the series theme of Mash not only finding a place in a world of magic, but also be wanted and respected by his peers. I can only imagine there’s a 3-5 chapters left at this point. Its always great when a series closes out on a high note. Show-ha Shoten 19: This series is like Bakuman, but about comedy. It focuses on an aspiring Manzai duo learning the ropes of how to develop and perform a routine. Up to this point we’ve seen various rivals emerge which has shown us that our protagonist duo is the underdog in the upcoming competition. They aren’t bad at Manzai, in fact they have a natural talent at winning the crowd over. The biggest weakness however is their lack experience. They have learned something from each encounter to become better at Manzai. This arc was basically a pre-show to the main event. It established another main antagonist to overcome in the finals. The most important event of the chapter was learning about how to land jokes in relation to peers on the same stage and understanding the flow which comes out of that. This pre-show competition finished in a tie. That’s an expected outcome because losing would be demoralizing at this stage and the win should obviously be saved for the main event. This shows how main duo is on par at the bare minimum with the supposed best in their age bracket. Its going to be exciting to see how the finals unfold. While its possible the upcoming competition is the final arc (and Obata tends to not work on long series) I hope the series will continue for some time afterwards. Obata’s artwork is always a real treat. The loose linework gives the characters a lot of fun expressions. It seriously helps to add personality to the Manzai scenes and makes them easier to follow. Ron Kamonohashi: Deranged Detective 97: After taking a short break, Ron Kamonohashi returns to begin part 2. We left off with the defeat of Milo Moriarty on the cruise ship. He wanted to push Ron past his breaking point by forcing him to embrace his lineage and kill someone. However, thanks to the bond of friendship forged with Toto throughout the series, Ron was able to overcome his inner instinct. Milo ultimately sank into the ocean and died.... until actually he washed up on a Moriarty island. I didn’t think for a moment the series was ending. While the cruise ship was the best case to date, it certainly never once came off as the final confirmation. We had barely scratched the surface of the Moriarty family and Milo’s motivations. So begins Part 2 with a setting change to Blue Academy. Ron was finally able to get his graduation diploma, but they wanted him to teach to fill-in for a professor gone missing. Ron of courses passes the buck to Toto. There’s also several classmate characters whom I imagine will be the commentators and friends for this section of the story. I always find it refreshing when this series isn’t in murder case mode. The characters get so much more breathing when their focus isn’t meeting the plot objective of the arc. Nothing much to specifically talk about yet. The new character designs are good as usual from Akira Amano. Hopefully the school setting won’t stick for that long. I don’t think this series is good enough to stay in the same location for long periods of time. I think it would be cool if Ron and Milo had to team up against the threat teased at the end of Part 1 at some point. Pokemon Horizons Ep.9: The gang landed in Paldea and this brings the anime quite close to adapting SV. I was a little surprised when the upcoming episodes revealed they would be going to Paldea since I was under the impression the anime would be doing its own thing. But, I was even more surprised to see a certain name come up in the episode titles. First off, the plot of this episode was Riko getting one last burst of motivation to show that she is committed to the journey ahead. It was silly how she came within a second of figuring out her favorite streamer is on the ship. Dot will most certainly become a trainer down the road as the owner of Quaxly. I also can’t help but wonder why Riko went to school in Kanto (the answer is obviously to keep Ash parallels). Roy didn’t have much to do this week. Now, next week, is the debut of everyone’s favorite Champion Rank trainer Nemona. It looks like Riko might challenge the first gym leader as well.  I’ll be curious to see if Riko plans to face off against the gyms throughout the series. If that’s the case, Horizons will most definitely be running for a full 3 years. Lastly, my current theory about the plot is Riko’s mom encouraged her attend school in Kanto so the pendent could be safe. Then the information was leaked to the villain group, and the mom had to hire a bodyguard group to bring Riko home. The mom probably cares more about the pendent than Riko. Her absence in this episode is very suspicious. A new batch of episode titles should be revealed this week which will be very insightful to what’s ahead. Soaring Sky! Precure 18: After what felt like an eternity, Cure Butterfly is here at last. This is once again a history making cure for the franchise being the first “Adult” cure at 18 years old. This moment is long overdue because Ageha not being a cure has gotten in the way of her participating in the battles and plot arcs. Especially have to sit out the recent multi episode trip to Skyland. The debut episode was honestly fantastic and a pure showcase of what makes Ageha so awesome. Having the transformation and attack scene animated by Yuu Yoshiyama was a pleasant surprise as well. I do have a few nitpicks. I don’t think Toei is brave enough yet to give the adult cure a personal struggle to overcome because since this is a kid’s show, adults are role models, especially someone who is just a few years older than the main cast. They have to leave the impression that older teens know what they’re doing in life. Typically becoming a Precure is a moment of change for the character whether that’s coming into their own, recognizing their inner potential, or the need to become better. Ageha transforms just because wouldn’t that be cool within the context of the episode. The girls simply needed one more cure to assist in the battle. In the end Ageha becoming a cure is much deserved. It definitely embodies the spirit of this year’s theme that anyone can be a hero. Someone who is older can still have the heart to become a precure. Ageha x Tsubasa duo attack coming up next week to balance out the team.

[anchanted-one]

Legend of Lightning Chapter 72. Nine.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43208574/chapters/117946429

“Ah, Cipher Nine.” This was Marr’s voice. The great Sith had chosen to send her a recorded message after months of pestering for an update. “I think it’s alright for you to return now. Imperial Intelligence sorely misses your talents. If you believe there’s nothing more to be learned, you may leave for Imperial space as soon as you get this message. I will deliver the Emperor’s reward to you in person at your return. It might interest you to know that Darth Mortis of the Dark Council has a brief assignment lined up for you. It won’t be a long one, like this, nor will it be as… isolated. I hope this year has not dulled your social graces.”

Stupid Emperor, she found herself thinking. I finished his mission ages ago! I was working so hard, stayed isolated for months and months, with only my target for company, and he forgot about me! I can’t say it wasn’t fun spying on Vajra… but I do have other things to do, you know! For starters, I might have been able to pick up Jadus’ trail if I’d not been sent out on this job. Now he’s got a year’s head start on me. That promised reward better be damn good!

It was borderline heretical to have such thoughts, but she hated being treated like this! Still, her year abroad had broadened her horizons. In fact, she’d spent it in the very heart of the Jedi Order! She’d been able to look through more than a few files in their archives, and it had made her take a second look at the Imperial version of history. As well as the Jedi’s philosophies on the Force, as well as their perspective on the war with the Sith. That had been… enlightening, to say the least. But who would be interested in her findings? She’d just have to hold onto them for now.

She sighed heavily. The only other good that had come of this mission was her saving Vajra. As well as their somewhat comical correspondence.

But that was over now, she told herself. I doubt I’ll ever see him again. No, that wasn’t true. She hadn’t saved the hapless Jedi on foolish sentiment alone; instinct had warned her that he was important. That same instinct told her that they would meet again. Someday.

But for now, it was farewell.

With that thought, she boarded her shuttle.

“Nice ship you got here.”

“UWAAAAAAH!” She dropped her bags, cringing at her undignified yelp, but caught herself before she drew her sidearm. She knew that voice. “Jedi Vajra?”

[nikproxima]

WIP Horizon Post 4

PSSA Medical Wing - Observation Facility, Mojave Desert

Local Time 1800 Zulu, May 22, 2265

Chief Medical Officer’s Log

We’re running out of Vamp pilots. They can’t keep pushing these boys like this, we’ve had wave after wave of patients come in, barely responsive, foaming at the mouth, eyes rolling back trying to interface with their Link systems. Some of them are still in their suits, like they’ve just been born. PSSA command says they wanna push them to 15 sorties to try and drive some of the ships out of orbit, but they’re gonna fry their brains if they keep doing this. Two more fighters just slammed down in the desert, their pilots barely alive, brains barely registering. Thank God their sorties were successful, rumor has it they were targeting civilians… Not something High Command wants to hear, nor can the population of this godforsaken planet handle. We pulled one of them out still responsive, he’s been on a neural stimulant for the last few hours and is handling it well. The other one… god, where do I begin to describe it… Full seep, and its in his Vampire too. He was reciting lines of code when we pulled him out, blood leaking from his nose and ears. He started crashing almost immediately, and I knew we had to put him on ice to try and stabilize him. The fighter was in even worse condition. When we got up to it, smoldering in the desert, it armed its antipersonnel cannon at us, and I could see the barrels shaking… it was scared of us. I stood there, completely in the firing line, mouth open. It wiggled its flight surfaces, seemingly trying to move away from us, crawling like a wounded animal across the desert sand. The Sergeant walked up, without a word to me or any of the other troops pointing their rifles at this thing, and opened and access panel, killing the power. I felt as though I’d watched a mind die. I had. That pilot was still in there - trapped within a coffin of aerospace grade aluminum and exotic fuel. I understood now what had been taught to me for all these years about these things, they sucked your brain in, taking bits and pieces of you with every single combat flight, every time you plug in. This was the farthest gone I’d ever seen any one of them - no longer within their human body. I see the looks on the faces of the rank and file officers who know they’ll have to plug in next, knowing that the Seep will get each of them, just give it enough time. Time. They don’t have any time, it starts when you link up - no, it starts when they drill into your head to make you compatible. I do not have it in me to tell them. 

Am I… Am I to blame?

Local Time 2000 Zulu, May 30, 2165

Chief Medical Officer’s Log

We kept the pilot in the ICU for some time, and I found myself sitting with him, watching his vitals, and his mouth move as he recited line after line of code. It felt like watching someone who was possessed, that’s basically what it was. His brain was so far gone, entirely intertwined with the computer that I feel as though… he’ll never come back. The fighter we pulled him out of was brought back into the hangars, and reacted with the same degree of fear we’d seen on the skid strip. So cold… So alien, yet somehow so human. The higher ups came, despite my protest, and shut it down for good - they said they’d install a new central processor and find some new pilots. I think it’s barbaric. They’d yanked our funding to try and de-saturate these pilots about 6 months ago, so we’re left with dead minds, plugged into their machines forever, never to be freed. The least I could do was sit with them, give them some company in this god forsaken place. I soon learned the pilots name, the one we’d pulled out - Tristan McLeary. He was 27, from a farm in Wyoming, joined up because he wanted to make a difference. His brother had run away some time ago and joined the ICM’s militia… I felt sorry for that family. Something strange happened tonight though, something really strange… Some officials we didn’t recognize landed in some jet, with Research Council markings. They were able to access all of our security, all of our base documents and keep out protocols. They marched in here like they owned the place. McLeary was their target. They shoved him in a stasis bed and hurried him out to the tarmac, claiming some Sovereign Security overrule… and just like that he was gone. The commanding officers told me not to worry about it, to keep my head down and do my job. I had no idea there was anyone who could do that, let alone be interested in a fully Seeped pilot. The only thing I could see as a marker was a little symbol on their badges… Lyria… I’d never heard of them before. 

I wonder what became of him.

[ronaldanthony4]

This world’s a little brighter And a whole lot happier too, Because of folks so thoughtful And as wonderful as you, Who live each day unselfishly With other’s cares in mind, Concerned about what they can give, And not what they can find… And those whose paths have crossed with yours Would certainly agree You’re one of the nicest people That this world would ever see!

"The Nicest Child" by unknown author

Creating digital artwork is a passion that I have cultivated over many years. Each piece I create tells a story, often featuring my original characters (OCs) who embody various aspects of my imagination and ideals. Recently, I finished another digital artwork, one that holds a special place in my heart. It features Arlon and Liliana, two of my OCs who symbolise my vision of perfect romantic love. Their stories and personalities are intricately woven into my creations, making each piece unique and deeply personal.

Four years ago, I embarked on a project inspired by an illustration from a textbook. This illustration depicted a boy and a girl amid a lush garden by the sea, accompanied by a poem titled "The Nicest Child," authored by someone unknown. The beauty of the scene captured my imagination, and I felt compelled to create my rendition of it. In my first attempt, I focused on rendering the characters beautifully. Their expressions, attire, and interactions were brought to life with meticulous detail.

However, I wasn't entirely satisfied with the background. I had made the sky too blue, a vibrant hue that overshadowed the soft, gentle daylight setting intended in the original illustration. This dissatisfaction lingered with me over the years, nudging me occasionally to revisit and refine the piece. As time passed, I learned more about colour theory and techniques to create a more harmonious composition. With this newfound knowledge, I finally felt confident enough to make the necessary adjustments to the background of my artwork, bringing it closer to the vision that initially inspired me.

Inspiration struck me anew one day, and I decided to remake the artwork. This time, I wanted to infuse it with a personal touch by featuring my beloved OCs, Arlon and Liliana. The vision of them as kids in the garden by the sea, dressed in pristine white, seemed perfect. Their presence in the artwork would not only correct the mistakes I made in the original but also breathe new life into it. Arlon, with his calm and gentle demeanour, and Liliana, with her vibrant and lively spirit, seemed like the perfect characters to inhabit this serene setting.

Creating this new piece was a labour of love. I meticulously planned every detail, from the soft pastel shades of the sky to the delicate blossoms in the garden. The garden was filled with a riot of colours – reds, pinks, and yellows – all blending harmoniously against the backdrop of the sea. Arlon and Liliana stood at the centre, their white attire contrasting beautifully with the vibrant flowers around them. Arlon’s arm was gently draped around Liliana, their gazes locked in a tender moment that spoke volumes of their deep affection for each other. The sea in the background was a serene shade of blue, gently meeting the horizon in a soft, blurred line.

June is typically a busy month for me, filled with art exhibits and various engagements that demand my attention. This year was no different, and I knew that my output of new artwork might decrease temporarily. However, the excitement of these events and the opportunity to showcase my work to a broader audience made the busy schedule worthwhile. Each exhibit was a chance to connect with fellow artists, art enthusiasts, and potential patrons, all of whom appreciated the dedication and creativity behind each piece.

Despite the hectic schedule, I found moments of peace and joy in working on this artwork featuring Arlon and Liliana. The process of creating it was almost meditative, allowing me to escape the busyness of the world and immerse myself in the beauty of the scene I was bringing to life. I spent countless hours perfecting every detail, ensuring that the light in the sky was just right, the flowers appeared fresh and vibrant, and Arlon and Liliana’s expressions captured the essence of their characters.

As I completed the final touches, I felt a sense of fulfilment. The artwork was a true reflection of my growth as an artist over the past four years. It not only showcased my improved skills but also encapsulated the evolution of my OCs, Arlon and Liliana. Their story had grown richer, and their presence in my art had become more profound. This piece, in particular, was a celebration of their journey and my own. Seeing the positive reactions and hearing the kind words of those who appreciated my work was incredibly rewarding. It reaffirmed my belief in the importance of revisiting and refining old projects.

As I reflect on this journey, I am grateful for the initial inspiration that came from that textbook illustration and the unknown author of "The Nicest Child." Their work sparked a creative journey that spanned several years, culminating in a piece that holds significant meaning for me. Arlon and Liliana, as mascots of my ideal romantic love, continue to inspire me, and their stories will undoubtedly evolve in future artworks. The characters of Arlon and Liliana serve as a constant reminder of the power of love and the beauty of storytelling.

This experience has taught me the value of patience, persistence, and the willingness to revisit past works with a fresh perspective. It has also reinforced the importance of personal connections in art. Arlon and Liliana are not just characters; they are embodiments of my thoughts, emotions, and aspirations. Through them, I can express ideas and feelings that might otherwise remain unspoken. Through them, I can express ideas and feelings that might otherwise remain unspoken, allowing me to delve deeper into my psyche and connect with my audience

In conclusion, creating this artwork was a journey of rediscovery and growth. It allowed me to correct past mistakes, infuse personal elements into the piece, and share my evolving artistic vision with a wider audience. The process was challenging yet fulfilling, reminding me of the endless possibilities that art offers. As I continue to attend art exhibits and engage with the art community, I look forward to the new inspirations and opportunities that lie ahead. Perhaps, one day, I will come across another illustration or poem that will ignite a spark of creativity, leading to yet another beautiful creation featuring Arlon, Liliana, and the many stories yet to be told.

[time-is-standing]

top 10 songs of september

- a late /as usual/ description of my days

1. Who I Am Without You by Aislinn Davis

this is a new find! I got so excited when I stumbled across this sound under one of the tiktok videos I watched. I happened to fall in love within seconds and have been listening to this ever since.

2. My Blood by Ellie Goulding

this is a song I've heard countless times before but somehow the melody, the deep lines and the overall vibe of the song hugged my heart tightly a few weeks prior. I am deeply connected to the vibes and the lyrics overall, so it climbed to the top of this list.

3. Strangers by Kenya Grace

this is another tiktok favourite. I didn't even notice at first how much I'd love the entire song, the chorus was enough for me to fall in love. but the lines

"and then one random night when everything changes

you won’t reply and we’ll go back to strangers"

gave so much depth to the experience...

4. Last Resort Reimagined by Falling In Reverse

I got reminded of this masterpiece in a party of ours. it lasted until 1am and we really only finished the "karaoke" because we had to wake up early the next morning but singing these kinds of songs, having fun and being careless was something I've missed dearly earlier.

5. You Are Enough by Sleeping At Last

I really do need this song nowadays. even though I'm in a happy relationship, all our dreams came true when we moved in together a month before and things are looking great... I think now is the time when it's most important to take time and learn to love ourselves.

6. Parasite Eve by Bring Me The Horizon

in the mornings I have my routine 15 minute walk to work and some days I still need hyping up so I get these songs out to help. I'm still thinking about my bmth concert experience a lot.

7. Another Life by Motionless In White

we had a party at our new house and one of my fac friends busted out this banger. I've cried so much to this song when I was a teenager and now I have such strong feelings. knowing that not only it can get better but that it did get so much better... priceless.

8. Voices In My Head by Falling In Reverse

"the voices in my head keep telling me I'm not okay

it's feeling like a hurricane in my brain

dark clouds, hard times, bad weather

please don't make this last forever"

this is one of the tunes that are real close to my heart. I've first listened a few years ago, when I wasn't the biggest fan anymore (because I loved the band for years before, when I was a teenager) but it's still a real cool song.

9. Eyelids by iamjakehill

an older fav. I don't know how I listened to this again but it's still a banger. I'm loving jake's career and this song makes it obvious why he is so good.

10. Still Waiting by Sum 41

another song from the party at ours, we had fun. reminds me of the summers when we didn't have internet & made fun little videos with our (not really smart) phones. great times, I will never forget how different everything was back then.

[queenclaudiabrown]

Shadow of The Jaguar by Steven Savile | FOUR

     Connor hurled aside the garishly covered book he was reading in disgust, nearly hitting Stephen.

     “Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

     “What’s wrong? They kill your favourite character?”

     “No. It’s this bloody stupid rule that says all superior officers have to be fat, corrupt, and incompetent. Just once I’d like to read a military novel where the arch prelate wasn’t a back-stabbing son-of-a-bitch with his own agenda instead of God’s, and the Captain of the Guard wasn’t some bloated power-hungry moron who’d gut his own mother for a chance to advance.”

     Connor looked across at the three soldiers spread out in the row behind him. Gesturing, he got their attention.

     “Tell me your Commanding Officer is a fat, bloated, slug of a man, and I’ll scream,” he said, eliciting strange looks from each of the trio.

     “It’s an occupational hazard.” Jack Stark, one of the three men who made up their covert military support, explained, “Bosses get fat and they get stupid, forgetting everything that made them ruthless enough to rise through the ranks in the first place. That’s just the way it goes.”

     Connor shot him a look of disgust. Andy Blaine, the second of the three, grinned at Stark.

     “Remind me to let the Sarge know your thoughts on his waistline when we get home,” he said. Then he nodded at the discarded novel. “You not reading that then, sunshine?”

     “No, not any more.”

     “Mind if I do?”

     “Be my guest.”

     Connor plugged his headphones in, leaned back, and screwed his eyes closed.

     Across the row, Abby turned away from the exchange that had just occurred. She was quietly impressed with the way the soldiers were taking to the mission. It wasn’t every day you were told about rifts in time, and learned that prehistoric beasts walked the earth. In many ways, the hardest part had been explaining that the anomalies reached both backward and forward.

     Yet they didn’t seem phased.

     Her attention was drawn back to the window. There was nothing quite like the bird’s eye view of flight to make one appreciate the sheer immensity and raw beauty of nature. The difference between London - with its precision geometry of streets and roundabouts that intersected like cogs on some vast clockwork mechanism - and the barrenness of Cuzco, which for as far as the eye could see was nothing more than sand-blasted stone and dehydrated trees, was as extreme as the world had to offer.

     Coming out of London City Airport, the view out of the window had quickly degenerated into thick clouds that had thoroughly obscured England’s green and quite unpleasant land as far as the coastline, giving way to the deep blue of the ocean.

     Then for more than a thousand miles she had been able to see the curves and lines of water trailing in the wake of oil tankers and cruise liners and fishing vessels, the ships themselves skating on the meniscus curve of the Atlantic.

     Coming down over the east coast the vista had been replaced by snow-capped mountain peaks, and then bare expanses of farming land with cities dotted in between. The world hadn’t truly become green until their flight path took them over the Amazon basin.

     Here the heat shimmered on the horizon. It was a peculiar phenomenon, considering the chill of the pressurised cabin’s air-conditioner, but it offered a good indication of the weather conditions they were flying into.

     Glancing over, she decided that Connor was probably fantasising bout being Flash Gordon, skimming over the surface of Arboria. She chuckled at the thought, though a moment later she realised the implications of it: her lodger’s geekdom was rubbing off on her. Six months ago the word ‘Arboria’ wouldn’t have meant anything to her, outside of some vague conjugation of plant life. Shuddering at the thought, she turned her attention again to the window.

     The verdant greens of the rainforest had given way to sand and soulless stone. The plane juddered again, the rocking no more severe than a carriage’s jounce on the underground, but vastly exaggerated by the sensation of falling.

     Abby loved flying. But she saw Connor’s knuckles whiten as his fingers dug into the faux-leather armrest of his chair, not sharing her passion.

     Stephen had his head buried in an extreme sports magazine, the glossy pages filled with photos and accounts of wingsuit flying, ice climbing, storm chasing, bungee jumping, and other death-defying activities. He had stared at the same pictures at least a dozen times during the long flight.

     Cutter sat in quiet conversation with Jenny, though Abby noticed that he never seemed to look the woman in the eye.

     There were three other men on the plane with them, and not one of them had the look of a scientist about them. They were uniformly over six feet, with broad shoulders and a lithe musculature which spoke of hours of punishing exercise. But more telling was the coldness about their eyes, and an alertness that shouldn’t have been there. They all shared it. Even now, fifteen hours into a cramped flight, these three men had not relaxed. It wasn’t that they were tense, but more that they were incredibly aware of the world around them.

     Abby found their presence reassuring, given the uncertainness of what awaited them.

     Viewed from above, the single concrete runway of Velazco Astete Airport looked like a gash in the earth. The small plane banked, adjusting its approach as it bumped down through the thermals toward landing.

     The Captain’s voice came over the loudspeaker, instructing them to take their seats for a landing that would take place in ten minutes.

    The plane banked again, the left wing dipping toward the earth, and came around to line up with the concrete strip. Abby watched the terminal building, a low, flat single-storey structure, come into view. She could see red letters on the side of the terminal, and she assumed they said ‘Welcome to Cuzco’ in both Spanish and Quechua, the two official languages of the country.

     Through the metal of the hull, she felt the landing gear engaging, the reverberations shivering up through the bulk of the plane and into her chair. Squeezing her hand over her nose, Abby popped the pressure that had built up inside her ears during the gradual descent.

     She fastened her seatbelt, sank back into the leather, and closed her eyes, waiting for the bump of the wheels on the ground.

     Esteban Estevez heard screams.

     He was out in the rainforest with his fellow rangers Rafe and Joaquim. They had stumbled into another one of those peculiar cones of silence, only this time the silence had not lasted.

     The screams were gut wrenching. He pushed through the trees, fighting back the thick leaves that had grown across the track.

     A few minutes later three women burst out of the smother of branches, shrieked at the sight of the rangers, and fled to one side even as Rafe tried to calm them. He marked the fear in the women’s eyes, and a glance at the other two men told him that they had seen it, too. They weren’t the first people the rangers had encountered.

     There was a settlement less than half a mile from their location, he knew. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. He unclipped the walkie-talkie from his belt and radioed in to the reserve office.

     Esteban was at the very limits of the radio’s reception. It took him a few moments to find a place where the crackle of static was reduced sufficiently for him to hear his half-brother on the other end.

     He told Nando what they had found.

     “There are a number of peculiar tracks all over sector echo twenty-seven. They appear to be leading down toward the village of Helevuia. I don’t like it, Nando.” He removed the fedora from his head and wiped away the sheen of sweat that clung to his brow. “There’s something wrong here. We hit one of those silent patches again a little while ago. This time it isn’t the animals that are fleeing; it’s the tribesmen. A dozen women and children have fled past us in the last five minutes. We are less than half a mile from the settlement. I am going to take Rafe  and Joaquim and investigate.

     “I don’t like this, little brother,” he continued. “I saw fear in those women’s eyes. I swear it was as though they had come face to face with El Diablo himself.”

     “Be careful, Este.”

     “When am I not?”

     “I can think of plenty of occasions. Just be careful.”

     “Worst comes to worst, we are armed. We can take care of ourselves.”

     “Keep your eyes open.” He turned the radio off and joined the others.

     “Ready?”

     They were.

     Together the three rangers trekked toward the settlement of Helevuia.

     A short time later, they walked into a slaughterhouse.

     It was beyond eerie; they walked in utter silence. Even the crush of deadfall beneath their feet, which gave way to dirt and gravel as they emerged from the trees, seemed to dampen in deference to the carnage. Esteban walked slowly along the path that led to the houses.

     He understood the screams now.

     There were bodies sprawled in the dirt, bloodied and torn. It wasn’t the dead that drew his eye: it was the huge cat prowling amongst them.

     Suddenly the beast stopped, inclining its head as it scented the intruders on the air, then it turned to look Esteban square in the eye. It growled once, low in the throat. This was the first sound he had heard since the screams. A heartbeat later the growl was answered by a roar that seemed to rumble all around them.

     Esteban fumbled for the radio and dropped it even as he tried to unholster his service revolver. His hand shook so violently that he could barely drag it clear without dropping it.

     Gunshots rang out as the great dark beast charged toward them. Echoing his fellow rangers, Esteban raised the revolver, the muzzle roving wildly with his trembling hand as he squeezed off a round, then another. The shots flew high and wide. He stared horrified, enraptured by the huge blood-soaked fangs bared as the cat roared its death-challenge, and pulled the trigger again and again.

     There was at least one hit; he saw the spray of blood as the metal slug buried itself beneath thick hide.

     It wasn’t enough.

     The huge animal slammed into him, pinning him down and delivering a fatal bite to his throat, even as he fired off another shot.

     Stephen Hart was the last man off the plane.

     The heat hit him like a physical blow as he stepped out onto the shaky metal stair the ground crew had pushed up against the side of the small jet. Every muscle of his body ached from being cooped up on the cramped aircraft. He stretched, knuckling his hands into the base of his spine, then ran a hand through his short but unruly brown hair. By the time he was at the bottom of the stair, sweat had already begun to trickle down the side of his face.

     The flat-baked concrete finished twenty feet beyond the steps and gave way to tarmac. The asphalt like stuff was hot and sticky beneath his feet. The temperature must have been up in the mid-thirties; he felt the raw heat in the air on the back of his throat as he inhaled.

     They had a welcoming committee: a large black SUV with tinted windows was parked fifty feet away on the hardstand. There was a small cavalcade of vehicles lined up behind it. A man in a wrinkled off-white linen suit leaned against the SUV’s bonnet. He was unshaven, tanned to an almost olive complexion, his well-defined physique showed through the thin material. He moved with an economy of movement and grace that betrayed military training.

     He greeted Cutter with a laconic smile and an outstretched hand. This was obviously Sir Charles Bairstow’s ‘man on the ground’.

     They exchanged words Stephen couldn’t quite hear, then the man made a slight bow before Abby. He took her hand and raised it to his lips. Before he could repeat the move with Jenny, she shifted her grip and shook his hand briskly.

     “ARC, I presume,” he said. His voice was that classic nasal Etonian that reeked of old money.

     “Little Gods,” she responded. The exchange made no sense to Stephen. “I prefer Alex Chaplin, and only my mother calls me by my full name.”

     Jenny laughed at that. But as he turned away, Stephen noticed that she gave him a strange look. She doesn’t like him.

     Chaplin inclined his head toward Stephen and Connor.

     “Damned good to have all of you here. Sir Charles has said good things about you.”

     “He’s said almost nothing about you,” Cutter replied.

     “The old man can be a little tight-lipped, I’m afraid. It’s a throwback to a Cold War mentality most of his generation haven’t been able to shuck. All right, then, first things first. You’re booked into the Hotel Del Prado in the main city for the first two nights of your stay.  I’ll take three of you in my car, the rest of you will go with Fabrice in the second one. Your gear will follow in the remaining vehicles. I imagine you’re tired, but I suggest trying to stay awake for a few more hours before you turn in for the night. It will make the jet-lag less intrusive tomorrow.”

     “Thank you,” Cutter said, starting to walk toward the first car. Over his shoulder he said, “Jenny, Stephen, you’re with me. Abby, Connor, you take the second car along with Jack, Sean and Andy.”

     “It’ll be a bit of a squash, I’m afraid,” Chaplin said.

     “That’s fine - just means we have to cosy up,” Connor said. His glance at Abby said he didn’t mind at all.

     “I don’t think so,” Stark said, resting a friendly hand on Connor’s shoulder. His hands were like ham-hocks. Stephen grinned, while Connor writhed.

     “Yeah... erm... no, that’s not what I meant,” he mumbled, much to the amusement of the other two soldiers, Sean Lucas, and Andy Blaine.

     “Oh, I don’t know, Stark, it might be fun,” Blaine chuckled, slapping the bigger man squarely on the back.

     “I’d squash you like a bug, Blaine.”

     “What about customs?” Stephen asked, shifting the focus away from a squirming Connor. “Passport control? Surely we can’t just drive off into the sunset.”

     “Hah! Hardly. The agent will be waiting at the security gate to check your documents. The situation is a bit sticky out here. It all looks very polite on the surface, but scratch a bit deeper and, well, I wouldn’t advise trying to skip the security checkpoint without showing your papers. They’re likely to shoot you in the back. It’s a little different from Heathrow.”

     “No kidding,” Connor said, tugging at his collar. Sweat already stained the material around his throat. “Mind you, they’d probably try and shoot you at Heathrow these days.”

     Behind them, the ground crew opened the seal on the hold door and went to work unloading the equipment. 

     “Looks like you guys plan on settling in for the duration? Chaplin observed, watching the steel coffins slide out of the plane.

     “If this is going to look like it’s being done properly, it might as well be done properly,” Cutter said, opening the SUV’s passenger door.

     “Agreed,” Chaplin nodded, getting in on the driver’s side.

     Stephen climbed into the back seat and closed the door behind him. He had hoped for air conditioning, but inside the SUV was hot and stuffy. Jenny climbed in the other side.

     “Buckle up,” Chaplin said.

     “Don’t tell me, they’ll shoot you for not wearing your seatbelt,” Cutter said as Chaplin gunned the engine to life.

     “No, but I drive like a clumsy Lewis Hamilton. I’d hate to have to explain to Sir Charles how you fell out the passenger door and rolled down the side of a mountain because I turned a corner a tad too sharply.”

     They pulled away from the hardstand and drove slowly towards the terminal building, following yellow lines painted onto the tarmac. The dark tint to the windscreen and side windows leached the colour from the world around them. The sun glinting off the huge plate windows of the terminal building was reduced from a dazzling light to a series of white spots, like stars that had gone supernova.

     As they approached the gate, Stephen took his passport from the breast pocket of his shirt.

     The car was surprisingly loud, a third sound throbbing beneath the caged power of the huge v8 engine and the annoying whir of the air-conditioning fan. It took him a moment to realise that the sucking sound was the rubber of the wheels sticking to the road beneath them.

     “So what do we need to know?” Cutter said, cutting straight to the chase.

     Chaplin turned slightly in his seat. Stephen watched his eyes through the rear-view mirror.

     “The official story is that young Cam staggered out of the jungle five days ago, delirious and near death. He had no identification, and no idea who he actually was or that half of the British government was looking for him. His only coherent words were: ‘They’re all dead.’ Not the most reassuring thing to say to the authorities.

     “He now claims he and his brother Jaime were set upon by some sort of wild animal while they were out playing explorer in the Madre de Dios. His wounds seem to back up the story.” Chaplin sounded dubious.

     “You don’t believe it?” Cutter asked.

     “I don’t get paid to believe, Professor. There are a lot of wild stories floating out there. My personal favourite is that the boys were the victims of El Chupacabra, and that greedy government officials have brought the curse of the beast down upon the region because of their plans to turn the rainforest into a tourist trap. The vengeful Chupacabra, they say, won’t stand for that sort of nonsense.”

     “Are we sure it wasn’t poachers? Perhaps his injuries were caused by dogs.”

     “We aren’t sure about anything,” Chaplin admitted, slowing the SUV to pull up beside the customs gatehouse. A flimsy wooden barrier barred their way. A short, grim-faced guard, clutching the distinctive muzzle of an Uzi 9mm to his chest, stepped up to the side of the car and rapped on the tinted glass.

     “Papers?” he said in pigeon-English as the window hummed down. The nametag pressed up against the glass read ‘Cristóbal’.

     Chaplin collected their passports and handed them across to the guard, who examined them slowly, then leaned in through the window to match each of the photos to the passengers.

     “What is your business in Peru?” he demanded. It was a straightforward enough question, but what exactly were they supposed to say? That they intended to smuggle a British citizen out of the local hospital before the local killers got to him?

     Hardly. 

     “We’re scientists,” Cutter said, leaning toward the open window. “We’re here as part of an expedition within the Madre de Dios.”

     “You have papers for this?” the guard asked, the muzzle of his sub-machine gun rattling against the side of the SUV, as if to remind them all that it was still there.

     “Yes, of course. Jenny?”

     She leaned forward, holding out a sheaf of paperwork. The officious little guard took them, thumbing through them page after page as though they made a lick of sense to him. Stephen would have laid down a decent-sized bet that the man couldn’t read half of it, and was just looking for a stamp and a scribbled signature that would make it someone else’s responsibility.

     A moment later he seemed to have found what he needed to reassure him, and handed the papers back into the car, then returned the passports, each with a ninety-day visa stamped into them.

     “Thank you,” Cutter said, taking them back from the man.

     The guard stepped back and signalled to someone inside the guardhouse. The barrier rose, then he waved them through. A short time later they were on the open road.

     The ‘open road’, however, was hardly fit to bear the name. Every dozen or so yards the concrete was broken, causing the SUV’s suspension to judder alarmingly. Chaplin changed up through the gears, easing through the traffic of flatbed trucks and paint-flaked Fiats, the regular dub-dub-dub of the cracks sounding like an erratic heartbeat.

     The air-conditioning was broken, Chaplin explained apologetically, and it was sucking the hot air of the outside into the compartment and heating it in the process. Whereas the tinted glass had kept out the sun before, now they found it preferable to open all four windows to let the wind blow through. Stephen felt as though his eyeballs themselves were sweating.

     “Now, you were saying, you don’t think it was poachers?” Cutter said, speaking loudly as they merged with the faster moving traffic in the outside lane. Driving on the wrong side of the road was unnerving, especially since flatbeds with rattling tailgates and bald tyres were bouncing along barely in control beside them. Crates of produce were stacked up and tied down, along with people crushed and clinging on for dear life as they sped down the uneven roadways.

     “Not having examined the boy’s wounds too closely myself, I can’t say for certain,” Chaplin responded. “But no, I don’t think it was.”

     He told them a little more of what he knew: Jaime Bairstow’s body had yet to be recovered, but his brother’s description of the slaughter left no room for hope that the boy might still be alive. “I was only able to talk with Cam for a moment, but he described their attacker as a sleek powerful big cat. That doesn’t sound like poachers or dogs.”

     “A puma or jaguar perhaps?” Cutter offered.

     “Anything is possible,” Chaplin agreed. “Between you and me, he is hardly the most reliable witness. Three times he mentioned seeing diamonds in the sky.”

     “Really?” Cutter said, a look passed between him and Stephen as he looked behind him. It was the first conclusive proof they had found that the two stories were linked. He felt a small thrill of triumph. It disappeared quickly when he noticed the lack of surprise on Jenny’s face, and made a mental note to ask her about it later, in private.

     “They’ve got him dosed up on morphine right now, so I wouldn’t take anything he says as the gospel truth, especially the notion that he found some air that was filled with crystals and diamonds that glittered and shone and made all these beautiful colours as they refracted the light. It sounds more like a drug-induced hallucination,” Chaplin concluded. But three of the four people in the car knew better. He was almost certainly talking about the first anomaly to be found off British soil.

     That gave them plenty to think about on the long drive from the airport. And a welcome distraction from the cloying heat.

     “So you think he’s lying? Covering something up?” Jenny shouted, leaning forward between the seats.

     “I wouldn’t bet against it,” Chaplin said.

     “How so?”

     “There could have been a falling out, the boys coming to blows. One thing leads to another, and suddenly we have black cats and hallucinations. It isn’t impossible.

     “And further more, it would be a damned sight more convenient for the Peruvian authorities to declare it the truth. Much better to have a couple of tourists trying to kill each other, rather than have to try and explain away either poachers or wild animal attacks in their precious eco-reserve.”

     “I can see that,” Cutter agreed. “But I don’t see how that would account for the attempt on his life in the hospital?” “

     Well, that was almost certainly down to a terrorist faction like Shining Path or some such guerrilla group, trying to make a point by killing a privileged foreigner. It happened soon after Cam’s story started to spread. It makes him a wonderful target for these supposed ‘freedom fighters’.”

     Cutter nodded. Watching their host, Stephen was unsure whether or not Chaplin actually believed what he was telling them.

     “So,” Cutter said eventually, “is poaching really such a huge problem here?”

     “Put it this way,” Chaplin said, “we’re talking big business. The smuggling of endangered species generates billions of pounds a year. Only slightly less than drugs, and far more than armaments.”

     “Jesus,” Stephen said, the scale of it far beyond anything he had imagined.

     “The worst thing is that it really doesn’t matter if the animals are alive or dead, so that means these bastards catch the animals and keep them in conditions of intolerable cruelty. It’s all about the ivory and the penises, the pelts, skins and meat. Nothing gets wasted. Not the marrow from the bones, nor the fat insulating the skin. They even grind the sexual organs up to make aphrodisiacs for horny businessmen. They promise that the livers will cure cancer and other rubbish. People are willing to pay outrageous amounts - the rarer the creature, the greater the value. Can you imagine the price a dodo breast would command? Millions.”

     “So these people would definitely kill to protect their business.”

     “Oh, hell, yes,” Chaplin said, signalling to leave the main flow of traffic.

     The first thing Stephen noticed about Cuzco itself, as they began to drive down the dip into the town proper, was that it was very much a single-storey community of white stucco houses and clay roofs. More than once he saw steel rebar struts sticking vertically out of the walls, as though the buildings were unfinished. He asked Chaplin about this.

     “Curiously enough, it is meant to be a sign of hope. The builders want to give the illusion of prosperity. It’s all a game, though. They want you to believe that one day they might have the money to add a second storey. They aren’t fooling anyone, of course - not even themselves.”

     “Ah,” Stephen said.

     His shirt clung uncomfortably to his back. He didn’t want to sit back in the leather seat because the sticky wetness made his skin creep. Instead he leaned forward in his seat and watched the countryside roll by.

     The transition from rural to urban was every bit as distinct as anything he would have expected to see in London or any other European city. At first the roadside was dotted with sporadic trees, the colour bled from their leaves by the sun, and the occasional building. The stucco was invariably either cracked and broken or only part-finished, leaving the guts of the stone to hang out, bleeding red dust.

     Sallow-skinned men sat on plastic beer crates outside open doors, watching the cars go by. They smoked thin roll-ups and wore battered cowboy hats pulled down low over their sad eyes. Then, further into the city, the colours returned. Sprinklers kept the trees moist, in turn keeping the leaves green. Here the grass beneath could easily have been lifted from a Wimbledon lawn, and was shockingly green against the painted yellow curbs.

     Battered bicycles with rusted frames leaned against walls, their kick stands propping them up on flat tyres.

     The nature of the traffic changed as well, as bigger, newer gas-guzzlers dominated the wide roads, their lacquers bright and shiny. The pedestrians were a curious mix of locals, dressed to meet tourist expectations, mingled with the tourists themselves. The ruins of Machu Picchu were close by, and the Inca Express could be seen leaving for Lake Titicaca, the Pisac fortress, the Nazca lines, the puma-shaped Sacsayhuamán fortress and the tiers of Moray - all of which were also nearby. Cuzco was the ideal staging point for the holiday-of-a-lifetime adventures sought by the rich and the curious.

     Finally they reached the urban centre. Set in a basin of surrounding hills, the Incan capital was a stunning fusion of old and new, the architecture like something out of medieval Andalusia. It was a city of statues and fountains, its structures built around wide, open plazas, like the Plaza de Armas, which was the beating heart in the body of Cuzco.

     Stephen wasn’t sure what he had expected, but the opulence of the Cathedral, with its glorious cupola and twin bell-towers, wasn’t it. The architecture was spectacular. Their SUV slowed to a crawl as pedestrians wove back and forth across the busy road amid the blaring of horns. Chaplin took them around a huge two-tiered fountain supported by what appeared to be water nymphs, and drew up alongside the curb outside their hotel.

     “This is it,” Chaplin told them. “I’ll pick you up at ten tomorrow to take you to the hospital.”

     “I’d rather go straight away,” Jenny said. “Time really is of the essence, and frankly, if there’s been one attempt on his life already, I’d rather not leave anything to chance. Stark and I can pick him up and bring him back to the hotel, where we can keep an eye on him.”

     Chaplin made a face.

     “Really not the best of ideas. At Sir Charles’ behest, I have two armed guards, both ex-special forces, on watch outside his room. Two more are located on the lobby level of the hospital. He is safer there than anywhere else in the city.”

     Jenny wasn’t convinced. But Chaplin wouldn’t be swayed.

     “I appreciate your concern, Miss Lewis, but honestly, angels would fear to rush in. Your expedition has raised a few eyebrows in certain official circles, and you are no doubt going to come under some rather intense scrutiny. I would therefore strongly suggest that you act like scientists and, of course, tourists. Running to the hospital now would immediately tip our hand. It’s all about appearance.

     “I don’t need to teach you how to do your job, I’m sure, but this place isn’t like London. We have factions, governmental and what are euphemistically called freedom fighters’, like the Shining Path I mentioned before. When a new factor comes into the equation, something that might unsettle the precarious balance, a lot of eyes become very interested.

     “So, tomorrow we can make arrangements to slip you out from under the watchful eye of whoever, after you’ve spent this evening doing exactly what every other visitor to this fair city would do. I suggest you get your bearings, and take a little wander around. There’s plenty to see, and you really want to work up an appetite.”

     Jenny couldn’t really argue with him, though her expression said that she was far from happy at being told what to do, and especially by this man. There was something about Chaplin that didn’t sit right. It wasn’t the brylcreem smile or the Our Man In Havana shtick. Stephen couldn’t put his finger on it.

     “Peruvian cuisine is rather distinctive,” Chaplin went on, convinced the argument was won. “I feel duty bound to point out that you’re unlikely to get cow or pig, so if you see a steak advertised, it’s liable to be alpaca, or lama meat. Guinea pig is quite popular as well.”

     “Abby will be pleased to miss out on those delicacies, I’m sure,” Cutter said, clambering out of the car.

     “You might want to try crema de tarwi or chalona. Traditionally, you’d be served alpaca, but most restaurants serve lamb instead. Wash it down with a nice Inca Cola, that’ll give you the complete Peruvian experience.”

     “Thanks. I think.”

     “No problem. I’ll see your equipment is brought to the hotel later.” Stephen closed the car door behind him, and stood on the side of the road. Again the sheer physical force of the heat hit him. The window across the way advertised Cusqueña in painted letters. He assumed it was beer, though it might equally have been the name of the bar itself.

     Chaplin hadn’t been lying. Even from that vantage point, there was plenty to see, the most noticeable thing by far being the two armed militia members leaning casually against the hotel wall, sub-machine guns dangling at their sides. They fit every preconception Stephen had ever harboured about the military junta stereotype. Neither man acknowledged them as they entered the lobby. The others hadn’t yet arrived, no doubt delayed in the chaos of traffic.

     The hotel itself was curious, and not at all what he would have called ‘luxury’, with clay pots and grotesque statuettes dominating the lobby. The floor was a chequerboard of terracotta tiles, some rubbed smooth by the passing of bags and feet, others still rough with their rustic charm. The colours were bright and mismatched. Woven tapestries hung in place of pictures behind the reception.

     Stephen followed Cutter and Jenny up to the desk, where Cutter collected their keys.

     “We’re short of rooms, so we’re going to have to double up. Jenny can you share with Abby? And Stephen, you can bunk in with me.”

     “No problem.”

     “Let’s go make camp then, shall we?”

     Their rooms were on the fourth floor, the beds hard as boards. Stephen pulled off his shirt and flopped down onto the one closest to the window, closing his eyes. It was all he could do not to fall straight to sleep.

     He heard the key in the lock of the next room, then the slam of another door, and assumed the others had arrived - which meant they needed to go downstairs to collect their gear.

     He opened his eyes. A ceiling fan spun lopsidedly above his bed, the rhythm of its rotation just slightly wrong. Watching it was hypnotic.

     Cutter went through to the bathroom. A moment later Stephen heard the spray of the shower running. He waited for Cutter to finish up, then followed him through to rinse off the grime of the flight and the sweat from his skin with soap that refused to lather. He ducked his head under the shower nozzle, massaging his scalp vigorously as he tried to wake himself up.

     He towelled dry and pulled on his boxers and jeans, then picked up the shirt, and dropped it again. The thin material was as thoroughly soaked as it would have been if he had still been wearing it when ducked under the shower. So he rummaged in his backpack for a clean t-shirt and pulled it on over his head.

     It felt good to be clean again.

     “You notice our friends downstairs?” Cutter asked.

     “A little hard to miss.”

     “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto,” Cutter said. “Come on then, let’s go get the gear. The sooner we start, the sooner we finish.”

     It took the best part of twenty minutes to drag their equipment up to the room, and the effort left them as sweaty and uncomfortable as they had been before their showers.

     When everyone was done, they gathered in the lobby, then went out for a reconnoitre, taking in the vicinity. They were centrally located, close to most of the tourist traps. The gun-toting guards were still at their station, as disinterested as ever. A lama grazed on the grass across the road.

     “You don’t see that every day,” Stephen said to Connor as they left the hotel.

     “Unless you’re Jeff Minter.”

     “Sometimes you’re just weird, Connor.”

     “Killer Trivial Pursuit player though,” Connor said with a grin.

     The hour in their room and lugging the luggage had taken the worst of the heat of the day. The first thing Stephen noticed as he stepped out onto the street was the gentle kiss of the breeze. There was a tall pole in the centre of the main square, the colourful ribbons that dangled from it blowing in the soft wind.

     They crossed the grass, walking slowly and turning in circles, trying to take everything in. Stephen saw the spray of two small fountains on the roof of a neighbouring building, which struck him as just plain peculiar. The others talked and walked and gawked. He looked over his shoulder to see Stark’s eyes narrow. It was a marginal thing, something he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been less than five feet away.

     Stark nodded once and, reading his silent intent, Stephen turned away.

     It didn’t take long for Stark to catch up with Stephen and match his leisurely stride for a dozen paces before saying, “Your shoe lace is undone. You better tie it up, I’ll wait for you.”

     Stephen looked down at his trainers. Neither lace was loose. Without a word, he went down onto one knee and pretended to fasten them properly.

     “We’ve got eyes on us. Three sets I can see. One in the nearest bell-tower, another pretending to read The New York Times beside the fountain in the garden, and the third making a pig’s ear of following us.”

     “What do we do?”

     “They want to see tourists, let’s give them tourists,” Stark said matter-of-factly.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: March of the Iron Children.

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“My terms are simple;” Harcona began, “you and your army will surrender to me, denounce your military publicly, and then be taken to a prison facility until the end of the war.”

The grey skinned alien stood easily two feet higher then Marco and he couldn’t help he was being looked down on in more ways than one. Their shadow alone felt like it could swallow Marco whole if he stayed any longer, but if he moved before the meeting was over he would most likely be shot by Harcona’s forces.

Both had agreed to a parley to discuss cessation of hostilities in the middle of no-man’s. Behind General Marco was the city of New Wilshire, the final stronghold humanity had on the planet. Behind Commander Harcona were hundreds of trenches that comprised the Yorn army that had been shelling the city for the last month.

Yorn forces had invaded the planet almost half a year ago and month by month Marco had been pushed back city by city. Each day he had sent requests for aid back to the homeworld, and for ninety days he had heard the same message of “Forces are enroute”. Then the communications towers had been taken and Marco lost the ability to send or receive any news off world.

Marco looked up at his alien counterpart and snorted. “One would think to have learned something from their adversary over time, but if you think I would ever accept such terms then you clearly haven’t learned anything about me.”

Harcona’s face hardened at the remarks but for the life of him Marco couldn’t take him seriously. His people resembled grey stick bugs from back on Earth with limbs so thin they looked like a tube of cardboard was stronger. Yet for all their perceived frailty they had more than proven their combat proficiencies with their excellent use of armored vehicles and massed infantry to push humanity to the breaking point.

“Is this the hill you will die on little human?” Harcona snarled.  

“Little?”

Marco couldn’t help but laugh at the commander. “When I heard I would be fighting the mighty general Harcona, I must admit I had certain expectations.” Marco said as he locked eyes with the butcher of his world.  “Imagine my disappointment that I now find myself fighting a man with the wit of a school child.”

Harcona’s face hardened again which Marco had expected. If there was one thing that could damage a Yorn’s state of mind, aside from the ever useful bullet to the knee, it was being compared to humans. Marco decided to press home and further aggravate the commander.

“But if name calling is what you want, then I shall die here you dick faced bastard;” Marco took a deep breath for, knowing it could be his last,  “which will be convenient as it will be right on top of your grave so you can spend your afterlife looking at my ass.”

Harcona looked like he could strangle Marco right there and then for the insolence. His upper lip twitched revealing a set of predator like sharpened teeth and his fists clenched so tightly Marco could hear the fabric darn near tearing from the stress.

“You will not surrender?” Harcona spoke through clenched teeth. Marco merely smiled back, proud of his verbal assault.  

“Couldn’t you tell, or would you like me to tell you to fuck off again?”

Harcona didn’t give anything as a response. He simply turned and walked back to his siege lines, the parley concluded. Marco watched his adversary for a few moments before turning around himself and began walking back to his city.

As the sun began to set Marco knew that this may very well be the last night of his life, and all he could think about was how much he wanted a drink. ----------------------------------------

As the sun began to crest the far off horizon the city of New Wilshire was greeted to a thunderous barrage.

Hundreds of Yorn cannons encircling the city opened fire at once with such force that the very ground shook at the shell discharge. Buildings turned to mounds of dust in an instance and boulevards became canyons as the ground cracked open under the barrage further splitting the city apart.

Harcona watched the final destruction of his enemy with some enjoyment from his command post. He set down the pair of range finders and turned from the window to see his general staff gathered around the holographic table with a rough visual of the city displayed on it.

From their aerial drones they were able to view what remnants of the human military were still present in the city as they retreated further and further into what was quickly becoming a concrete coffin.

They looked up as Harcona approached but he waved a forestalling hand to stop them from saluting or loudly acknowledging him. The few that had been with the commander longest merely nodded and returned their gaze back to the hologram as the outer edges of the city were reduced to rubble.

“At this rate the human settlement will be completely annihilated within the next three hours.” One of the aides remarked, handing Harcona a data pad with the projected destruction ratio to back up the statement. He looked at the figures for a moment before casually tossing back the pad with disinterest.

“Order the barrage to cease and all infantry and mechanized units to prepare for the final assault.” Harcona said as he tapped several keys into the holographic table and enlarged the image to now show the Yorn’s military positions.

The rest of the general staff looked confused at these new orders, but it was one of the older members that spoke up first.

“Is there such a need for such a tactic?” They began as they pointed to the display. “We have the humans bottled up with no means to retaliate against our cannons, but if we send in our ground forces-“

“It will become a bloody city fight as the remaining humans fight tooth and nail to survive.” Harcona finished. He glared at the general staff member who spoke and they silently retreated to the opposite side of the table.

“I want to bring a victory worthy of song back to our homeworld, not a pathetic melody.”

Eyes darted back and forth as the general staff was unsure how to proceed. Though they all knew the real reason for the attack was Harcona’s damaged pride, none of them had the rank to countermand the commander’s orders.

With silent fanfare the general staff began relaying the new orders and soon enough Harcona could hear the bombardment slowly down and then stopping entirely. On the holographic display the Yorn ground forces began leaving their siege trenches and storming across no man’s land to take the human city in a bath of blood.

A sinister smile crept into the corner of Harcona’s mouth as he imagined that pathetic human Marco being run through with a Yorn combat blade or having half his body disintegrated by a plasma charge. Harcona was so caught up with ever more horrific deaths for his rival that he couldn’t hear the fleet attaché officer calling out a new report.

“Flash dispatch from the fleet commander!” the staff member called out breaking Harcona’s ecstatic trance. “Human ships have just entered orbit and begun battle with our fleet.”

Without hesitation Harcona switched the holographic display from the ground war to showing the current orbital status above the planet. The Yorn fleet had held high anchor over the last human stronghold waiting to retrieve the ground forces and depart back to their homeworld. Several red icons showed the human ships had just come out from the other side of the planet’s moon and were bearing down on the stationary Yorn fleet.

“I was wondering if they would arrive in time.” Harcona said casually. “I was worried that the human reinforcements would miss the total destruction of their forces here.”

A few of the general staff laughed at the remark but Harcona knew that the reprieve would only be temporary. Despite is seemingly dismissive demeanor Harcona was fully aware that the human reinforcements could change the tide of the final battle in their favor. He had to end the ground war now before the relief forces could make planet fall.

“One of the human ships is breaking off and heading straight for the planet.” The fleet attaché said. Harcona looked up at the holographic display and indeed saw that one of the human icons had broken from the spearhead formation and was making a b line straight for the human stronghold.

“Order our fleet to destroy that ship, then focus fire on the remaining enemy vessels.”  Harcona ordered, but by then it was already too late.

The lone human vessel was running the gauntlet of Yorn ship fire at suicidal speeds. At their current speed there would be no time at all to decelerate and land safely on the planet. The atmosphere alone would burn them to a crisp on entry leaving little left for the Yorn anti air guns on the ground to chew through. The human piloting the ship though had another idea.

Rather than slowing down for a descent the ship pulled back up at the last moment and seemingly skipped off the atmosphere like a pebble thrown across the pond. The planet’s gravity then took hold and began a slingshot around the orbit before the Yorn fleet could retrain their guns.

Harcona was confused by the maneuver as all it had done was provided a flashy display of human piloting rather than provide any tactical advantage. He got his answer moments later when the radar officer shouted out a new threat.

“Unknown objects are descending from orbit!”

Harcona’s eyes went wide as the dots finally connected. The ship had made a nearly suicidal bombing run to decimate the Yorn ground forces and by the human military still trapped in the city time to regroup.

“All forces are to cease their advance and retreat to trenches now!” Harcona shouted. “Seal the command bunker for incoming strike!”

The general staff scrambled back and forth as the blast shutters slowly lowered into place blocking out the light from outside. Switching back to the ground war hologram Harcona could see the orbital trajectories of at least five separate bombs that would be landing around the outskirts of the human city.

“Impact in 5…..4…..3….2….1!” the radar officer shouted before bracing themselves.

Harcona closed his eyes in preparation for a blast and the following shockwave, yet none came. Minutes passed by and one by one the general staff slowly opened their eyes and looked dumbfounded at each other.

When he was positive he was still alive Harcona turned his eyes to the holographic projector. The icons read that whatever the humans had dropped from orbit had landed, but they appeared not to be of an explosive nature. Before he could inquire from his staff a flood of warning reports began flooding in.

“Commander, we are getting reports enemies have breached our trenches!”

As if to match the officers words portions of the Yorn trench network began switching from green, to orange, and then red marking they had fallen to the enemy. Red trench lines began appearing around the entire perimeter of the city close to where the strange objects had landed.

“Get me the trench operators on the line now!” Harcona shouted, enlarging the display to bring the full trench system into view.

“This is trench operator of grid B-13.” A panic stricken voice came in over the radio. “We are under attack by human forces and require immediate support!”

Harcona cursed himself. The humans had not been on a suicidal bombing run but an orbital drop. They had delivered fresh forces to the defense of the city and were now pressing their advantage before the Yorn could recover from their retreat back to the trenches.

“How many of them are there?” Harcona demanded into the radio.

“There-“

A loud static burst cut off the transmission before Harcona could get his answers.

“Someone give me a visual feed now!” Harcona shouted again at his staff.

Even more trenches were switching to red at a rate Harcona couldn’t believe. Orbital drop transports were far from large and from what he knew of human technology could at max hold somewhere between twenty to twenty five humans at max capacity. Yet somehow a force of as much as one hundred and twenty five humans was shattering their way through a force of one hundred and fifty thousand Yorn.

“Visual feed coming in now sir.” One of the staff officers called out and the holographic projector shifted to a video feed streamed live from a soldier’s helmet cam.  

The feed showed a Yorn soldier rushing through the trench network surrounded by his comrades as gunfire and screaming sounded out all around him. They had just turned a corner and found their commanding officer at the far side of the trench directing them onwards when what appeared to be a metal pipe was thrown clean through their chest and impaled them to the trench wall.

The soldier staggered on their feet and pulled their plasma rifle up at once, training it down the length of the trench to where the officer had died. The feed showed several other rifles on screen so Harcona wagered there was at least a full squad of Yorn soldiers behind the one whose camera feed they now watched with baited breath.

From around the corner at the opposite end came a figure clad in metallic armor of some kind. It was smooth on all sides and it reminded Harcona of one of those human dolls painters used to pose before adding in details.

No sooner had the thing fully turned the corner did the soldiers open fire. Balls of sickly green energy spat out from the rifles at flung themselves down the trench at the human weapon. To all those present in the command bunker the metallic thing dodged every plasma round. Their body contorted and shifted like a dancer on stage leaving not a scratch on their body despite the rate of incoming fire.

To Harcona’s horror the thing pulled the metal rod from the wall with the dead officer still impaled on it and charged at the Yorn soldiers. Using the dead officer as a shield the thing raced down the trench and was among the Yorn soldiers before they could even unsheathe their combat blades.

It casually tossed aside the poll and without missing a beat rammed its fist straight through the nearest Yorn soldier. Purple blood splattered the polished surface of the human weapon and in the reflection Harcona could see the sheer terror on his soldiers faces. Some continued to fire wildly now that it was among them but the weapon continued its elegant dance of death. It used no weapon other than the limbs of its own body and one by one killed the entire squad of Yorn soldiers until only the soldier whose camera feed they all watched was left.

Seeing their comrades slaughtered so easily the soldier threw down their weapon and sprinted back the way they had come through the trenches. The general staff watched in listened in horrified silence as the soldier began crying out for help from his comrades, his gods, and then finally his family far away on the homeworld. The gut wrenching pleas and sobs broke the spirits of some of the staff as they plugged their ears and closed their eyes to the massacre unfolding before them, unable to handle these final moments as the soldier glanced over their shoulder every now and then to see the blood stained metallic figure chasing after them.

The soldier had made it two trenches back before the video feed stopped. No longer sobbing or pleading, the camera slowly tilted down to see a metallic hand protruding through the soldier’s chest with a still beating heart grasped tightly between those deadly fingers.

With as little effort as one would toss a piece of paper the soldier’s body was thrown against the wall of the trench and collapsed to the ground. The final feed showing the metallic figure sprinting down thr rear trenches continuing the hunt for Yorn soldiers. To the dismay of the entire general staff they saw several more metallic figures sprinting after the first one counting no less than half a dozen before the camera feed went dead.

Switching back to the holographic display Harcona was shocked to see that over half the trench lines had shifted red and the entire Yorn army was at risk of routing. All around him reports were flooding in along with messages begging for orders and support only to be cut short by blood curling screams.

His grand campaign undone at the eleventh hour…..Harcona could not believe the devolving status his army now found itself in as it appeared they were just moments away from all sense of martial order breaking down.

Just as Harcona regained his senses and was about to order a fresh bombardment from the siege cannons from the rear lines a crippling tearing sound resounded through the bunker. Harcona turned to see several of the blast shutters being pried open and the blank faces of his metallic foes staring back at him as they pried their way into the bunker.

As the metallic monsters finally broke in the last thought that ran through Harcona’s mind was that he hoped his rival had not died this day. He dreaded the notion of an eternity with their mocking ridicule as company till the end of time.

[klarolineepiclove]

Three Words

TASM!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Summary: After the events of the Multiverse, Peter moves on and learns to live again.

A/N: This is my first foray into the TASM!Peter Parker fandom! After months of reading everyone's amazing works, this idea popped into my head until I finally wrote it down. Hopefully you all enjoy! I'm hoping to write more, and I'd love some requests if anyone enjoys this one!

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

He came back to his own world changed.

After the multiverse, after Max and Dr. Connors, after the wizard and Norman Osborn, after catching MJ—after everything, he came back to his own world different. Everything had changed. Peter had made himself a promise—a promise courtesy of his experience with his brothers--because that’s what the other Peters were, really, his brothers. He promised himself he’d start getting it right. Go back to being the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man he used to be. He promised himself he’d spend more time with Aunt May, to be more focused at this job at Horizon Labs. Promised himself he’d try to be Peter Parker again.

And then he met you.

He passed by the Sweet Tooth Bakery at least once a week, the sweet aromas wafting through the door always tickling his nose and bringing an unbidden smile tugging at his lips. There was always something comforting about it, bringing fond memories of Aunt May baking to the forefront of his mind. It was because of Aunt May he finally wandered into the brightly colored establishment, listening to the chatter around him as he bent over the display case, eyes searching the perfectly decorated treats inside as he sought out a birthday treat for his aunt.

It was over a chocolate éclair that his eyes found yours peering at him from behind the display case.

He’d watched as you evenly lined the eclairs on their display plate, your eyes sliding from his to them and then back, and he’d straightened, watching as you did the same, sliding the display doors closed as an easy smile appeared on your face.

His heart dropped ten stories at the sight.

He’d watched as you wiped your hands on the apron tied around your waist, eyes never leaving his, and your smile grew when his lips turned up into one of his own.

He learned your name, that you owned Sweet Tooth Bakery, and that yes, you baked everything yourself.

He left the bakery with two chocolate eclairs and a strange flutter in his chest, playing back the soft spoken “See you around, Peter” that you’d spoken as you’d handed him the purple ribboned box. The eclairs had brought a smile to Aunt May’s face, but not as big as the one she sported when he’d merely mentioned that he’d met a girl when she asked why he couldn’t stop smiling himself.

It was less than a week later that he’d found himself back in front of you, the sweet smells clouding his senses as he’d stammered out an invitation for coffee, one that you’d accepted with an eager smile. That first coffee date turned into two, which turned into dinners, which turned into late night movie sessions, and he learned everything he could about you, from your upbringing in a small midwestern town to your move to the city, to the fact that you always smelled like flour and sugar no matter how many times you washed your hair, and that alone was the most charming thing he’d ever heard.

And as the weeks turned into months, and you learned everything about him as well—everything, from his parents to Uncle Ben, to Spider-Man and Gwen—the words of Peter 2 echoed in his head. The words of Aunt May, murmured over a Sunday dinner weeks ago, when he’d been torn between the lightness he felt when he was with you, and the grief he still felt at losing Gwen—the grief that was still there but not nearly as prominent, especially these days. May had placed her hand over his, peering at him with a knowing gleam in her eye. “Peter. Gwen wouldn’t want you to live your life on hold. You can move on, you aren’t betraying her by doing that. You can live, and you can smile, and you can…” She’d trailed off, a quiet sigh slipping from her lips as she’d tilted her head. “You can fall in love more than once.”

You can fall in love more than once.

That was the thing wasn’t it? Because he was.

He was falling in love with you, and he was struggling to form the words. He’d almost told you a dozen times. Over breakfast after you’d bickered over who got the last piece of bacon, your giggle echoing in his tiny kitchen as he let you playfully tug it out of his fingers. In the kitchen of the bakery, with his arms wrapped around you, frosting streaked across his cheek and coating your fingers. At the dining table at dinner with Aunt May, your smile bright and teasing as the two of you ribbed him over childhood stories and embarrassing tales. As you patched him up one night, touch gentle as you fussed over his wounds, pressing a bandage against the gash on his shoulder before placing a gentle kiss atop it, cradled in his arms as he held you to him as he leaned against the bathroom sink.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, and he wanted to say them more than ever as you laid next to him on the bed, your fingers entwined as you spoke in the dim light from the bedside lamp. “Another universe?” you asked, eyes fixed on your hands as they dangled in the air between you.

Peter nodded, thumb tracing the arch of your palm. “Multiple ones, actually. I mean, I only experienced the two of them, but there’s gotta be more than that, right?”

You nodded, an awed “Wow” slipping your lips, and he felt his heart lurch in his chest. He loved that about you, how you were passionate about everything he was passionate about, whether it was in your realm of interest or not. You looked at him, shifting your head on the pillow. “And there were three of you?”

“Well, three versions of me. Or, of us. I’m still wrapping my head around the terminology.”

“God, three Peter Parkers,” you murmured, turning to him with a teasing smile. “What a nightmare.” Peter barked out a laugh, tugging playfully at her hand. “Seriously, I can’t even imagine. One of you is a hassle enough, but three?”

Peter groaned, rolling on top of you in one quick movement, swallowing your laugh of surprise with his lips as he shifted into the cradle of your thighs. His lips trailed to the corner of your mouth, peppering a kiss there, to your cheek, to the tip of your nose as his hands tucked your hair behind your ears, his gaze meeting your dancing eyes as you giggled beneath him.

“I didn’t mean it,” you said quietly, smiling.

“You didn’t mean it,” he repeated, sighing at the feeling of your fingers tugging gently at his hair. His own hands moved quietly across your skin, one cupping your cheek, the other resting snugly atop your waist, fingers grazing the skin of your hips from where your shirt rode up from your sleep shorts. “You didn’t mean it.”

You shook your head, hand covering his as it laid against your cheek. “You miss them, don’t you? The other Peters?”

Peter nodded, biting his lower lip as his thumb traced the corner of your mouth. “Yeah…I think about them a lot. What we went through, what we did. It seems like it’s not real sometimes.” He sighed, touching his forehead to yours. “I think a lot about what I learned from them, you know? Because it was, it was a learning experience. The three of us, each at different stages, each going through our own things, but the same things, at the same time, in a weird way. Peter 1 though—you know, because that’s how we had to differentiate it, Peter 1, 2, and 3—but Peter 1, he told me, you know, he told me things. You know.”

“Mmhm, what kind of things?”

“All kinds of things. Like we, uh, we both have a lower back thing. We commiserated over that.” He smiled when you giggled, pressing a kiss to your nose again. “Fighting different bad guys over the years. But he, uh, he told me that wasn’t all there was to it, you know? Being Spider-Man. Told me that I needed to make time for Peter Parker stuff too.”

Peter closed his eyes as your hand cupped his cheek, nuzzling into your touch.

“To live your life,” you whispered.

He nodded, pressing a kiss to your palm. “I came into your bakery a week later.”

“So I’m a part of your Peter Parker stuff?” you asked with a smile.

“You are my Peter Parker stuff,” he replied. He searched your eyes, remembering Peter 2’s words, remembering May’s, and he knew. He knew without a doubt he loved you. “I didn’t think I’d ever have it again. Peter Parker stuff. After Gwen.” The backs of your fingers traced his cheek, your expression softening. You’d made him promise once not to shy away from talking about Gwen with you. That she was meaningful—she meant something extraordinary to him—and that didn’t change just because she was gone. Peter thought he started falling for you right then and there. “After Gwen…I didn’t think I deserved it. That I-I couldn’t.”

He met your eyes, seeing the question in them, and he smiled. “Aunt May told me it was okay. That Gwen would want me to live my life again, to move on. She told me…that I could fall in love again.”

He felt you freeze beneath him, your eyes wide as they held his own. He felt your exhale of breath against his face, grabbed your hand when it fell from his face. He laced your fingers, resting your joined against your chest. “I love you. With everything I am. I love you.”

Peter watched as your eyes welled, and the most radiant smile he’d ever seen spread across your face, and he felt his chest burst at the sight of it. Your fingers squeezed his as you laughed, reaching up with your free hand to wipe at the tears that were sneaking down your face. “I love you too, Peter Parker.”

His grin matched yours then, ducking his head to touch his kiss to yours, your laughter mingling together as Peter pressed closer against you. Your lips met again and again, and you thighs squeezed around him when his hands slipped beneath the fabric of your t-shirt, skimming the sensitive skin of your ribs as his tongue danced with yours.

He’d never been so thankful for having a sweet tooth.

[zedaphofficial]

hey! i post fic here now too!

i come bearing: The Apocalypse AU! brought to you by @mothsaviary and i :)

summary: xb and hypno find themself in the midst of the apocalypse. also they’re fruity and they really don’t know much about each other.

warning ! this is hermitshipping content ! if you aren’t a fan of that, keep scrolling !

they’re sitting around a fire in the skeleton of a building, worn down to unrecognizability and hypno realises just how bad things have gotten— he’s learning things about xb. 

xb is talking about himself. there’s a barely-vacant look in his eyes, like he’s tabbed out but the game is still running; and hypno lingers in the blue of xb’s eyes for just a moment too long. 

hypno wasn't listening. it felt wrong almost— he’s reminiscing. he’s talking about the life he had before this, and hypno couldn’t get himself to listen. 

xb was a shadow of a man. he’s an eye for detail, an eye against a scope of a gun and he’s a door that’s beginning to creak open and hypnos not sure if he wants to step inside.

the sun creeped over the horizon. it painted the grey-blue night in shades of burnt orange and almost-green-yellow and it wasn’t the same as it used to be, green-brown clouds lazily floating across the sky.

Hypno stood up suddenly; kicking up dust behind him as he climbed to the roof of the building. He didn’t look behind him. he doesn’t want to know if xb stopped talking.

but he could hear xb stand up to follow him, almost like a shadow, the too-quiet pad of his sneakers against concrete.

xb stands for a moment longer, watching hypno sit down and tuck his knees tucked to his chest. only then does he approach. he sits down, leans his head against hypno’s shoulder, and they fall into silence.

the radioactive ball of light rises further into the sky, marking yet another day in the corpse of a world they once knew. it’ still jarring. it’s never coming back.

hypno stares at his hands sometimes, studying the creases in the skin and he just barely comprehends that these are the same hands that he’s always had.

and he finds himself looking at his hands again, looking at the barely visible lines in his gloved palms and then back at the greyish-orangish-brown morning sky and then he finds himself looking at xb. 

xb cannot be studied like the lines on hypno’s palms. he doesn’t know who the man beside him is, but he knows the things that keep him up at night and hypno thinks that he’ll never know xb. the man beside him is a book written in code, a language that hypno will never truly decipher.

but they’re stuck with each other, sharing warmth and life and maybe even company. xb closes his eyes and hypno finds himself closing his eyes too, cool air filling his lungs to the bursting point and then escaping in a sigh.

and if he pretended hard enough, he was sitting on the roof of his old house with someone he knew the last name of; and not a decrepit building with a man most comparable to a shadow.

so hypno opened his eyes, head lulling to the side to rest against xb’s.

the rest of their day was uneventful. hypno and xb spent their time ignoring large cities and places overrun, turning to small ghost towns for shelter and resources. it was easier this way, reducing the risk of injuries and saving xb’s ammo for more important situations.

xb pulls his hood up and turns on to his side with his arm as a pillow and hypno wonders. about a lot of things, like the lives of the people who once lived in this shoddy old house or the fact that this is the first time in months he’s laid on a mattress. 

he also wonders about xb.

but he seems to catch himself doing that a lot.

mainly; how is his arm not going so numb right now. but also the fact that the man sleeping next to him is so close but so far away. hypno could reach out and touch xb’s arm, but his hand would never truly make contact, he thinks. something about souls and barriers.

so hypno turns onto his back to stare at the water damaged ceiling. 

they hijacked a car maybe a few days ago, a pickup truck from the nineties that clunked and clanked on occasion but generally worked fine. their first road trip led them to a tiny town that was really nothing more than a couple houses and a grocery store. they explored each house, took what they needed, and then landed on the jackpot of a house with a non-collapsed second floor and a mattress. just one, devoid of blankets or pillows and they joked about the questionable stains on it, but a mattress is a mattress.

and by the time the moon has set and the sun is barely beginning to rise, they’re on the road again. hypno spends his time in the passenger seat fiddling with the radio knob, trying to pick up a station that isn’t static or news. he wanted music, something to fill the silence of travel. eventually he gives up and kicks his feet up onto the dashboard, laughing when xb scolds him for it.

[valerianavow]

Let's Talk About War.

The history we learn about Amphibia is pretty sporadic. Sometime between what Andrias calls "a thousand years ago" and present day, a lot of things are implied to have happened- and a lot of different conflicts are mentioned in one-off lines that don't get expanded on. Mind you, the map of Amphibia that we see is not that big. The habitable land can be traveled in less than a few weeks from a very remote region to the capital city. There's no distant foreign invaders, no empires on the horizon that are coming to take over Andrias's kingdom. The question is, then... who's fighting who?

S1E12 - Hop-Popular

Amphibia's society is a race-based social caste city-state monarchy. Marcy says as much, after studying it for a few months. In what appears to be a one-state government with no other societies in competition, why are there so many standing armies sitting around? We honestly know the answer to this already, since Grime tried to execute Hopediah for the crime of being politically active in opposition to the toad occupation. It's played for laughs because this is a show for children, but that is not a normal thing that happens in society. That's the kind of tactics that fascist colonial empires use against their political opponents.

With that in mind, every war in this list is likely either the Newtopian troops invading a formerly independent region of Amphibia, or the fallout of that conquest where people from those regions rise up in arms against him in a revolution.

We don't have a good idea of what the current year is in the world of Amphibia, so it's not clear how long ago each of these dates are. Additionally, details about some of these conflicts may be fabricated or fictional in-universe. If a conflict has a year attached to it, I'm inclined to believe it's part of the world's history instead of being a story in the world, though.

The Horsefly Rebellion - ? vs. ? - "`48"

S2E19 - The Dinner

First off, I have no idea who Campbell Bilgewater is. We're also given no specific date range, so we have no idea what century this happened in. If it happened in 1848, that was at the same time as the Bogwater Wars, which is mentioned next. It could possibly be another name for the Bogwater Wars- Pollyanna Plantar wasn't around much longer after she wrote about them in her diary, so it's possible the name she used for the wars she participated in is outdated by now. Maybe the Horsefly Rebellion was Newtopia's name for the Bogwater Wars that they used after winning the following conflict. But, that's not necessarily supported by evidence in the show, it's just me connecting dots.

The Bogwater Wars - ? vs. ? - 1848

S1E8 - Family Shrub

A village in Frog Valley is named Bog Bottom. We see a variety of non-swampy terrain throughout Amphibia while the Plantars are traveling, so it's possible that "Bogwater" refers either to Frog Valley where it's more swampy than the rest of Amphibia, or Bog Bottom itself. Additionally, during the episode where Ms. Croaker meets Jonah again, he mentions it's been 30 years since "Bogwater Canyon" and that "the guild would take him back" if he took her down. (credit for this connection goes to thesugarcookieday!!)

Is he just a bounty hunter after a target, or were the two actually spies in a conflict during or after the Bogwater Wars? Did the Bogwater Wars take place in Bogwater Canyon? Why was Sadie Croaker on somebody's list, and why did she tell the kids that it'd be "very bad for everyone" if they heard about Jonah attacking her? Was she someone who did the same kind of things Grime attempts to execute Hop Pop for?

Western Toad Invasion - Western Toads vs. Frog Valley militia? - 1853

S1E8 - Family Shrub

"Western Toads" implies toads from the West were the aggressors in this conflict, which probably refers to the West Tower toad army. If I had to guess, I think that the Bogwater Wars were the combined villages of Frog Valley uniting and throwing Newtopian forces out, and then the Western Toad Invasion was a war started five years later by Newtopia to re-conquer the Valley and establish a tower and standing army there - the South Tower, where Grime eventually takes command.

S1E20 - Reunion

If my theory is right about the Horsefly Rebellion and the Bogwater Wars being two names for the same conflict, that would explain why both Grime and Hopediah know a lot about it - it would have been a local conflict to Frog Valley. Both have shown interest in general military history throughout Amphibia, though, so it's not hard evidence to support my theory.

Both the Bogwater Wars and the Western Toad Invasion definitely happened in the 1800s, because Pollianna wrote about her participation in them and lived 180X-185X. Notably, her date of death is marked as "185X", meaning she died in the years following the Western Toad Invasion ('54-'59).

The Sand Wars - Newtopia Army vs. ? - Recent

S2E4 - Toadcatcher

Since Yunan is the youngest newt to ever achieve the rank of General, and was also a major player in this conflict (assuming that she isn't lying in her constant character introduction), it must be recent- or still ongoing. It could explain why there is no standing army besides the guard in Newtopia when the toads show up. Newts don't appear to be involved in toad army affairs or leadership, the toads are just expected to enforce and collect their laws and taxes. Of course, she does also say she had an army "once", so maybe she just got them all killed somehow...

General Insurrection & Failed Coup D'état - Present Day

S1E20 - Reunion

S2E20 - True Colors

History is still deciding how this particular conflict is going to shake out, but it doesn't feel like it's the first time Andrias has seen rebellion like this by far. It's happened before, and will continue to happen as long as the current political situation allows it to, like Marcy said. Andrias's lazy stopgap government is a corrupt farce that lives for war. It's what he's been dreaming of for a thousand years. As soon as he has that key back, he goes to invade another world. And Amphibia has seen so much of that, in the millennium he's spent stranded there.

What an incredibly well-written show.