#all either die or are connected to the men in the story

[dumbassalex]

In middle of Batman & the Mad Monk after reading Batman & The Monster Men....justice for Julia Madison, you could've been a great character, instead you're anoying and stuck between being horny but angry about Bruce or worried about your father. Neither deserving the patience you have with them.

[marsbutterfly]

Too Sweet

Summary: For the past few weeks, Hanji has locked themselves away in their office, away from prying eyes, including your own. But your heart can clearly tell when something is wrong with your beloved.

a/n: hey everyone <3 this story is entirely based on the cover art by my amazing artist friend @kylekoraki ! please show them some love and everyone say "thank you" to kyle for drawing this! <3 here's their twitter as well <3

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: canon setting, fem!reader, non-binary!hanji zoe, no warnings really, just some heavy kissing. not really beta read, we die like men <3

 ao3 | wattpad | cover by: @kylekoraki | wc: 4.2k

You knock on the door. Once, twice, thrice. No answer. A grunt escapes your lips and you roll your eyes, repeating the action. Once, twice, thrice. Nothing again. Now a frown takes the place of the smile that used to rest on your face, you know they are in there, you can hear the papers being shuffled around, the tapping of their pen, the shadow of their body as they pass by the door, even faintly the sound of the ice that clinks around their whiskey glass.

You raise your hand to knock again, but before you even have the chance, the door opens. Barely enough for any light to make it through but you see the faint silhouette of Hanji's lips pouting. "You know that when someone doesn't answer, it means they want to be left alone, right?" Their voice is low, almost as if they are making sure to remain quiet to not attract any more unnecessary attention.

"But... it's me.." you respond just as softly, a pout of your own forming, "I'm not like other people."

“y/n…” They begin, moving their glasses from the spot on their face towards the top of their head, pushing their bangs backward in the meantime. Their brown eyes stare at you for what feels like forever, their mind hiding behind an ocean of thoughts and an expression you can’t quite decipher this time around.

They want you to stay, to hold you in their arms as they sit here in the comforting silence of your presence, but instead, they shake their head, trying their best to remove any thoughts of what your warmth would do to them. A heavy sigh makes its way past their lips, the eyebags under their eyes more present than ever as they begin to talk again.

“Please, I’m fine,” they respond. What Hanji fails to realize is that their voice did a slight tremble, not noticeable to anyone else but you know them better than the palm of your own hand. They are the pure representation of your heart beating outside of your chest, so seeing them in such distress is enough to make you act against direct orders, consequences be damned.

“You are not,” you respond. Their office is a mess, their research papers scattered around with drawings and models of flying boats, new weapons, and ways to improve the Survey Corps all around. A thousand and one ideas, some connecting and some just scattered around the wind. 

The whiskey bottle that until a few weeks ago rested full to the brim on their bookshelf now finds itself on its last few sips, the curtains are drawn so no amount of light other than the small candles at the edge of their table can exist in the room and you even notice a few shards of broken glass, probably meaning that they have dropped a cup or two, either from exhaustion or from not being able to see in the dark.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” You ask, gently taking the whiskey glass out of their hand. You notice a small blush creeping its way onto their cheeks as their eyes pointedly avoid yours and, by these simple reactions, you can tell it has been a while, “You’re losing weight.”

They try to reach for the glass once more but you shake your head, pulling it further away. Even though they are stronger than you and could easily take it back if they wanted to, they don't. Instead, Hanji leans against their desk, crossing their arms in front of their chest as they let out a heavy sigh. They want to lie, to tell you they are fine, and pretend like nothing is wrong, but before a single false promise about their well-being can make its way past their lips, you speak up again.

“I can tell you haven’t been sleeping,” your voice is soothing, not an ounce of frustration or anger behind it, just plain worry. You take a step closer, fully prepared for another rejection but it doesn’t come this time around, though you still don’t dare take a deep breath until the moment your fingertips brush against their left cheek, just slightly beneath their eyepatch, “you look exhausted.”

“Now that’s just rude!” An exhausted chuckle escapes their lips as they nuzzle their face into your hand, their expression contorting from anguish to a somewhat relaxed one and it causes your heart to nearly stop for a second before between at three times the usual speed, you are convinced they can hear it from where they stand. “I’ll have you know that I look awesome.”

It’s your turn to chuckle, your worries melting away for simply a second before coming back at full force, knowing way too well that redirecting attention and humor have always been Hanji’s favorite ways of avoiding a serious conversation.

“Hanji…” You start, your tone of voice sounding just as exhausted and defeated as theirs. It drags a loud sigh out of their chest, but as their mouth opens to complain, you continue, a begging tone in your voice as your eyes fill with unwashed tears, “Please, just talk to me.”

That look is enough to cause a painful bang to shoot throughout their body, their heart dropping to their stomach with the knowledge that it is their fault that you look this way. So, without even realizing it, they are already taking a couple of steps forward, hands tightly grasping at your hips as they lean their forehead against yours.

“I’ve just been so busy,” they whisper, the broken tone in their voice creates a tight knot in your throat and the sensation only grows stronger as they continue to speak, “Paperwork, meetings, and any free time I have I go to the lab, trying to complete some old experiments I’ve had from years ago. Even if I try to sleep, I just… Lay there, staring at the ceiling, maybe getting two or three hours here and there.”

You sigh, your arms immediately wrapping around their neck as you pull them close. Their eyelashes bat against the skin of your neck as they close their eyes, a shaky breath escaping them as they inhale your scent, focusing on the way your body feels and smells.

At that moment, an idea hits you. Without disturbing the hug, you look around the messy room, quickly taking in the setting before noticing that, for once, their couch rests next to the window, uncluttered and undisturbed. 

Reluctantly, you pull away from them and the first thing you can hear is a grunt of disapproval. Once your eyes meet again, their pupils are so big, they could only be compared to a puppy dog that has just discovered steak for the first time, pleading, begging even, “Why’d you do that?”

Without an answer, your hand slides with theirs, fingers lacing and fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. Their palm is slightly wet, though you can’t quite place if it is from the condensation from the whiskey glass they held earlier or if it is from nervous sweats. Regardless, all you can focus on is how warm their presence feels close to you.

You don’t speak, instead, you just guide their body towards the couch, their feet dragging behind you, “what are we doing?” They ask, their eyes already fighting to remain open in a combination of the exhaustion and the fuzzy feeling from being drunk, the comfort you bring them doesn’t help either. They are clearly forcing themselves to stay awake, wanting to spend all of this time with you instead of stubbornly trying to push you away.

“We are not doing anything,” you respond, taking a seat on the couch. Your free hand brushes against the spot next to you and they quickly catch onto what you are hinting, your words finally clicking in their head as they flash you a confused look, “You, on the other hand, are going to sleep for a while.”

Their eyes widen for a second as your words take them by surprise, a small groan of protest making its way past their chapped lips, “mmmmm, noo, I can’t… I have so much work that I need to get done… I don’t... Have time to sleep.”

Carefully, you bring your hand towards the back of their head, pulling the ponytail holder out of their hair to make sure they are more comfortable for the next step, which includes guiding their head down towards your thighs. It doesn’t take much effort nor does Hanji put up much of a fight, their body is completely exhausted after all.

“Mmmm,” they whine, their voice filled with a mixture of exhaustion and stubbornness, almost like a child who refuses to lay down for nap time, but once again, they don’t put up a fight, “damn it, how could I ever say no to you?”

“You can’t,” you chuckle, your fingers beginning to comb through the knots in their hair, detangling the strands, your nails gently scratching their scalp while you are at it, “I promise I will be here when you wake up. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your words are soft, carrying so much love that it is almost impossible for Hanji not to melt on the spot. The warmth of your legs combined with the feeling of your fingers going through their hair is finally enough to relax their overly exhausted body, their eyes finally closing and you use your free hand to remove their glasses, hanging it up on the neckline of your shirt.

“Finnneeeee,” Hanji whines once more, turning their body over so their face is buried in your stomach, their slim body now curled into a small ball on the couch and you can’t help but smile at the sight, “but do not let me sleep for more than thirty minutes. An hour, tops.”

You lift your eyes slightly to take a look at the clock on the wall, a gift from Kiyomi to celebrate your relationship. Silently, you take note of the time and look back down at your beloved, a soft, whispered “okay” leaving your lips.

“I’m serious,” Their voice starts sounding more sluggish by the second, their mind already starting to drift off but they fight back sleep for a few extra minutes, just enough to finish the conversation between the two of you, their voice extremely drowsy, “I’ll be mad if you don’t wake me up.”

“I would not dream of doing such a thing,” you respond, unsure if they recognize the mischievous tone in your words or not, but truly hoping that, if they do, they are simply choosing to ignore it. Even so, the way you speak brings them so much comfort, a sense of peace they haven’t felt since becoming commander, “just sleep, my love. I’ll be here.”

The moment Hanji hears you whisper that promise, the certainty that you will be here when they wake up, it’s like a switch flips inside of their mind and they finally allow their body to relax against your touch. Much like a cat, they purr as you continue to run your fingers through their hair, unable to avoid the smile that is now stamped on their lips.

“Thank you, love you,” they whisper, their voice is barely audible and you almost miss it. You don’t even have time to respond before they are completely asleep, the weight of the countless sleepless days finally catching up with their body.

When the first hour passes, you look up from your book, your eyes landing on the clock before making their way down towards Hanji’s face. They look so peaceful, their breathing is so calm and even that it soothes your own worries away and it takes every ounce of your strength not to lay down and nap with them. 

The decision to let them continue their slumber is an easy one. Eventually, you notice a small smile that tugs the corner of their lips in their sleep and you can’t help but wonder and hope that they are dreaming of you. Nevertheless, your fingers continue to go through the strands of their hair, even if it makes flipping the pages of your book a bit difficult, you manage to find a solution by placing it down on the armrest of the couch before using your pinky and ring fingers to hold the object down while the remaining digits flip towards the next page.

Another hour goes by and you start to ponder if you should wake them up. Maybe letting them sleep for this long wasn’t such a good idea, especially since you know they have to return to their duties as commander of the Survey Corps, such as continuing their research and sketching plans for the flying boat. But you can see it in their expression, the small specs of the bubbly person they used to be finally showing back up on their features as they sleep, small reminders of the bright light that has saved you from darkness more times than you can count.

You gasp softly when Hanji stirs slightly in your lap, your heart clenching in your chest as you continue to look down at them, scared that you moved too much and it caused them to wake up. Their expression is still undisturbed, almost like a cat that has just found the warmest spot on the window sill and you catch yourself smiling at them. A silly, love-sick smile that only they can bring out of you.

As the third-hour rolls by and you are trying to convince yourself that it is time to wake them up, you hear a knock on the door and your entire body freezes. You find yourself torn by the two options:

1) Do you say something loudly enough for the person on the other side to hear and risk waking Hanji up in a stressful way before throwing them directly into a situation in which they need to be the Commander, and not the bubbly Hanji Zoe you once loved so dearly.

2) You silently hope that the soldier on the other side will either go away soon or open the door quietly. The couch, though it is by the window, still has a perfect view of the front door to their office, so the person would quickly notice the situation and you would be able to calmly wake Hanji at your own pace, without any negative or stressful interactions.

A second, more forceful knock comes and you notice Hanji slowly starting to shift on your lap. The annoyed expression on your face morphs into one of anger and, as the shadow on the door side moves to knock for a third time, you decide to throw a pillow at the surface.

The person stops midway with their movements before their hand slowly comes to rest on the knob, twisting it slightly as the door quietly swings open. In front of you stands a very nervous scout, one of the new recruits, who hasn’t even been able to choose a specialty yet. His hands are trembling and he nearly drops the stack of papers he holds in his grasp, eyes bugging out of his skull as he looks at you and the sleeping figure on your legs.

“P-paperwork… F-for the C-Commander…” His voice is quiet and trembling, almost as if he is stepping directly into a monster’s lair. You realize in this moment just how intimidating Hanji is in everyone else’s perspective but your own and you can’t help but smile. You nod and gesture your head towards their desk, placing your index finger in front of your lips.

“I-it’s from… Instructor S-Shadis,” he says in the quietest of whispers, but you could already tell. Keith Shadis’ ugly handwriting was something you could identify from a mile away if you had to, “r-reports about… T-the ranking c-ceremony.”

“Thank you,” you mouth the words softly, your fingers moving on Hanji’s hair. They look so small and calm, almost like a harmless kitten, a direct contrast to the authoritative figure that can command an entire room with just a single look in their eye.

The boy nods, his trembling legs making their way towards the wooden table and carefully placing the new stack of paper next to the old ones, trying his best to make sure it is neatly organized while desperately avoiding eye contact with you. He does a quick salute towards you before eagerly exiting the room and you can nearly hear his breath of relief once he is out of sight, outside the closed doors.

You shake your head before looking down at Hanji once more to see a smile on their face. You roll your eyes, “how long have you been awake for?”

The smile on their face grows bigger, their eyes opening slowly to look at you, still a blurry image from the lack of their glasses but still enough for their heart to beat slightly faster, “since the first knock.” Of course, you think to yourself, “How long was I asleep for?”

You look at the clock, and a part of you wants to lie, say it’s only been thirty minutes or so but when you look out the window, you realize the sun has already started to set, making it impossible for such a thing to be even remotely believable. You sigh again.

“Around three hours…” You respond in a sheepish voice, avoiding their gaze. Immediately, Hanji sits up, placing their glasses above the bridge of their nose and looking at the clock on the wall. Once they look back at you, you can see the slightly irritated expression on their face and you feel like you could just shrink and disappear under such a harsh gaze.

“y/n, you promised!” They blur out and you can tell it isn’t anger or irritation… It’s an intense pile of anxiety, hidden behind the harsh facade they attempt to put up. They’re scared that something went wrong in the period they have been sleeping, like the Survey Corps might have fallen apart and they were doing something so useless such as taking a nap. A single thought is going through their mind, those words they have been chanting like a mantra since the fateful day in Shiganshina.

Erwin Would Never.

You stand up a mere second after them, watching closely as their hands grip the edges of the desk and their head hangs low, hips tilted forward in a desperate attempt to hold themselves upright. It breaks your heart to see them like this and, no matter how much you agree with Erwin that Hanji should be the next Commander, you can’t forgive him for leaving such a massive responsibility on their shoulders.

So your arms wrap around their waist, your cheek finding a perfect spot in the area between their shoulder blades. You nuzzle your face against their vest, nearly purring as you do. The smell of Hanji’s skin, mixed with a little bit of sweat as a result of their nap awakens the butterflies in your stomach and the only thing able to bring you out of your thoughts is the broken sound of their voice.

“How long were you going to let me sleep for?” They whisper, a hint of desperation behind their tone and you notice they are shaking. You tighten your grip around them.

“For as long as you needed,” you respond and, at the sound of their quiet sob, your heart shatters. “You haven’t been eating or sleeping, you are drinking in the middle of the day and, well, you are pulling away from me.”

With a long sigh, they turn around, a defeated expression on their face, “Y/n, I’m a mess. I’ve always been a mess. I’m always overthinking things, I’m mean, I’m stubborn, please. I need to catch up on my work, it’s so much paperwork and it just keeps piling up…”

“Hanji, you’re spiraling,” you whisper, fingertips almost featherlike as they brush against their arm. You hope and pray and nearly fall to your knees begging that they will listen to your voice, that they will give you time to make your case and prove that they are so much more than anything they are thinking, but they continue.

“Erwin’s one mistake was making someone like me the commander,” they whisper in the most defeated tone you have ever heard. It’s like something in your mind snaps and you immediately grab a hold of their wrist, flipping them around before pressing your body against theirs on the table.

“Now you listen to me and you listen good,” your voice is stern in a way Hanji had never heard before, it’s filled with pain, heartache, and still so much love, “Erwin wouldn’t have made you Commander if he didn’t think you would be a perfect choice. And I agree.”

Hanji wants to protest, they want to contradict you but the desperate look in your eyes convinces them to remain silent. Instead, they focus all of their attention on your words, into the amount of effort it takes you not to break into tears as you listen to their self-deprecating words, the doubt in their mind. They focus on the way your lips move and how desperately they want to kiss you.

“You are the reason why we were able to eradicate titans outside the wall, you created the thunder spears that were enough to scare off the armored titan,” you continue, the trembling in your hands is so intense you can barely contain your grip on them but you don’t let go nevertheless, “Moblit sacrificed himself for you because he believed you could guide us towards the world outside the walls. Erwin entrusted the Survey Corps to you because you are the most brilliant person any of us has ever seen. Please, just… Tell me you at least believe me.”

They don’t respond, not because they don’t want to, but because their voice won’t come out. It’s as if their brain has lost connection with their vocal chords and all they can focus on is the tears that threaten to fall from your eyes. 

So in one swift move, Hanji grabs a hold of your wrist and immediately switches places with you. You can’t help but yelp quietly, especially when you feel their hands grasping at the back of your thighs as they lift you. Your hands reach behind you, carefully assessing the area while trying not to mix any of their paperwork, but Hanji doesn’t have a single care in the world that isn’t you at this moment.

Their eyes hungrily stare at your lips and, with a silent nod of their head, you push away all the papers that were once so neatly organized on their desk. Once you are sitting down and your legs wrap around their waist, Hanji wastes no time in sealing their lips with yours, a delighted hum escaping your body once they do.

You wrap your arms around their neck, allowing your fingers to venture through the messy strands of their hair. Their fingers dig into your hips, strong enough to nearly leave a few bruises but neither of you care, the need you have for each other overwhelms any and every other one of your senses.

Their tongue slowly glides on your lower lip before they gently take it in between their teeth, pulling the skin towards them. After a few seconds, they let go and immediately begin to silently beg for entrance, using the tip of their tongue to nudge your lips apart and it doesn’t take you long to indulge.

They pull you closer to themselves, your bodies pressed together without a single inch of free space as they hold you, nearly afraid that you might disappear the second they loosen their grip. It’s the first time you have kissed in what feels like forever, even if it has been just a few weeks.

You can’t help but focus on the taste of whiskey in their mouth, it’s completely different from anything ever made inside the Walls. It nearly tastes “expensive”, for the lack of a better word. It’s been hours since they have last taken a sip and the flavor is still so vivid on their tongue. So much so that it nearly burns once your saliva begins mixing.

It’s only when the need for air becomes unbearable that the two of you pull away, a small string of saliva connecting your bodies. You run your tongue over your lip, breaking that connection and still getting one last taste of them. The sight causes a shiver to run down Hanji’s spine and they smile, gently placing their forehead against yours.

“I needed that,” they whisper, a smile stamped across their face and you nod, “I’m sorry for pushing you away, I’m just… Having a lot of big feelings that I couldn’t express but I have you now.”

“It’s okay, just don’t forget that I am here for and with you, okay?” You whisper back in a love-filled voice and they smile once more, nodding their head as their grip around you tightens ever so slightly, “You still taste like home.”

“Yeah? And what does that taste like?” They chuckle, nuzzling their nose against yours, enough that you can feel their glasses against your face.

“Like expensive whiskey,” you respond and Hanji laughs, the sound you’ve missed most these past few weeks and you are reminded yet again that home is whatever, wherever and whenever you are with them. No matter what.

[faerievampling]

The Life of Astarion's Dark Consort

Summary: These are my random head canons about Ascended Astarion and his vampiric bride, Tav/Durge. What would it be like to actually spend eternity with him?

Warning: 18+, mention of sex.

After the ascension, Astarion is so overwhelmed with all his new abilities that he is a bit distant. (Think Lazslo Cravensworth in that one episode of WWDITS where he barely speaks for two weeks all because he’s trying to make a decision about how he is going to reorganize the library) This lasts for nearly a decade, but once Astarion adjusts to his new body, he is able to come back to himself.

Once you are Astarion’s spawn (bride), he no longer needs to mask when lovemaking. He knows you will never leave him. Your lovemaking goes through many 'phases', from being loving and tender to beastly and rough. But either way, he is raw with you, and only you.

Every night, without fail, your vampire curls up in your arms, holding you tightly as he drifts off into a dreamless sleep or reverie. He can’t fall asleep without being in your arms, or vice versa. 

You, his most prized treasure, are far too vulnerable during your rest, and he insists on being as close to you as possible, with a dagger close by, of course. Over the years, he never relents. If you two are ever apart, which happens so rarely, maybe once a millenia, he spends the night sleepless and aching for you.

One of the first things he does once the tadpole is gone is hunt down Haarlep, if you made a deal with him. He wouldn’t allow his treasure to be violated and used any longer.

Astarion’s possessive love for you only grows as the years creep on. 

Sometime during your third century of marriage, Astarion stabs the eyes out of (and allegedly kills) dozens of men and women who he deigned to have violated you (and thus, disrespected him) by looking at you lustfully. It takes two decades of you begging him to stop before he finally relents.

Ask me anything, and it will be yours. On his own time, of course, which you have so much of. You become a very patient vampire.

Astarion certainly values your life and his, but not others. You have to remind him, lest he lose his humanity completely. And you, as well, have to make sure you have a tight hold on your own humanity. You are a vampire, after all.

Watching your friends pass one by one is difficult, and Astarion supports you through it all, despite him not particularly caring about them himself. He cares about his consort, and he does everything to make you comfortable while you grieve. This is where your humanity starts to slip, when your friends are gone from your life for many years.

If you are able to reverie, you aren’t able to actually look through your memories because of your undeath. The years stretch on so long, you nearly forget how the story began at all. But you always have Astarion, and he does his best to help you both remember.

Astarion never takes another consort or another independent lover. The two of you enjoy threesomes and orgies occasionally, but Astarion prefers it to be just you and him. Astarion did particularly like to watch you get fucked by other men and women. But this changes sometime during your first century of marriage. Astarion demands to have his consort and only his consort in the bedroom. He ultimately doesn’t trust anyone else to be intimate with him. He doesn't want anyone else to touch him. You don’t protest the decision.

Astarion creates regular vampire spawn, more for utility than anything else.  He always asks your permission.

After a thousand years, you and your Lord are inseparable. You are not to leave his sight. 

He is very powerful, and has become a threat and a target. The two of you rarely speak aloud anymore as your mind connection is so strong that your minds are melded together. Your relationship is beyond spoken word. As Bride and Master, you are unsure where you begin and he ends. 

Eternity is a very long time. Astarion agrees, but he never wants to die, and he certainly will never let you go.

In your old vampiric age, the two of you strike fear into every mortal you come across. You can't help it. You are both so hauntingly beautiful and pale, and your intense mind connection makes most mortals believe you to be...absent. Oh, how the sheep forget themselves.

Yet your need for blood is so small now. They needn't fear you, not really. You now only drink from Astarion, which gives you what you need. He loves it, being your life essence. 

He doesn't let you drink too much, of course. During your fifth century of marriage, Astarion wants you to feed on him and only on him, as his contempt for others grows and his possessive love for you begins to cause him his own bout of madness.

This causes you to go mad, and Astarion is entirely distraught until you are healed. He spends an extravagant amount of money and a long time healing you.

With the last of your friends dead, you forget to view the mortals as anything but the puppets of your Master. The ways of the world as you knew it slip by you. There is a war, Astarion tells you, but you have no fear. You know he will protect you.

You often go into a vampiric hibernation as you sit on your throne during court. Astarion is still able to put on the mask, but you cannot. Astarion wishes you would try harder, but he also understands.

Even after so many years, Astarion’s body craves you. You are certain you are addicted to each other. You wonder if it is a result of your vampiric marriage. 

He pleasures you every night, and you pleasure him; you cannot remember what sex was like before your undeath, but you know that nothing feels as good as when Astarion makes you come. 

Halsin is the last of your old friends that you can remember, as he lives to be nearly a thousand. You do your best to remember his face, but it slowly starts to slip away from you. 

You feel sad about these things, at times. Astarion cradles you, both your body and your mind, and tries to assure you of your gift. Eternity.

Part 2!!

Masterlist

[nellasbookplanet]

Book recs: Queer science fiction, part 1

There is a lot of queer sf out there, and I read a lot of sf. When I started working on this list, I quickly realized it was impossible to include all that I've read and enjoyed in one single rec post. Thus, this is the first of so far three queer sci-fi book rec posts.

A note: queer here does not necessarily mean "guarantee of an f/f or m/m ship with a happy ending", but rather simply a significant presence of queerness. Some of the books feature no romance but has a same gender attracted/trans/a-spectrum lead, or features an m/f relationship with bisexual, trans or aro/ace characters, or simply features a world-building which is heavily queer inclusive in ways that don't always compare to our own ideas of sexuality and gender. I have however disqualified works where the only queer presence is along the lines of "gay best friend" or a blink and you'll miss it confirmation that never comes up again.

Previous book rec posts:

Really cool fantasy worldbuilding, really cool sci-fi worldbuilding, dark sapphic romances, mermaid books, vampire books, many worlds: portal fantasies, many worlds: alternate timelines, robots and artificial intelligences, post- and transhumanism, alien intelligences

For more details on the books, continue under the readmore. Titles marked with * are my personal favorites. And as always, feel free to share your own recs in the notes!

The Light Brigade by Kameron Hurley*

Dietz is a soldier in the war between Earth and Mars - to travel to the battle front, she and her fellow soldiers are broken down into light to be able to quickly travel across space. But something keeps going wrong with Dietz's travels; her memories don't match up with the mission briefs, as she experiences time itself turning in on itself. Is she going mad? Or are the things she's learning skipping through time the truth - and the war that's stealing her life the lie? A mindfuck of a book that's scathing in its critique of fascism and war. Features a sapphic lead but no romance.

A Psalm for the Wild-Built (Monk and Robot duology) by Becky Chambers

Novella. Long ago, robots, upon gaining sentience, simply laid down their work and walked into the wilderness. Long after, a tea monk looking for purpose follows after them into the wilds, where they come across one of the robots seeking its own sort of answers. While not plotless, this story focuses more on character and vibes over plot. Also has a nonbinary main character and features conversations on gender between human and robot.

Meet Me In Another Life by Catriona Silvey*

Thora and Santi are strangers, brought together by a coincidence and torn apart just as abruptly when tragedy strikes. But this is neither the first nor the last time they meet - again and again they encounter each other, as friends, lovers, enemies, family, every time recognizing in each other a familiarity no one else carries. But with every new life, a mysterious danger grows ever closer, forcing them to find out the truth of their connection. This is a puzzle-box of a story that goes some entirely unexpected places in a very wild ride, featuring a bisexual co-lead.

The Archive Undying (The Downworld Sequence) by Emma Mieko Candon

In a world where AI gods sometimes lose their minds and take entire populations down with them, Sunai was the only survivor when his god went down. In the 17 years since, he has wandered on his own, unable to either die or age, drowning his sorrows in drink and men. But his attempts to flee his past comes to a stop as he is forced back into the struggle between man and machine. Featuring some pretty wild world building and narrative techniques, this book will definitely confuse you, but it is worth the experience.

The Paradox Hotel by Rob Hart

January Cole works security at the Paradox Hotel, last stop for tourists heading for the timeport, which allows them to travel to and witness any moment in time. But years of proximity to the timeport has left its damage on January, making her unstuck in time, letting her relive memories of her dead lover even as her sanity slips away bit by bit. As she starts witnessing proof of a horrible crime in the hotel that no one else can see, January must race against her own mind, a killer, and time itself to solve it before it's too late.

A Fractured Infinity by Nathan Tavares

Hayes Figueiredo is a struggling film-maker who wants to finish his documentary, whose life gets turned upside down when handsome physicist Yusuf Hassan enters his life, claiming an alternate version of him is a great inventor who’s sent a mysterious device to their universe. As Hayes gets drawn deeper into the conspiracy - and his feelings for Yusuf intensify - he has to decide just how far he’s prepared to go to win the life and the love he wants. Featuring a very gay and very morally dubious lead, this is a creative and strange read.

Bridge by Lauren Beukes

When she was little, Bridge and her mother Jo used to play a game - one where they traveled to other worlds, inhabiting the bodies of their other selves. Now Jo is dead, and as Bridge is cleaning out her apartment she finds a strange device: a dreamworm, the very thing that supposedly makes inter-dimensional travel possible. Suddenly faced with the possibility that multiverse travel is real, Bridge is struck by a different question: could her mother still be alive? Scifi spiced with a healthy dose of body horror and some absolutely wild twists, Bridge also features a bisexual lead (however this is a blink and you’ll miss it moment) and a nonbinary co-narrator.

The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet (Wayfarers series) by Becky Chambers

Rosemary Harper just got a job on the motley crew of the Wayfarer, a spaceship that works with tunneling new wormholes through space. With a past she wants to leave behind, Rosemary is happy to travel the far reaches of the universe with the chaotic crew, but when they land the job of a life time, things suddenly get a lot more dangerous. A bit of a tumblr classic in its day, this is a cozy space opera with an episodic feel and vividly realized characters and cultures. While pretty light on romance and focusing found family, there is a main f/f relationship.

An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon

Life on the lower decks of the generation ship HSS Matilda is hard for Aster, an outcast even among outcasts, trying to survive in a system not dissimilar to the old antebellum South. The ship's leaders have imposed harsh restrictions on their darker skinned people, using them as an oppressed work force as they travel toward their supposed Promised Land. But as Aster finds a link between the death of the ship's sovereign and the suicide of her own mother, she realizes there may be a way off the ship.

Ninefox Gambit (The Machineries of Empire trilogy) by Yoon Ha Lee*

Military space opera where belief and culture shape the laws of reality, causing all kinds of atrocities as empires do everything in their power to force as many people as possible to conform to their way of life to strengthen their technology and weapons. It’s also very queer, with gay, lesbian and trans major characters, albeit little to no romance.

The Left Hand of Darkness (Hainish Cycle) by Ursula K. Le Guin

1969 classic. Genly Ai is an emissary sent to the planet of Winter, meant to help facilitate Winter's inclusion in a growing intergalactic civilization. But he's unprepared for Winter's citizens, who spend much of their time genderless or switching between genders, making for a culture wildly different from that Genly is used to.

Too Like the Lightning (Terra Ignota series) by Ada Palmer*

Centuries in the future, humanity has deliberatly engineered society to be as utopian as possible, politically, socially, sexually, religiously. Written in an enlightenment style and featuring questions of human nature and whether it’s possible to change it, and what price we’re prepared to pay for peace, this book is simultaneously very heavy and very funny, and written in a very unique style. While still human, the society presented often feels starkly alien.

The Stars Are Legion by Kameron Hurley

This book fucked me up when I read it. It’s weird, it’s gross, there’s So Much Viscera, there are literally no men, it has living spaceships and biotech but in the most horrific way imaginable. Had I to categorize it I would call it grimdark military sf. It’s an experience but not necessarily a pleasant one.

The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling*

Possibly one of the most unsettling books I’ve ever read, and definitely the most claustrophobic. Gyre, a caver on an alien planet, ventures into the dark and dangerous underground, guided only by a woman who has no compunctions on using and manipulating Gyre as she sees fit to obtain her secretive goals down in the caves.

Escaping Exodus (Escaping Exodus series) by Nicky Drayden

While my feelings on Escaping Exodus were mixed, it cannot be denied that the dynamic between the two leads and the way they go from childhood best friends to enemies on different sides of a class and power struggle is very delicious. It also features some really cool worldbuilding of living, alien generation spaceships and the human culture that has developed inside them.

The Doors of Eden by Adrian Tchaikovsky*

The Doors of Eden is something of an experiment in speculative biology, featuring versions of Earth in which various different species were the one to rise to sentience, from dinosaurs to neanderthals. Now, something is threatening the existence of all timelines, dragging multiple different people and species into the struggle, among those a pair of cryptid hunting girlfriends and a transgender scientist.

Ascension by Jacqueline Koyanagi

Ascension follows Alana Quick, an expert Sky Surgeon who stows away on a spaceship in hopes of landing herself a job. But the ship and its crew are in deeper waters than she expected, facing threats emerging from a whole other universe, all of them searching for the same person: Alana’s spiritually enlightened sister. Undeniably a bit of an odd read, Ascension is also very creative and features polyamorous lesbian relationship.

Contagion (Contagion duology) by Erin Bowman*

Young adult. After receiving an SOS, a small crew is sent on a standard search-and-rescue mission. But what they find are not survivors awaiting help, but an abandoned site, full of dead bodies and crawling with something... monstrous. No romance, but features one sapphic co-lead and one who can easily be read as demisexual (however this doesn't show up until book two, which has more romance).

A Memory Called Empire (Texicalaan duology) by Arkady Martine

Mahit Dzmare is an ambassador sent to the center of the multi-system Teixcalaanli Empire, where she discovers that her predecessor has died. Trying to protect her home, an independent mining station, from being taken over by the empire, Mahit struggles to find out the truth of her predecessor's death while carrying the voice of his ghost in her head, guiding her as best he can. Light on the romance but does feature a sapphic relationship.

The Outside (The Outside trilogy) by Ada Hoffman*

AKA the book the put me in an existenial crisis. Souls are real, and they are used to feed AI gods in this lovecraftian inspired scifi where reality is warped and artifical gods stand against real, unfathomable ones. Autistic scientist Yasira is accused of heresy and, to save her eternal soul, is recruited by post-human cybernetic ‘angels’ to help hunt down her own former mentor, who is threatening to tear reality itself apart. Sapphic main character.

Dawn (Xenogenesis trilogy) by Octavia E. Butler*

After a devestating war leaves humanity on the brink of extinction, survivor Lilith finds herself waking up naked and alone in a strange room. She’s been rescued by the Oankali, who have arrived just in time to save the human race. But there’s a price to survival, and it might be humanity itself. Absolutely fucked up I love it I once had to drop the book mid read to stare at the ceiling and exclaim in horror at what was going on. Queer in the sense that the Oankali doesn't follow human ideas of gender and relationships, which is mirrored in their romantic relationships with humans. It is, however, pretty dark, with examinations of agency and consent, so enter with caution.

Remnant by Kate Genet

One day, Cass wakes up and finds everyone else is gone. Not dead, just gone, leaving her in a world which nature starts taking back with a dangerous, unnatural speed. But as she tries to survive this new normal, Cass realizes she may not be alone after all - but who else is out there, and are they a threat?

The Scorpion Rules (Prisoners of Peace duology) by Erin Bow*

Young Adult. Featuring a dystopian future in which an AI forcibly keeps world peace by holding the children of world leaders hostage. If anyone attempts to start a war, their child will be executed. Greta is one of these children, kept in a school with others like her. But things start to change one day when a new, less obedient hostage arrives. A unique, slowburn take on the YA dystopian craze, also featuring a bisexual love triangle.

Iron Widow (Iron Widow series) by Xiran Jay Zhao

Young adult. Zetian is a citizen of Huaxia, where mecha aliens are constantly trying to breach the Great Wall. To keep them at bay, couples of men and women pilot so called Chrysalises, giant transforming robots. But the pilots are not equal - the women almost always die, sucked dry by their co-pilots. When Zetian sets herself up to become a concubine-pilot, she does so with the plan to assassinate the male pilot who caused her sister's death. Features a polyamorous main relationship.

Bonus AKA I haven't read these yet but they seem really cool:

Survival Instincts by May Dawney

Lynn Tanner has been surviving the post-apocalypse alone with only her dog for a long time, trusting no one. But when she's forced to travel the dangerous remains of New York City alongside another woman, her priorities are challenged. Is staying alone really the best way to stay alive?

These Burning Stars by Bethany Jacobs

When con-artist Jun Ironway gets her hands on possible proof of the powerful Nightfoot family, controllers of interplanetary travel, committing genocide, she has in her hands a chance of taking them and their monopoly down. But the family and their allies won't go down easily, and sends two brutal clerics to stop her.

Everfair by Nisi Shawl

A neo-victorian alternate history, in which a part of Congo was kept safe from colonisation, becoming Everfair, a safe haven for both the people of Congo and former slaves returning from America. Here they must struggle to keep this home safe for them all.

[harmoonix]

🌇Sunset-hour Astrology Observations🌇

❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂

🌇- Capricorn or Aquarius in big 3 (Sun,Moon or Rising) is already a confirmed karmic placement to have, the hard thing to know is that karmic debts can be different from person to person, but for sure they are here to end/complete something karmic

🌇 Lilith in Aries/Aquarius/Capricorn really don't like to receive orders from others or just don't like others to tell them what to do

🌇 Lilith in Virgo/Cancer share a common energy and that is the "submissive" energy, they can act submissive and seductive, that tends to attract a lot of people (aswell very toxic people or just dominant people in their lives)

🌇 Neptune trine/sextile/conjunct ascendant can have sensbile skin, their skin can get irritated fast or just having a very soft skin

🌇 Sun - Pluto aspects can have a pretty rebellious energy in them, usually they act how they want when they want and to be pretty moody

🌇 Libra/Taurus in big 3 (Sun, Moon or Rising) and their aesthetic eye for everything around them is admirable, literally they can see some clouds on the sky and think at some aesthetic photos to do

🌇 Leo/Sagittarius in Big 3 (Sun, Moon or Rising + Venus in some cases) can really photogenic like girlll go thattt photossss, the pose, the look, the clothes they wear are always on everyone's look

🌇 Mars in aspects with Jupiter just have uncontrollable feelings when they wanna get dirty. Like is something they cannot control

🌇 Neptune - Venus aspects are too sweet, they often can get so hurt esp in relationships, they don't deserve it to be honest, but sometimes these aspects can create fake illusions about their partners which can lead to so many wrong things

🌇 Venus in the 10th/11th or 7th house love to be complimented, or just spoiled with sweet words by the people around them. They also like to have certain unique nicknames in some cases (Like your friends giving you a funny nickname)

🌇 Uranus in Pisces Generation [2003 - 2010] can invest their time a lot on spirituality/meditation/healing etc, maybe being interested in tarot or special reiki song for healings

🌇 Sun in the 12th house should embrace their spirituality side more, this is an very spiritual placement so try to connect with spirituality it cam help you so much

🌇 There is always a ride or die with Scorpio or Gemini/Aquarius placements, they love to get into challenges, compete and show their intelligence, you are with them or against them

🌇 Sun in the 11th house are actually the people who can listen to their friends stories all the long, these people loveee to spend time around their friends so much and their love for their friends is something else..is something precious to them

🌇 Venus in the 11th house can met their partners in their circle of friends actually??? When a friend told me this one day I was in shock I was like ":0" this cannot happen, just imagine friends to lovers kind of thing, though is very lovely

🌇 Checking someone's chart and seeing that they have Scorpio, Sagittarius or Capricorn placements I just know they are either very revengeful either waiting for the perfect moment to call the wrong people for their mistakes

🌇 Mars in Virgo degrees [6°,18°] can have a good looking waist/body. They can also be slim or jus tall body and usually the waist shines more for them (This may not apply to everyone but I said based on what I heard about Mars in these degrees)

🌇 Mars in Pisces Degrees [12°, 24°] can have pretty good looking hands/nails, very soft or very prominent veins on the hands (esp at men), and the nails can look pretty naturally + people having the impression you always have nail polish

🌇 Mars in Aquarius Degrees [11°, 23°] can have beautiful bone structure esp at legs and hands, (based on my experience most of these people are tall with a very pereftctioned body] Their body loos so good in general

🌇 Sagittarius Mercury or Mercury in Sagittarius degrees [9°, 21°] can be brutally honest. These people don't like to lie or keep hiding so instead they will call out and be honest about everything

🌇 Scorpio and Taurus Moons and their posesive abilities to be posesive and getting jealous fast over small things is insane, esp having a partner with such moon sign can be possessive and sometimes trying to be in control

🌇 Virgo Suns/Moons can end up criticizing themselves a lot of just judging themselves over things they cannot control or just delete over the time. You have to understand certain things happen for certain reasons and the past cannot be deleted but instead try to create a better future for yourself with a good start and positive vibes

❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂

🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇

- Wanted to post this post right on time exactly when the golden hour starts to be seen more prominent on the sky, because is also the time when the sun sets for the sun and sooner let the beautiful moon to rule the sky for the next hours

❤️☀️❤️☀️❤️☀️❤️☀️❤️☀️❤️☀️❤️☀️❤️☀️❤️☀️

☀️ Hope everyone reading my notes has an evening/night 🌆☀️ full of warm energy, and watch the sunset if you can 🥰🥰 in my opinion is majestic and one of the most beautiful things on earth ☀️🌆☀️

[queers-gambit]

All Mine

title citation: song by Brent Faiyaz

prompt: ( requested ) you and Tangerine break up, and the man you date after is a serious downgrade. on a night out, Tangerine decides your story isn't yet finished.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 7k+

note: did i use this gif already? yes. but it fits the theme of this story.

warnings: same drill - Tan's government name is Aaron, Lem's is Brian. cheater!Reader (not on but with Tan, you'll see), some angst, break-ups, but overall hurt and comfort, happy ending, small NSFW, random "State Farm" quote (not sponsored), smoking indoors, brief domestic aggression, brief violence (it's Tan), term "going postal" used, not edited. "not all men" only applies to Tan i don't make the rules.

We begin today by discussing the concept of soulmates.

World renowned Ancient Greek philosopher, Plato (born Aristocles, not to be mistaken for Aristotle), once theorized that humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, and two faces. The Greek God, Zeus, motivated either by fear of man's potential power or the need to reprimand their arrogant pride, decided to punish humans by severing them into two perfect halves - dooming them to roam the Earth in search of their whole self.

According to Ancient Chinese mythology, The Red String of Fate (tied by the Lunar matchmaking God, Yue Lao) says lovers who are destined to be are tied together through lifetimes by a red string - the color that symbolizes happiness - regardless of time, place, or circumstance. This string might stretch or tangle (like all relationships), but will never break.

Some Western cultures believe in the idea of simple "soulmates", two people destined to meet and love one another unconditionally. They thought their souls are someway, somehow intertwined - be it in the stars, by the cosmos, or even some intrusive, baby-presenting, diaper-wearing, winged fucker named Cupid. "Soulmates" operate as two halves of one whole, yet still remain two separate individual persons. The idea originates from Plato's theory, but essentially affirms: there's a perfect someone for everyone.

Other cultures might say their religious deity or just faith in said religion is peoples one, true love. Some argue a "soulmate" isn't a romantic partner at all, but instead, a person's twin. You know, same womb, same "soul", that kinda reasoning.

Akin to the Greeks, theosophy claims God created androgynous souls, and these souls were individually split into the two genders they once were. Each half seeks the other, and when their karmic debt is paid (being a reason they were split in the first place), the two halves will return to their whole, true self.

and before anyone says anything about gender, remember, these theologies originate from a time that a modern day Taco Bell dollar menu burrito would literally make the theologists implode!

Some New Age philosophy says a soulmate is a totally separate entity (meaning, not split or derived from us), and who spends lifetimes as your friend, lover, co-worker, partner. Soulmates are the greatest union of the heart, no matter the shape or form it presents as; being two connected souls. Hence platonic soulmates, as well.

Other common literary soulmate idioms:

cut from the same cloth -> meaning being so in-tune and similar in characteristics, demeanor, and / or behavior, you "must've" come from the same place.

apple of my eye -> while, yes, it means being extremely important to a person, it also could mean being the "core" of your lover's heart and / or soul; similar to how an apple core keeps the fruit's integrity.

better / other half -> it's 2 am, this is pretty self explanatory.

ride or die -> again, self explanatory - but indicates that a soulmate will live life loyally with you in good and bad times.

match made in heaven -> being absolutely SO perfect for each other, your love was crafted by divine intervention in the eternal kingdom of heaven - where a thing or two about "soulmates" might be known.

my heart and soul -> your love being so strong, so right, it takes over logic and emotion; and intoxicates your very soul - your entire being.

No matter what approach you take, what you do or don't believed, there was no denying: Aaron was your soulmate.

That arrogant, smug, sarcastic, devilishly handsome, mysterious, devious, sneaky, alluring, intelligent, bitchy, suave, charming, intuitive, opinionated jackass who used the operative codename Tangerine.

But to you, he was Tan. Tangie. Aaron. Ace. The love of your life.

You couldn't avoid it. There was no wishing him away, no genie to appear for your third wish. There was no point in trying to avoid or deny your feelings anymore, they were an 18-wheeler and there was no crosswalk in sight; and that's where everything fell apart - realizing you were ready and willing for this emotion to come barreling into you. When things got serious, when you were ready for distinct, specific commitment, Aaron suddenly reared back and put so much distance between you, it was as if he catapulted into a different timezone.

You had been at a mutual friend's birthday party, and after several rounds of alcohol, where everyone was good and buzzed and happy in their own little worlds, incidentally toppled into a public showdown.

"What's the rush?" Aaron asked you, tears inconceivably dribbling down your cheeks one-by-one while stood in a packed-out bar. "Huh? What's your rush to get married? Things have been so good, doll - so fucking good - and you want to ruin that? This isn't - "

You barked, "'Ruin that'? Ruin, what, exactly!? Aaron, we've been together five years - five fucking years, half a bloody decade - how could you possibly say you don't know if you want to marry me or not yet!?"

"It's not you, love - "

"It's not me, it's marriage that scares you!?" You snarled, so used to hearing it, you can quote him.

"Yes!"

"It's the same difference! You love me, but marriage is so scary, it's not worth it, even with me! No matter how much you say you love me, right? You just can't - no, no! - you won't love me enough to marry me! Because you're capable of it, you're capable of loving me enough, but you're much more comfortable being an emotionless jackass - "

"No, no, don't go putting words in my mouth," he groaned, head tilting back, shaking his curls as he rightened to look at you. "Baby, just listen to me, please, neither of us are in a state to have this conversation - "

"We never are, according to you! It's never the right time, the right energy, right setting! What's the issue, Aaron? Huh?" You felt your anger crack and chip away like a hard boiled egg, revealing the soft emotion inside. "What's the real problem being with me? With marrying me?"

"We're just - we're so young!"

"Try again."

"You're just not thinking about - "

"Oh, no, but I am!" You snapped, setting your nearly empty glass to the bartop and shocking yourself (and the eavesdropping bartender) that it didn't shatter. "I am thinking, Aaron, I'm finally thinking about myself - for once - and I know what I want! And you know what? I'm not afraid anymore to ask for what I know I deserve!"

Aaron scoffed, shaking his head as he did when faced with confrontation. "Neither of us are drunk or sober enough to get though this conversation, so... Let's just..." He trailed, brows furrowing when you shook your head with a hateful scoff, yanked from his grip, and stormed away. But he quickly snatched your upper arm, halting your escape, demanding, "Wait, wait, wait, hang on, love. What are you doing? Where are you going?"

"Away from you - "

"They haven't even cut the cake, baby, c'mon, the night is still early - "

"Excuse me while I don't want to stand around here with my ex-boyfriend in front of our friends pretending to be happy."

"What're you - ex-boyfriend?" He stuttered in genuine hurt and confusion.

In that moment, like divine intervention to semi-prove your point, Brian, Aaron's brother, who used the codename Lemon, dropped in. Tangerine let go of you to not make it look like he was holding you in place. "S-Sorry, I know this looks tense, but, uh, bruva," Brian showed Tangerine his phone, "we've gotta go, man..."

"We're in the middle of something, Lem."

"I get that, but... Duty calls, mate."

Tangerine sighed, hand through his hair, turning to you in what you used to think was real empathy. "I-I'm so sorry, love, I have to go - but we'll finish this conversation when I get home, okay? Yeah?

You sniffled and nodded sadly, "See? You see? You love your job more than me, that literally in the middle of a fight about marriage, you're gonna go. Did you see how easy that was for you? Yet you can't love me enough? In a much less high-stakes situation?" With another nod, but this time out of realized confirmation, you breathed, "I'm done, Tangerine." He knew you were serious when you reverted back to his codename; stripping the personal warmth from your tone. "Okay? I'm done. I can't do this anymore, it's absolutely unfair. You've made it clear, you don't want to marry me, so, that's fine, but I'm not in the business of wasting anymore time than I already have. Now," you took a breath, "we can talk later about getting your shit outta my place, probably after your mission, but until then, just please, leave me the fuck alone."

You swore that was going to be the end. It was supposed to be. There was never supposed to be a relapse. Never an epilogue. The Tangerine / Aaron chapter was closed, the entire book was supposed to be closed!

But when you're single for the first time in five years, you kinda forget how to casually date.

There's dating apps, which, as some might know, is just a nightmare experience. There's sometimes local singles events - but they're not always the vibe you usually want to spend your energy on. Matchmakers were (apparently) thousands of wasted dollar. Dating coworkers is typically ALWAYS weird unless you're Jim and Pam, or Meredith and Derek, or whatever other couples TV romanticized. Reality dating shows? That air out all your business? PASS. Taking your mother's recommendations? PASS. Especially if she has her little "church friends" trying to set you up, too? HARD PASS. Sometimes, you just start praying for a hunky Italian Mobster to abduct you - it honestly sounds a little easier (read: this is sarcasm)! Your friends try to set you up, but it usually doesn't click, or it's a strange experience that makes you reject further offers. You could always hope a guy spills your coffee and offers to buy you a new one, which turns into you talk the day away - but life isn't a Glen Powell movie.

Oh, and don't even get me started on ghosting - fuck you if you ghost people, you immature coward.

So, sometimes, you get real lonely, start to feel a little self pity, like you made a mistake breaking up... And maybe you seek company in alcohol... And that alcohol can sometimes help you reminisce... Which exasperates the loneliness... And eventually, maybe that little devil on your should convinces your to text your ex... Which in turn, starts an entire precedent about it being "okay" to go back to him in times of need and desire, of desperation, sometimes of boredom, or even times of comfort.

Aaron had left you alone after the break up, he knew to give you space; so, when you start casually fucking about a year after ending things, it was you pulling all the strings. Women in power, ammirite? Though, Aaron didn't mind your use of him, he always thought the break-up was a fluke of some kind, something fleeting, temporary - hence why he left you alone to sort your feelings. Aaron knew he wasn't perfect, but neither were you; resulting in plenty of "negative" aspects of your relationship, but there were far more positives - more ups than downs - assuring you both know, this was real. This was love. This was true love. It was eternal and raw and passionate... But you couldn't wait forever for him to face his fears.

Until... One night, after hours in his sheets, from the side of his bed, you declared, "This was the last time, Aaron."

He watched you hook your bra, cigarette in his mouth. "Oh, yeah?" He mused, having heard it before. "All right, sweetheart. Same time next week, yeah?" Aaron laughed at his own joke, casually flicking ash into the bedside tray.

"No. I'm being serious, Ace," you sighed almost sadly. You stood to yank your panties and leggings up in one move; shifting your hips, wiggling a bit to adjust the feeling of tightly wadded cloth cutting through raw coochie. "Ryan and I, uh... We're, uh, you know," you cleared your throat, trying to situate your tee shirt without looking at him, "we're going exclusive."

"Uh-huh, is that so?"

"Yep."

"When was this decision made?"

"Oh, uh," you blanched, "the idea was proposed a couple days ago, but we're making it official tonight - "

"I've seen you 8 fucking times this week and it's only Tuesday - "

"I know - "

"What the fuck, Y/N!?"

You glared, "What do you want me to say, Aaron!?"

"That you're not being serious! We're supposed to be together, not whatever - "

"You knew that we were just fucking to blow off steam and fill certain voids, we weren't back together! You always knew one day, this was bound to happen."

"Why? Huh? Why fuck me, but date him?"

"Because you're allergic to committeemen and Ryan isn't!"

"So, why do you keep comin' around? Why keep comin' back t'me, huh? If he's willing to commit, why're you the one fucking around on him? With me?" But the look on your face said it all, making Aaron laugh spitefully, "Ohhh, no, oh, sweetheart. Oh, don't fucking tell me, doll, he's not fucking you right?"

"For fuck's sake, would you please get off your high horse a single moment just to fuck off - "

"Why else would you keep coming back?" He demanded, smug as could be. "Don't wanna date me, but you'll fuck me? Oh, poor Ryan must really be lacking - "

"I told you, this is the last time."

"Yeah, uh-huh, sure," he laughed, leaning back, hands behind his head. "They all always say that before they come crawling back in my bed."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" You snarled, feeling more hurt than you should've. And Tangerine could read it all over your face. "I told you every man I slept with - granted it's only been two this past year, but still - are-are-are you saying there's been others? That you haven't told me about? Have you been fucking other people while fucking me?"

"Hang on, love, listen, I didn't mean - "

"I think I need to go, this was a mistake - all of this - coming back here, fucking you. I need to go," you huffed, stepping into your Crocs (for a quick escape), and rushing to grab your jacket, purse, and keys. The entire time, Tangerine was trying to amend what he said, but it felt like the (final?) nail in the coffin you had been waiting on; assurance that you needed to be without Aaron. See, upon your casual fuck, you agreed to date and sleep with others if you wanted - you weren't exclusive - but for reasons deemed useless now, you were supposed to tell one another about other partners. And he couldn't even do that?

So, you left his flat, and when he followed you out, he saw you disappear at Olympic sped down the staircase - key to his place left on the hallway floor.

"Well, well," his elderly cougar neighbor leaned in her doorway, watching you go with crossed arms and a smirk, "looks like li'l miss is gone finally, huh? This mean you're available for dinner tonight?"

Tangerine snatched the key from the ground, "Not tonight, Mrs. Roberts."

"It's 'Ms' now," she informed, but Tan didn't even hear; just slipped inside his flat, shut the door, locked it, and stood in the foyer, palm flat, looking at the key as if it were a foreign object, for 37 minutes.

Knowing how upset you were, Tangerine didn't try to contact you. Yet one week after your fight, when he knew your standing "Soul Cycle" class took place and you'd came by after, he set up his flat. He got you dozens of apologetic roses all mixed with bright sunflowers and dotted with baby's breath - bouquets he put together himself. Candles lined the place, all lit within fire code restrictions. He played light, modern instrumental music because he knew it had been on your Spotify playlist - not that he was checking it or anything. He cooked your favorite meal by hand. He cleaned himself up, styled his hair, wore the cologne you got him for your first Christmas together (that he's never changed), and wore the baby blue button-up he knew drove you crazy. To top it all off, he got a very dainty golden bracelet - one that was nice enough to convey the amount he spent (as if money = sincerity of apology) but still simple enough that Ryan wouldn't notice if it became part of your normal jewelry box. In fact, nobody would - except you and Tangerine, the way he likes things. The bracelet is even engraved with a subtle 'A' because no matter who you date, he always knew you'd be his and he'd be yours - but wouldn't point this out to you... Yet.

Your class ends at 6:30, you were never later than 7:05. He was ready and waiting at the door, going over his apology by 6:15. He changed into a new, identical shirt at 6:33 after sweating through the first; drying himself, spraying extra antiperspirant over his torso. He changed the tissue wrapping of his offering bouquet so it wasn't wet from his sweaty palms when he gave it to you at 6:41. At 6:46, he began pacing. Aaron began impulsively checking his phone at 6:53. He didn't have your location anymore (a con to the break-up he strongly protested out of fear for your safety) so he couldn't check if you were lost, in trouble, in traffic, at that smoothie place you loved. 7:15 rolled around, no key in the lock. At 7:22, he called Brian in a panic.

"What's wrong? She's just late, Aaron, take a breath, mate."

"She's never late."

7:30 turned to 8... Then to 9... And finally, at 10, Tangerine realized you were serious - that was the last time together.

The hurt suddenly set in, realizing you're not coming back. Selfishly, he knew, he could fill a void no man - even one as objectively good as Ryan - could. He knew you must've felt lonely; craving adventure and spontaneity, something exciting that he knew you lacked with Ryan - or any man.

For days, he agonized - trying to get in your head.

Without him, were you lonely? His job makes him travel, but did Ryan ever take you anywhere? Did he surprise you? Open your doors? Send you flowers? Keep you waiting? Did Ryan communicate with you in the way Tangerine knew you preferred? Was he kind? ...Were you alone?

He knew for a fact, when together, no matter what, he never made you feel unloved, under appreciated, devalued, taken for granted, but perhaps that changed when he began his allergic reaction to the prospect of marriage.

Two years. Two years since breaking up. One year since you ended your Friends with Benefits situationship. One year, you've been with Ryan, and by God, did it drive Aaron insane. For months, Brian felt a responsibility for his part in pulling Tan away that night instead of leaving him to work things out with you, but his brother assured it was a long time coming... Though, Tan had to admit, he never thought it'd go this long.

Like a good neighbor, Jake from State Farm is there! But like a good brother, Brian is there to take Aaron out for a night of necessary debauchery. This was an otherwise mundane activity, something to blow off steam and remove oneself from reality - yet fate works in really funny ways.

The club Lemon chose was packed to the brim; stuffed with bumping, sweaty bodies; strung out to blaring music in various zombified states induced by drugs, alcohol, or maybe both. Luckily, their group had an elevated position in the club's VIP seating, keeping away from the dance floor; giving limited advantage in height when surveying the area.

That's how Tangerine saw you after a year.

Judging from the glittery sash and cheap tiara on your friend's head, he guessed you were there for a birthday party; feeling his stomach knot itself into a noose when he noted Ryan hovering around your flank. He wore khakis, loafers, a creased, pale yellow button-up he guessed was thrifted; holding his drink in one hand, the other shoved in his pocket, bobbing and nodding awkwardly to the thumping music.

When you moved, so he Ryan. When you threw back a shot, Ryan looked away with a long, heavy sigh and curled lip. When you tried to dance, Tangerine saw Ryan snatch your upper arm to reprimand directly in your ear; a couple of your friends even shooting him looks of distain.

A hand clapped heavily on his shoulder, Lemon appearing at Tan's side. "Only you would come t'a club, mate, crawlin' with babes, yeah?" He gestured to the scantily dressed women dancing provocatively around them with his hand holding a drink, "And stand here, like-like, you're Lurch or some shit!"

"'Lurch'?" Tangerine repeated, eyes never straying from where you were in an obvious disagreement with Ryan.

"Like - you know - from the Addam's Family? Tall fucker? Just stands 'round, leering?" Lemon listed intentionally, seeing his brother unmoving. "Jesus, fuck, mate, just go talk to her already! Swear, you stand here any longer, watchin' people, they'll toss us out 'cause of the complaints. Shape up, mate, time t'shit or get off the pot. Move it."

Tangerine finally adjusted his stance, sniffling, shaking his head, "Nah, mate, don't know what you're talkin' 'bout - "

"She's right fuckin' there," Lemon pointed, outing his brother completely, "and you've been a bitch for too long about this. When are you gonna get another chance like right now? Swallow your fuckin' pride, yeah? And just go talk to her! Go apologize! Get her back! 'Cause, just look at her, mate," Lemon paused, both watching you, "think she's happy with a bloke like that? Treats her like that? Only time I ever saw her look at you like that was the night youse two broke up..."

Lemon offered a pursed-lip-smile, patting Tangerine on the shoulder twice and backing up a couple paces. It was like he watched the final bit of confidence Tan needed inject itself into his heart; shoulders almost doubling in size as he shed his suit jacket too casually. Lemon materialized to accept it, laying it in their private booth as Tangerine lit up a cigarette, pocketed his solid gold cuff links, and began rolling up his sleeves while surging through the VIP section and into the general population.

Lemon followed swiftly, several others on their tail as the promise of excitement was too good to pass up.

"I'm telling you, you're being fucking embarrassing!" Ryan was heard snarling. "Let's go home before you make it worse! I have a reputation to protect, imagine what anyone would say if they saw my girlfriend acting like a fucking fool!"

"Oh, Jesus, I have two shots and you think I'm wasted? That I have to go home? You think you can treat me like I'm some child? I'm not going anywhere with you," you snapped back.

"I told you we'd be here an hour - it's past that - "

"Oh, for fuck's sake, it's a birthday party! We weren't ever going to stay just an hour!"

"You're embarrassing yourself, now let's fucking go!" Ryan grabbed you again to emphasize his point, but you didn't even get a chance to struggle because Tangerine was imposing himself between you; plucking his smoldering cigarette from his lips, French inhaling the smoke. Ryan snarled, forced back a step, "The fuck - "

"She said she's not going anywhere with you, so I suggest you walk away," Tangerine growled, smoke billowing from his lips.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Ryan scoffed, looking close to laughing.

"That's my girl you're fucking with, so, again, walk away," he lifted his cigarette for a puff.

"Tangie," you spoke gently, holding the back of his designer black shirt and gently tugging him backward, "Tangie, c'mon, baby, back up, let it go."

"'Your girl'?" Ryan actually laughed at Tan, not hearing you over the deafening music, but the two men were clear as day to one another. "Got it fucked up, playboy, if you're tryna tell me what's what about what's mine."

"Yeah?" Tan nodded, grinning slowly. "Think she's yours?"

"She ain't nobody else's - "

"That why she was coming to me this whole time?" Tan taunted. "'Cause you couldn't make her nut, couldn't fuck her right. What a fucking shame, then she had to come to me 'cause I don't disappoint her. She likes the way I fuck 'cause it's the only time I get rough with her, not like you - "

The gathered crowd gasped when Ryan swung first - everyone saw it. The punch never landed, Tangerine keeping you behind him as he adjusted to upper cut Ryan. It spurred an entire altercation; your girlfriends quickly scurrying out of the way as Ryan and "his boys" tried to take on Tangerine, Lemon, and their entourage. The smoldering cigarette was dropped. Security had to step in, blood making the linoleum floors slicker than spilt alcohol made it sticky, both parties being escorted out of different exits of the venue.

You were faced with a decision.

"Y/N! C'mon!" The birthday girl called, holding up her bloodied boyfriend. Ryan paused and glared at you, face fucked, nose broke, eye darkening, jaw swollen, blood smeared; waiting for your decision. You shook your head and let the drunken crowd swallow your form.

Unsure how, you were let into the VIP section to grab Tangerine and Lemon's belongings, quickly jogging in your glittering heels towards the back exit.

"Should've fuckin' killed him - did you fuckin' hear him!? You saw him, what he did!?" Tangerine was raging, pacing the alley as his group watched on; unsure what to say or do to calm him down. "He fucking grabbed her, too, should go find him - put his fucking face in the Goddamn pavement - "

"Hey."

Tangerine froze when your voice was heard, meekly standing there with suit jackets in arm.

"Baby girl!" Lemon barked, laughing happily and opening his arms. "Oh! There she is! C'mere!" He happily growled, hugging you tightly. The others picked up on the hint, excusing themselves to find the cars while Lemon greeted you and Tangerine almost shit a brick.

"Oh, uh," you breathed when Lem pulled away, "I grabbed your jacket, sweetie."

"Thanks, love, can always count on yah," he beamed, accepting the apparel. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded, "I, uh, I'll go help find the car. We'll be at the end of the alley, yeah?"

"Yeah," you agreed, nodding; squeezing his arm softly before letting him pass. Almost sheepishly, you approached Tangerine, lips rolled between your teeth, noting the split lip and disheveled curls. His hands were on his hips, pacing a small circle, head tilted and unable to meet your gaze. "You, uh, got a li'l something," you gestured at your mouth.

His head lifted, seeing the small teasing glint to your eyes; making him smirk and joke back, "Yeah, just a bit, huh?"

"And you left this," you held out his suit jacket.

When he took it back, Tangie nodded and rushed, "Come home, doll."

"Aaron - "

"Nah, nah, c'mon, come home, baby, please. I know I've been the worst, I know you didn't deserve it - but after losing you... Actually losing you... I mean, when you didn't show up, like you said - I felt everything at once and I knew that I'd never be the man who deserved you, but I owed it to us to try. So... I made the decision to love you better."

"That's nice to hear, but - "

"But without action, it don't mean shit, I know," he finished for you, stepping closer to caress your cheek. "If you let me, baby, I swear, I'll love you better."

You couldn't verbally answer, just sigh and lean forward to rest your forehead on his chest for just a moment of peace. "Thank you," you mumbled, "for earlier, when Ryan got aggressive."

His arms came around in a vice, keeping you close and enveloped in his warmth. Tangerine promised, "Never gotta thank me, baby. Never." A horn blared from the mouth of the alley, knowing it was Aaron's people and you needed to make a decision. Right here. Right now. Yet, your ex just sighed and pulled away, offering, "We can drop you home, if you like. Or I'll get'cha a hotel, can crash with Brian - "

"Can I stay with you?"

Tangerine gulped, appearing shocked but agreeing, "Of course, baby, yeah, yeah, 'course, c'mon, let's go, this way, watch your step, love."

He quickly dropped his arms only to pull his jacket over your shoulders; keeping you at his side as he lead you to the idling car. Unknown to you, Ryan was at his own car, watching, waiting; seeing you leave with Aaron made his blood boil - but when his eyes connected with Aaron's over the roof of his car, seeing him grin, Ryan swore he could've gone postal.

"Are you guys alright?" You checked, Tan keeping you so close, you were practically on his lap. Brian was driving and two other guys sat passenger, all giving varying assurances that they were okay.

"Them frat fucks couldn't hit for shit, love, swear," Brian chuckled from the front seat. "Don't nobody fuck with our girl, yeah?"

"'Our girl'?" You repeated in amusement.

"You's Tangie's girl, yeah?" The guy next to you, codename Fuji, softly explained, "Makes you's untouchable, it does, yeah?"

You just chuckled slightly, readjusting so your arm around Tan's neck tightened; his own around your hips doing the same, silently snuggling closer. The car ride was entertaining to say the least, the lads filling the space with meaningless but very loud conversation about everything and nothing. To your relief, Lemon pulled up to Tan's building first; you two piling out of the car to the sounds of three randy lads cheering.

"C'mere," Tan huffed, one arm wrapping around your waist as the other offered the tinted car The Bird. He lead you towards the building, nodding to the doorman in greeting, "Big man."

This doorman had manned your building since years before you ever moved in; grinning at the sight of you, "Well, well, well... You two look real smitten, you do. There some reason? Aye?"

"Oh, I don't wanna hear it!" You whined jokingly, Tangerine laughing in triumph.

"Got my girl back," Tan clapped his hand into the doorman's, "huh? Told you."

"Aye-heeeyyyy! Welcome home, Missus!"

"Tuh," you barked with a fake laugh, sending Tangerine a sharp look over your shoulder. "Thank you, Thomas," you squeezed the man's arm as you passed.

"Ma'am," he tipped his hat, letting Tan go after you, before securing the door shut.

"Hear that?" You shot at Tan, the lobby attendant sitting up in attention behind the welcome desk. "Even Tom - "

"Don't start before we even get in the door," he chuckled, sighing, nodding to the pimply teen nephew of the building's owner before approaching the elevator bay.

"Don't be a dick - "

"I'm not trying to be, love, I just - I want us to get inside before we do. Yeah?" He frowned, petting hair from your forehead as the elevator dinged upon arrival. "I want us to talk 'bout it, alluvit, doll, but let us get home first."

You sighed and agreed, the machinery traveling up to your flat's floor; which required a key to access. There were only four flats on this floor - all having two stories - and when the elevator dinged to announce your arrival, one of the doors flew open.

You gasped, hand slapping to your mouth to hold in the shrill laughter that rammed into your lips in a desperate attempt to escape. Your eyes widened. You stopped short in your place when Ms. Roberts sauntered into her doorway, leaning on the frame in brand new, expensive, racy lingerie. Her greying hair was curled in stiff ringlets, her make-up heavy and obvious, smelling like she had bathed in perfume by the way it choked you in the hallway.

"Oh, hello, there. About time you got home - OH!" She purred in a low, sexy rumble before jumping in fright when she caught sight of you under Tangie's protective arm. With a squeal, she ducked back into her home and slammed the door; leaving you and Tan froze in place.

"Oh... My... God."

"Get inside, let's go, c'mon, inside, inside, inside, I won't survive if she comes back," Aaron laughed, ushering you to the door.

"I don't think she would, either," you couldn't help but giggle; entering over the threshold after Tan unlocked the door.

The lighter energy surrounding you two evaporated as you took note that Tangerine hadn't changed anything in the year (and change) you've been separated, a haunting comfort to see now. There was the familiar ghost of who you once were, but all of that was forgotten when Tan's hand slid around your waist from behind.

"All right, love?" He asked in your ear, mouthing at the shell in the way that made your head fall to the side.

"Just a lot of memories here," you whispered, holding his arms to your waist.

Tangerine licked at your exposed neck. "We'll make more," he promised.

"I'm sorry I missed so many."

He paused, sighing; forcing you to shiver from the shock of air over your wet skin. Tan straightened up but kept you in his arms, assuring, "It's my fault. But, uh..." Your head turned to look, watching Tan pull his wallet out and sigh sheepishly, open it, then pluck a gorgeous diamond ring from the bill slot.

"What the hell is that...?"

"When I found it, I first kept it in the box, always on me. Just in case, you know, the moment was right - that you'd believe me when I ask you to marry me. But the box kinda," he shrugged, "fell apart from me openin' it, movin' it around."

"So you put a," you squinted, holding his wrist to look at the ring pinched in his fingers, "3 karat diamond ring in your wallet?"

"3 and a half..."

"Aaron," you sighed, turning to face him fully; unable to tear your gaze away from the ring. "I don't want this ring if - "

"No, no 'ifs'," he rushed, "I swear, it's what I want - it's what I've always wanted and just couldn't admit. After tonight, I don't think I can keep this ring - it needs on your finger and that bastard needs put in the ground - "

"Can you not ruin this proposal by threatening to murder my ex?" You laughed, watching his split lips spread into a grin.

"This a proposal?"

"If you word it right, could be."

"Lemme get on my knee - "

"No," you stopped him, nodding, whispering, "just ask me."

Aaron blinked once in confusion, then simply asked, "Will you marry me?"

You levitated into his arms; arms coiling around his neck; lips to his; sucking air from his lungs into yours, mumbling, "Yes, yes, yes," repeatedly. In surprise, Aaron stumbled back a few steps but caught himself, chuckling, fully hoisting you into his embrace.

"Right answer," he teased, carrying you through the apartment and to the nearest piece of furniture - the couch. Dropping down with you straddling his lap, he chuckled, "Here, put it on, yeah? Keep it safe." You grinned and accepted the ring, letting him slide it on, but unable to admire it in full as it became a free-for-all frenzy; tearing clothes from the other, lips suckling, teeth clashing, spit smearing. Breaking apart for a moment, Tangerine growled, "I don't know if I love or hate tonight, huh? Seein' you with him, sayin' you'll marry me, comin' home - "

"Ace, Tangie? Baby?" You smirked, holding his cheeks to keep his face in front of yours, "Tonight's good - it's a good night. Yeah?"

He nodded, "Yeah."

"It's a good night - say it."

"A good night - great night."

"Great fuckin' night," you agreed, "now, I need you to fuck me before I spontaneously combust - "

Aaron's mouth was on yours before the words were fully formed. You gasped, holding on tightly, encouraging his tongue to tangle with yours as the night's emotions overtook you both in a searing heat of passion. His hands planted on your hips and began guiding your movements in slow, languid strokes over his growing bulge you were seated on.

With a small growl, Tangerine pulled back only to flip you over; laying your back to the cushions so he could hover over you, his hips grinding between your spread legs. "Mine," he grit, licking into your mouth as he pushed his cock directly into your moistening center, "all mine. Hear me? All fucking mine - you won't ever be with another man. Yeah?"

You weakly whimpered, nodding; his teeth catching your bottom lip and pulling. Your breast was palmed by a hot and heavy hand; gasping when Tangie pinched your nipple through the fabric of your dress.

"Nah, nah, nah," Tan grumbled, "wanna hear you say it, baby. Need to hear it."

Boldly, you reached out to rub the heel of your palm into his leaking member, managing to speak against his lips, "I'm all yours, Aaron. Never anyone else's."

"Yeah?" He grit.

"Yeah," you nodded, giving a flex of your hand that made his shoulders stiffen, "and no other man will know me - nor will I know another man. It's you and me."

"About fuckin' time; ain't never lettin' you go again, baby," he breathed, taking both wrists in his to pin over your head. "Now... Let me make up for this past year."

Ms. Roberts wore noise canceling headphones the entire night and began researching new apartment buildings available for move-in ASAP.

Dawn broke, filling the room with a warm, bright light that accentuated the smoke wafting from Aaron's mouth. Neither of you got any sleep; exhausted in the best way possible, laid in bed, your head on his shoulder with arms bent to mindlessly twiddle together in the air.

"Remember that first retreat your company sent employees on?" Aaron asked softly, his other hand flicking his cigarette ash into a nearby ashtray.

"Hm... The one to Cancún?"

"Yeah."

"The one I missed 'cause we had a 48-hour romp?"

Tangerine laughed slightly, "That's the one."

"What about it?"

"Just... Laying here made me think of it. How fucked-out you were, how you missed your damn plane."

"You made me miss it!"

"That sounds accusatory."

You grinned when he lowered the cigarette to your lips, letting you puff it before pulling away. On exhale, you reminded, "You're the one who couldn't cut me a damn break."

"Since when do you want me to go easy on this pussy? Huh?"

With a snicker, you mused, "When you're whiskey-drunk and I'm drinking champagne?"

Tangie paused, then nodded, "Yeah, all right, that's fair. Whiskey dick ain't a joke, love."

You hummed and turned on your side into him, hiking your leg over his hips; snuggling into his warmth, new angle allowing you to gaze up at him. His arm laid around you in a secure hold, the other lazily smoking. You added, "Neither is being champagne drunk, makes me queazy."

"Probably not the best combination for fucking, huh?"

"I don't recommend it."

Aaron was quiet a moment, inhaling toxic smoke with a hiss through his teeth, "Bet they got champagne on them planes to Cancún."

"Bet they got champagne for other destinations, too," you teased. "Besides, why do you care? You're banned from popping bottles."

"Huh? Since when - why?"

"Since you sprayed me with a bottle that cost more than $3,000 USD!"

"If I can't spray my girl in luxury, what the fuck is this all for?" He smirked, looking down at you fondly.

"That bottle was meant to shmooze the German Ambassador!"

"Well, someone should've put a label on it!" You laughed his name, feeling his arm tighten. He tacked on, "Y'know, I gotta admit, just doesn't feel real yet."

"Hmm?"

"You... Back in my arms, in our bed - our home," he gave a great big deep sigh.

"It'll get real when people know we're back together."

"Is it wrong I want it to just be us for a bit? Private, intimate, just being together without everyone's outside influence or opinion?"

You smiled softly, "No, it's not wrong... I'd be lying if I said I didn't want the same."

"Then how about we catch a flight outta here?"

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon," he beamed, suddenly struck with renewed vigor; positively radiating with excitement. You pulled off his chest in time for him to sit up, insisting, "Let's do it all again, baby. Let's catch a flight, change the weather to celebrate us promising forever."

"Tangie, baby, what're you talking about? We can't just up and leave - "

"Why not?"

"We have jobs! Or at least, I have a job with a consistent schedule."

"Oh, c'mon, doll, don't think too hard - let's go, let's catch a flight somewhere warm and sunny."

"You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

Tangerine shrugged, "Not likely. Can think of it as some engagement celebration - but just between us. I mean, it's never gonna be 'just us' again, you know?"

With a sigh, you agreed, "All right... Let's go."

"All right?"

"Yeah, all right, fine."

"Yeah? All right? Fine?"

"Oh, fuck about - don't parrot me, Aaron!"

He chuckled with a grin so wide, you wondered how it didn't split his face in two. Your fiancé playfully dropped onto your front; jostling the bed, arms planted on either side of you to keep his weight balancd while dotting rapid kisses around your face.

When satisfied, he pulled back and all but bounced out of bed while encouraging, "Let's go, c'mon!"

"Baby, wait - "

"You grab the passports, I'll pack for us!"

You paused to watch him rush into the walk-in closet, laughing and muttering as you climbed out of bed, "I'm gonna be in questionable clothing this whole vacation, aren't I?" There was a fond smile on your face.

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

This part in Jon III AGoT when he’s realizing that he means to swear his life to a celibate institution at only the age of 14, before he could explore all the options the world has to offer him.

“I don’t care,” Jon said. “I don’t care about them and I don’t care about you or Thorne or Benjen Stark or any of it. I hate it here. It’s too… it’s cold.” “Yes. Cold and hard and mean, that’s the Wall, and the men who walk it. Not like the stories your wet nurse told you. Well, piss on the stories and piss on your wet nurse. This is the way it is, and you’re here for life, same as the rest of us.” “Life,” Jon repeated bitterly. The armorer could talk about life. He’d had one. He’d only taken the black after he’d lost an arm at the siege of Storm’s End. Before that he’d smithed for Stannis Baratheon, the king’s brother. He’d seen the Seven Kingdoms from one end to the other; he’d feasted and wenched and fought in a hundred battles. They said it was Donal Noye who’d forged King Robert’s warhammer, the one that crushed the life from Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident. He’d done all the things that Jon would never do, and then when he was old, well past thirty, he’d taken a glancing blow from an axe and the wound had festered until the whole arm had to come off. Only then, crippled, had Donal Noye come to the Wall, when his life was all but over.

This part in Jon V, only two chapters later, when he’s finally about to become a man of the Watch but he can’t get too excited because he’s realizing that there’s a great big world down there, yet he’s all the way up here at the Wall - a cold, unwelcoming home; a prison with no escape unless he wishes to die.

He had no destination in mind. He wanted only to ride. He followed the creek for a time, listening to the icy trickle of water over rock, then cut across the fields to the kingsroad. It stretched out before him, narrow and stony and pocked with weeds, a road of no particular promise, yet the sight of it filled Jon Snow with a vast longing. Winterfell was down that road, and beyond it Riverrun and King’s Landing and the Eyrie and so many other places; Casterly Rock, the Isle of Faces, the red mountains of Dorne, the hundred islands of Braavos in the sea, the smoking ruins of old Valyria. All the places that Jon would never see. The world was down that road… and he was here. Once he swore his vow, the Wall would be his home until he was old as Maester Aemon. “I have not sworn yet,” he muttered. He was no outlaw, bound to take the black or pay the penalty for his crimes. He had come here freely, and he might leave freely… until he said the words. He need only ride on, and he could leave it all behind. By the time the moon was full again, he would be back in Winterfell with his brothers. Your half brothers, a voice inside reminded him. And Lady Stark, who will not welcome you. There was no place for him in Winterfell, no place in King’s Landing either. Even his own mother had not had a place for him. The thought of her made him sad. He wondered who she had been, what she had looked like, why his father had left her. Because she was a whore or an adulteress, fool. Something dark and dishonorable, or else why was Lord Eddard too ashamed to speak of her? Jon Snow turned away from the kingsroad to look behind him. The fires of Castle Black were hidden behind a hill, but the Wall was there, pale beneath the moon, vast and cold, running from horizon to horizon. He wheeled his horse around and started for home.

Yes Jon could leave the Watch, but he has no place! Because where would he go, bastard that he is?

That’s why the most underrated endgame theory is ‘Traveling Diplomat Jon’. Yes he’s a talented politician and he would do very well as a ruling lord, but there’s so much he’s yet to discover because he struggled to see where his illegitimate status could take him. But even in his bastardy, Jon is connected to so many important locations all around Westeros. Forget Winterfell. He could visit Harrenhall where his parents met. He could go look for rubies in the Trident and see where his father died. He could visit the Vale, the place that raised his adoptive father and the man he’s named after. He could take a trip to Starfall and visit his milkbrother, then visit the Tower of Joy’s ruins. He could got to Dragonstone and Summerhall, his father’s birthplace and home. If he wishes, he can cross the Narrow Sea and visit his friend (and personal banker) Tycho Nestoris in Braavos. And if his suicidal tendencies get stronger, why not visit the smoky ruins of Valyria where sleeping dragons were once brought to life, just like himself?

Jon has spent five books earning his ‘Lord Snow’ title. And though it’s an oxymoron everyone, from baseborn bastards to mighty kings, calls him that and not all of them do it as a sign of mockery. He’s put in a lot of work towards coming to terms with his bastardy. So it’s finally time for him to take that in consideration and realize that there’s a great big world out there that’s ready to welcome him, bastard as he is.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Cold War

The receiving room was beautifully furnished. Neither overly ostentatious nor fussy in design. But it had a... coldness to it. This entire god forsaken building was, artfully hidden fireplaces be damned.

And it wasn't just the temperature.

The North may be a cold place, but the people there had always been a hardy one. Kind, if stoic. Not the sort for empty words and flamboyant gestures. So to see a building like this? One so very, very COLD? It spoke of something rotten. Something gone terribly wrong and far beyond control, hidden away out in the countryside where no one could stop it in time.

And it had.

And it DID.

And oh, how we SUFFERED for it, didn't we?

I didn't understand what went wrong. I knew, KNEW, because I was no fool, that the Story would change. Since I was remove a load bearing antagonist, how could it NOT? But... well, I did not wish to die. Certainly not for some other girl's love story. I refused to suffer. To be humiliated. To lead a life of pain and degradation. Just so she might frolic about with men, only to ultimately end up on the throne.

She would either have to find her way to greatness on her own merit, or settle of mediocrity. But it would NOT be built upon the back of my suffering. I gracefully bowed out. Took leave of the stage. And? Comported myself as befit a daughter of my house.

They were not... the most open. In fact, they struggled to connect. To offer or even receive comforts of any kind. But my family LOVED with a fierceness that would lead armies and burn nations. We were ABSOLUTE. And we? Stand TOGETHER. Always.

I would never forget. No matter how many days pass by. WHO I first saw when I opened my eyes. Clustered around my tiny form, rumbled and undignified in a way I would never see them again, with eyes that shone with such RELIEF. I never saw my mother's make run like that again. I half believe she hopes I do not remember.

But I DO.

And I always will.

In the Story, my character was a terror. Haughty and cruel. Sadistic. A wealthy brat that played God right up until all her sins came due. She drove a great deal of the early plot. I? Did none of those things. I threw myself into being a good daughter and a shining reflection upon the parents I loved.

I took my etiquette lessons seriously, to the delight of my teachers. My school work was promptly finished and followed by clarifying questions, to the joy of my tutors. I was polite to my peers. Overlooked their embarrassing early fumbles and mistakes. Helped them navigate social disasters with dignity. Promised nothing yet remained approachable.

My prospects had been ABYSMAL in the Story. It was part of the Narrative's punishment, I think. Though in hindsight, it is an ugly thing to do. A wonder I ever found such a story interesting enough to read. I imagine, it is the difference between tales and lived events? Nonetheless. My father was FLOODED with letters.

My poor mother absolutely HARRASED. Not an outing could go by, without SOMEONE mentioning their DEAR, SWEET son or nephew. To maintain proper appearances and neutrality, I was forced to attend more party's and events then I EVER wished to see.

I felt like a slab of meat up for auction. A show pony. But I also knew it was temporary. That I need only keep an eye out for a good, respectful man. Listen to the rumor mills. Discreetly bribe a few servants for information that "everyone knew". It was, after all, the way of things.

Should have been, the way of things.

But trouble started. Strange infighting, that started between boys and escalated to entire households. Tense, unspoken, lines dividing garden parties that only the day before were amicable. The Protagonist and her Harem of powerful players? Were BLIND to it.

Two of them were PRINCE for God sake! How had they been RAISED, that they could not feel the sudden shift in the socio-political landscape of their Father's court? He certainly could. And it clearly unnerved him. Yet? The Harem, each son's, each HEIRS, of some powerful position? Seemed both blind and deaf to all but the painfully obvious.

And even THAT? Was apparently unconnected to each other in their empty little minds. Had they nothing but flowers and glitter between their ears? One had to assume.

People were... accidentally forgotten. When invitations were sent. Then deliberately. Then OPENLY. Then? They were SNUBBED. Events deliberately scheduled on the same day, at the same time, as another. So all of polite society would have to CHOOSE. It was escalation.

And if it had been on or two houses? It would have been scandalous. Depending on the house, perhaps even worrying. A handful of houses? The king might have tried to get involved. Forcefully mediate. But it... it was somehow so much WORSE. Was EVERYWHERE.

Like someone had carefully examined the entirety of the Court for fault lines, then SWUNG. Some silent, careful, machination that left everyone at everyone's throat. Divided. Weak.

Easy to manipulate and control.

I could not for the life of me find the source of it all. My social season becoming swiftly more and more dangerous. Politically charged. People pushing and PUSHING for alliances I could not and WOULD NOT give without consulting my family. The capital was no longer safe. So... I quietly left.

Letters of vague excuse. Family matters, cousin so-n-so in their time of need, I'm sure you understand. Too late to stop me and under the cover of darkness.

It... I tell myself it is not my fault. That it would have happened either way. That I could not have known. But... but guilt is a heavy thing. It sits like lead in your gut. Like chains around your soul. They were waiting, I think. More, I suspect. Because...

Because the capital all but EXPLODED.

The carnage was IMMEDIATE. Not even a full day later, at a hunting party, the heir to one house shot the second son to another.

He did not survive.

The powder keg finally sparked and it all went up in flames. Alliances that had stood for centuries, shattered. Brother turned against brother. A wedding turned into a bloodbath, as the bride turned on both her family AND the groom, escaped into the night. Fights broke out everywhere.

The festering tension that had gone for so long unspoken? Could no longer be ignored. Would not, be ignored. The king was helpless to stop it all. The gaurd could only do so much. The fluffy, happy, empty headed little world of comfort the Protagonist knew? Was shredded to pieces.

It became starkly clear that the royal family... couldn't handle it.

That their heirs were... Weak.

Captain of the Gaurd, the Prime Minister, even the King's strongest supporter, the Duke of the East, ALL of them had... weak and ineffectual heirs. One or two could be a failing of parentage, but all together? They had let someone sabotage their sons. Make them puppets to be used and discarded at convenience.

The natural suspicion, of course, fell to the one most benefiting from said son's empty headedness. Much to the Harem's horror. No! Not their beloved shared girlfriend! That the world was burning around them? Of no consequence. But upsetting their darling little mouse? Unforgivable!

It was an act of true, genuine, paternal love; that those fools were banished by the king. They would have been killed horribly had they remained.

My family and I? Retreated to our lands. We had enough to survive. Our House and our People came first. We sent no messages, we received none. I practiced my frankly terrible embroidery. My maids gently CORRECTED my frankly terrible embroidery. The country BURNED.

Powerful people were picked off, one by one.

And wouldn't you know it? A new star was rising from the chaos. A voice of reason. Charismatic. Driven. Handsome and powerful, with the bloodline to match. Conveniently allied already to all those people who had replaced the Old Guard in government! How very serendipitous. That those positions should just... open up, like that. That he just HAPPEN to have such qualified people at the ready.

What ARE the odds?

My House knew our monster know. We watched. Careful. As he smiled and smiled. One hand open in welcome, the other? Holding a knife, hidden just out of sight. The king saw him for what he was. And the monster saw a worthy foe in the king. They were, after all, both very Dangerous men.

It was likely swordsmen duel.

Deadly steel clashing, shining, swift as it dances, from attack to defend to attack again. Experience versus youth. Power against power. The king was an old dragon, stood against a tiger come to see him dead. And though the dance was breathtaking? In the end... the dragon was old. Tired. And not the man he had once been.

The tiger won.

The king died in his sleep. Of... natural causes. No one believed it. No one dared say otherwise. The crown princess ascended the throne. She had played the game well. Taken after her Father. Been neglected in favor of her idiot brothers. In the Story, she was to be married off. A side character never to be heard from again.

It seems she was not content with such a fate.

Now she was Queen.

My family and I applauded. Polite. I hoped it marked the end of the strangeness. So many had died. So much had changed. Surely... surely it was over, wasn't it? But then? In the cold light of the early morning hours? A letter. Pristine and on a fine paper. Sat like a viper upon the table before us. A bomb.

My Father had stared at it, over steepled hands, like if he glared long enough? It would simply catch fire and burn away. The Monster's crest. Pressed lovingly into the wax. What... what did That Man want with us?

I watched him grit him teeth. Run his letter opener through paper like he was imagining jerking it across flesh, slitting the bastards throat for DARING to threaten his family. I held my mother's hand as he read. Watched his grip on the pages go white knuckled.

He didn't even tell a servant to burn it.

He slammed his chair back, in a terrible fury, and marched straight to the nearest fireplace to consign the letter to the flames. Over his dead body. Was his announcement. I... I had a terrible feeling it might be, whatever was on those pages.

The letters kept coming.

My Father burned them all.

Then? Trouble started.

And I did not need to see history twice, to know how it would end. I got up early. Waited near the damn GATES. My Father could not burn the letter before I read it, if I was there first. It... it was a marriage proposal. I... I did not understand. Why? For what POSSIBLE reason would he...?

It did not matter though, ultimately. I would be saying yes.

For my family? Anything.

And so I packed. My Father knew he couldn't stop me. I was entirely too much his daughter. It was why he had burned the letters. I was doing exactly what he would have done. He vowed to kill him. Slowly. Held me a swore. He would make me the loviest widow to ever live. My Mother promised to go look up family recipes for poisons. For rats, of course.

I loved them so, so much.

I LOVE them even now.

It is why I sit, back straight, fragrant tea untouched, in this cold but beautiful receiving room. I wear my best dress. The one that makes me look coldly beautiful. Elegant but untouchable. I feel like a winter spirit in it. Something made of ice and bone. I wear it when I want to feel stronger. I don't know if it's helping.

If I hold myself still. Count my breathing and do not think. I can almost... ALMOST? Slip into a trance, I think. Let my mind unfocus. They are keeping me waiting. It's a power play. So be it. You will find me unaffected. Bored even, by your petty displays. I stare peacefully into nothing. A statue in a silent room.

I hope I fucking unnerve them.

Confident footsteps. How quite has it become, that I can hear them, even through the door? I do not turn my head. Note absent-mindedly that the tea before me has long grown cold. This whole damn place is cold. I dispise it. The door is opened for the master of this house. I pointedly do not greet him.

"Aaah~, So COLD" He sing song's, almost chiding, it'd be nearly playful if not for the hint of something darker threaded through his voice. He has an almost victorious little bounce to his step as he approaches. "But then again, I already knew that, didn't I? Frigid, untouchable, and unfeeling~ Now? Now you're MINE~"

He laughs. There is something half disbelieving, half euphoric in the noise. Like he's finally gotten everything he's ever wanted and doesn't know what to DO with himself. He invades my space. Looms. Eyes a touch too wide as he stares. Drinking in the sight of me sitting before him, like he can't believe it's real.

"Do you know, snowdrop? How long it TOOK? What I had to DO to achieve this? Ha ha!" The grin that spills across his feature is unhinged. All I can do is sit, tense and frozen before a madman, as he speaks. "The WHINING, the COMPLAINING, the 'what about meeeee'~! They never shut UP! Wretched and pathetic to the last, they panted after you like DOGS."

Hands slid from his pockets, to come to rest on either side of me on the arm rests, bracing and caging me in. Trapping me as he leaned down. Entirely too close. He smelled like winter air, sharp but clean. His eyes were a blue grey so hauntingly pale, they seemed to bore straight into the soul.

"But they were so GREEDY. So DESPERATE for power. It was EASY, to play them like fools against each other. Make them DANCE. And worth it. Because I get what I wanted~ The brat get her silly little throne, and you?" His grin was all teeth. One hand coming up to rest on my head. "Now you can NEVER escape me."

The hand slid, slow and fingers splayed, downwards. Possessive as each finger brushed, stroked, the side of my face. My jaw. My neck. His eyes following it down with something that could only be blatant lust. His grip tightened around my neck. Not enough to choke. Just, it seemed, to prove to himself that he COULD.

His thumb rest again my pulse, facinated.

Sliding back up to cup my chin, gently forcing my head up, so I had no choice but to meet his eyes. His eyes were dilated. I glared.

"I am going to RUIN you." He whispered, sounding entirely too reverent. As though it were some act of worship he had planned. "Take you apart at the seams. Pretty, pretty little thing. Mine, all mine~"

"I saw you first, you know. You couldn't even be bothered to look at me. I tried all night. That's when I KNEW. I was going to hunt you down. MAKE you mine. Marry you and destroy anyone and anything that stood in my way. And I DID~♡"

"I'm going to have each and every part of you, Darling. Love you and love you until you can't HELP but love me back. We are going to be BEAUTIFUL together. You don't have a choice~♡"

[dyns33]

Only Wastelands part 3

The people have spoken ! Viva the Ghoul ! Feo fuerte y formal. And since I'm all three of that, I'll give you part 3 and not a new story.

Just, be patient, it will be a longer series than even I expected. I think 5 or 6 parts.

Tag : @one-of-thewalkingdead @coolrobloxkid28 @thebumbqueen @rachmari @ilyvia @justme12200 @honeybunhottie @savanahc @gobbodoggo @bisasterbisexual @killingboredom @bonafideyapper @i-simp-for-mha-men @pixelatedprofilepic @ultimatreality @chattersstuff @harmfulb1tch @hellolettuce444 @miketastic25 @darkangel4121 @avidreadee123 @kaitttttttt @nullx1ety

It was now official, Y/N was the unluckiest person in all of the wastelands.

The only thing she had always wanted since she came out of her hole was to survive, for as long as possible, having to do as little harm as possible, and staying all alone, far from creatures, people, Cooper and Vault Tech.

Henry MacLean's smile clearly indicated his pre-atomization work. Smooth talking, manipulating, complimenting and lying to get what he wanted.

No doubt he was considered gifted at the time, but Lucy's father didn't seem to have fully understood that the rules had changed and those who remained had adapted.

He needed a guide and a bodyguard to get to a high-security shelter. Like his daughter, he had a keen eye, he had spotted her as she was about to leave New Vegas, and her pitboy had left him thinking that they were part of the same side.

Y/N would have told him that she only had one side, hers, but she was smart enough to keep a neutral face while he spoke to her. Were all the inhabitants of the Vault so damn talkative ?

"If you come with me, if you help me, I can guarantee you a special place in a wonderful vault. You will be safe, fed, with water, clothes, a bed. It's a good deal, right ?”

“And what makes you think they’ll welcome you with open arms ?”

The question seemed to confuse him for a moment, then he put on his fake smile again, pretending that everything would be fine and that his friends wouldn't let him down.

Either he was totally stupid or he was deluding himself. Hope took a long time to die here.

In any case, even if the deal was tempting, everything was against accepting it. Because she couldn't trust Henry and Vault, because she didn't want to go back underground, because Cooper was looking for this guy and her primery goal was to never see the Ghoul again.

The problem was the armor. Now that he had spotted her and considered her to be his best means of reaching his destination, MacLean was not going to let her go so easily.

He could shoot her if she tried to flee, and he would be hard to kill with his protection. Coop had told her about a malfunction, but Y/N wasn't sure where it was.

To continue to survive, it was therefore wiser to follow MacLean, returning his smile, waiting for the ideal moment to disappear. But the man was not as stupid as he seemed, and he refused to sleep, never leaving her side.

Still less clever than Lucy, he did not connect their pitboys.

When they arrived at his destination, Y/N was sure that this was the end. Vault Tech was made up of assholes, so they were going to kill their dear employee, or they were going to leave him out, and most certainly, they were going to kill her.

But no. In their hypocritical pretense of saviors of humanity, the doors were opened and they were received as nobles.

It would be a lie to say that Y/N didn't appreciate the hot shower she was able to take in her private room. The first in years. She savored the food, she resisted jumping on the bed like a child, and she cried a bit while watching TV, showing scenes of the life before, lost forever.

And after a presentation on community life in the shelters, a movie. An old Western film. With the main star, Cooper Howard.

Y/N had never seen his movies. She had seen the posters, she had heard of the actor, he appeared in Vault ads until his divorce and the accusations of communism.

More serious than in the picture he had given her, quite ridiculous with his fringed suit, he gave a moral lesson to his enemy, saying that killing was wrong. Ah, Coop would die laughing if he heard that now.

This thought made her a little sad. Y/N was mad at him, and at the same time she put herself in his boots.

He had been betrayed by his ex-wife, he had been separated from his daughter, he had transformed into a sort of zombie, still conscious thanks to medication but in danger of losing his mind at any moment, wandering for eternity in the wastelands, where he could be killed, insulted, or see those he took the risk of loving die in front of him.

Maybe he had loved her at one time. She wanted to believe that. She wanted to believe that this man on the screen hadn't disappeared, he was just hurt, bruised, and wanting to protect himself. So it was normal that he didn't want to keep a burden like her any longer.

She had to keep the good memories.

His laugh, the time they danced together in a ruined dinner, his arm around her as she slept on his shoulder.

When he called her a fucking pet, a good ribbance, no one he cared about.

It was a bit out of boredom, and mostly thinking about her next move, that Y/N hacked into the vault's system, to look at their little secrets and get useful information, like where the food was stored and how to get out without being spotted.

She didn't expect to see the name Howard. Barbara and Janey Howard.

Obviously she had fallen into the main, original, most important Vault, which brought together people deemed to be priorities such as the president of the country, the president of Vault Tech, their advisors and their families.

He wasn't as important, and that's why he'd been placed elsewhere, but Henry had been loyal, and he could tell them about the state of the outside world, so they'd let him in. Y/N’s fate was still to be determined.

Leaving now, stealing supplies and waiting for nightfall would have been easy for her. The best thing to do.

But Y/N had often imagined this little girl, adored by her father. Cooper didn't talk about her often, his voice shaking whenever he mentioned Janey. His little Janey.

No doubt he would be here soon, he could get her back himself. But what if he couldn't do it ? What if he was killed trying ? What if the little girl was killed because, thinking she wasn't there, he blew everything up ?

It was not stated whether Barbara was still alive. Y/N didn’t really care. This woman could use her status as a mother all she wanted to justify her actions, what she had done was abominable.

At her request, Janey had been put to sleep, and she was not to be awakened until the outside was perfectly safe and sound, and then the world would be hers.

It was impossible to tell whether that was a good thing or not, whether it wouldn't have been better if she had simply grown up in the Vault after the explosion, or if she hadn't survived to never see all this.

But it was not the time for useless questions like this. Not anymore. Using all her knowledge and discretion, Y/N sneaked up to the cryonyzation chambers.

One thing was certain, Janey was her father's daughter. She had his look, stubborn and clever like him, immediately wary of this stranger who asked her to follow her. Her parents had often told her not to follow people she didn't know.

"Hold on." Y/N said kindly as she took out the photo Cooper had given her. "Look. Your dad gave her to me. He told me a lot about you. His favorite cowgirl. He's looking for you everywhere."

That wasn't entirely true. He had looked for her everywhere. Despair had slowed his motivation a bit after a hundred years.

"Daddy ? You know where my daddy is ?"

"Yes. I'll take you to see him, all right ?"

Her smile. Even the sun was not as radiant as the smile of this little girl, who jumped into her arms, happy to be able to find her daddy.

Y/N would later think about how she didn't want to find the father, and that Janey would be in for a bit of a shock if they ended up meeting him.

After all, Cooper had changed, physically and mentally. It wasn't going to be so easy to explain to her that he had had health problems, but that it was really him, without a nose, with charred skin, yellow teeth, and blood on his hands.

Children were rare in the wastelands. It wasn't a place for them, people weren't crazy enough to procreate. Some could no longer do so, because of the radiation. And the little ones often left very early, for various reasons, both sad and horrible.

She no longer really remembered how to behave around a child, nor how a child behave. For the moment, the little girl was calm, holding her hand as she followed her out of the shelter.

But she might be scared outside. Not obeying, walking too slowly, shouting. Oh, she shouldn't scream, that would attract all the raiders and deathclaws in the area. And if something happened to her, then after three years, the Ghoul would finally come for Y/N.

Just, not to save her.

"It's very dangerous out there. Okay, Janey ?" she explained, kneeling down in front of the little girl to look her in the eyes. "You're going to have to be brave, and do everything I say. Can you do that ?"

"Yes."

"You promise me ? It really wouldn't be easy."

“We cowpokes take it as it comes.” Janey said proudly, her smile as adorable as ever, but her expression showing her seriousness. She understood well.

"Alright. So, don't make a sound. You stay calm, you stay close to me unless I tell you to hide, and you wait for me to come get you."

“And we’re going to see my daddy ?”

"… Yes. We're going to see your dad. We just have to… He loves you a lot, he's been a little sick."

“I’ll give him a kiss so he can heal.”

"We'll see about that. I have Radaway. I'm going to open the door, and I'm going to carry you, because there's a chance the turrets will shoot at us. Don't scream, hold on tight and trust me."

Janey continued to smile, giving a thumbs up. She may not have understood everything after all, but that was normal at her age.

Her little hands would squeeze tighter when they were outside, the heat and putrid air beating down on them, but she didn't make a sound, her head in her neck, while Y/N ran as fast as possible away from here, taking cover, dodging gunfire and ignoring alarms.

In the desert, you couldn't stop until you were sure you were alone, hidden by the night. Then they could sit down, drink a bit, and look at the direction they had to take.

And looking at the map of her pitboy, where Lucy MacLean's exact location was flashing happily, Y/N sighed, adjusting Janey against her so she was sleeping in a comfortable position, knowing full well where she needed to go.

It was time to face her demons.

[callsigns-haze]

Out of All: Chp 13 (the final chapter)

Jake Seresin x OC! Anna Bradshaw

Brothers' Best Friend Series! Follow along as these characters navigate the treacherous waters of love, loyalty, and desire, all while facing the ultimate taboo: falling for your sibling's best friend. From heart-pounding moments to steamy encounters, this series is a rollercoaster of emotions that will keep you hooked until the very end. Brace yourself for intense romantic tension, sizzling chemistry, and enough drama to keep you guessing. Are you ready to embark on this captivating journey?

This chapter includes explicit sexual content with detailed descriptions of sexual activity and intimacy between characters. Scenes depict physical intimacy, including kissing, touching, and biting, with characters described in states of undress. Emotional intensity is explored, encompassing themes of longing, desire, and vulnerability, with brief references to past trauma. Characters may be shown consuming alcoholic beverages, and mature themes such as casual relationships

Waking up in your own home, first time ever is a quite strange but incomparable experience. You can do anything, and you choose to lay and stare. Staring at the blank ceiling, before you open up the small window, allowing the sun to illuminate the small room of the apartment.

As you pull the blinds up, the sun first falls upon the tiny little desk, with the beautiful June roses upon it. The tiny little vase is full of them, the fresh smell spreads its spell across the room as you walk in that one oversized t-shirt. It's been a while, a while it's putting it nicely.

You're now four months pregnant. You've been living away from Bradley for a good two and a half months but that didn't mean the two of you didn't talk. You did just never the same way as before. And for Jake, you really didn't know what was going on between the two of you anymore.

The most you have ever seen either Bradley or Jake is at the hard deck. For now you refused to tell either of them where you are staying because the incident in the locker room turned out not to be the only one. They had a bigger incident on the tarmac… Before their punishment was set out, there was a hospital trip you had to attend which drove you insane. This is a fight between a thirty year old brother fighting against the twenty eight year old father of their niece or nephew.

You told both of that day that this wasn't going to work in such a way. You knew that messing around with your brother's wingman was dangerous but it started ruining their connection. And you weren't going to be the reason for that if you stepped away.

So, basically for the last few weeks you've met them at the hard deck; everyone could still sense the tension between the two men but the storm between the two was surely beginning to calm at shore. For your mental support you've always brought along Caila, it helped but she seemed to find her own reason to go. Bob. Somehow, the two of them…where bonding? You see, Bob is a tiny shy butterfly and Caila, well putting it nicely is the most stubborn person in the world.

You found it cute how Bob tried to make a good impression on her but the stubborn best friend you've got, didn't ignore it just simply didn't notice… Yes she's blind for feelings.

You never thought you'd be happy to say this but you're happy that somehow your misery is bringing a good and positive outcome upon your friend, you were all ride or die for it.

But today is none of the hard deck crap, or a day filled with stupid boys. Today was your day, but also it wasn't that great. June thirteenth. It's a day that, quite haunts your family. Twenty five years back, exactly on this day your father died in a severe ejection incident. You never got the chance to meet your father, but saw the true outcome of him in Bradley and stories that people told you.

Each year, you'd slope around and mourn the day but not today. Today was finally your day. Today you change June 13th history. Today is the day you'll find out the gender of your baby. You'll finally get to see what member of the family you'll have in five months time. But that's not the only excitement you have made for today, today you'll release the first teaser songs to your first ever album.

Today you were going down in history, and it'll for sure be a good one.

---

Truly when Jake was waking up he didn't know what to feel, today was the gender reveal of his baby yet he wasn't going to be there. This was due to the big work meeting he had exactly at the same time as the appointment and he also felt guilty, you didn't want to see him especially after that chick incident at the bar.

Ever since he got things worse between himself and Bradley, you started to ignore him. You barely ever texted, well not as much as you used to. The two of you didn't continue your dates but that's where the blame is on him.

He felt that you didn't want to interact with him as much as he believed and decided to take a step back to even things out, but that must have hurt you even more and caused you to back off. He knows this is such a cliché, but you don't know what you have till it's gone away. And if he could take away any pain but he still lies beside an empty space inside the bed he made. Usually he wouldn't mind but he realised he was hurting you.

He's sorry because he put you through hell, you tried to love him while he hated himself. He knows it's too late for apologies, for all of the mistakes that he didn't see; the blame's on him.

His body was bent over to the right against his locker. Hie eyes lay deep and their glimmer was nowhere to be seen due to the intensity of sadness that flooded him.

His shirt was out of his jeans in the side while he stared at the first ultrasound of your shared child. His muscles flexed as he exhaled. His eyes stiffened and a scowl came to his face.

"What do you want this time, Bradshaw? Huh! Wanna slam my head against this locker or kick me down into the tarmac?! Go ahead!" His voice was overwhelmed with fury and his pain tightened lips were getting pale.

"Out of all, why my sister?" Jake looked at him. He looked at him with a frown that was mingled through confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Why her?"

Jake didn't know the proper answer. Truly when he saw you at that bar for the very first time he knew his life has changed for the better, seeing you even once was enough. He used to cancel plans the second you called. Open the door in case you knocked. He was in love.

"Because…I love her."

Bradley for the first time in weeks laid his eyes upon his wingman and inspected him. God he hated the thought of that blonde slutty Texans arms around his tiny innocent sister but he had no option did he. He had no control over your story, but Jake was let onto your life story but it was your decision what path you'll take.

"Then why you here instead of being with her? I hate you soo much Seresin. Don't think I don't but she's about to find out the gender of your child and you're too scared to text her!?"

Right now, Bradley wasn't playing the big brother of his little sister that he would go through hell or high water for. He wasn't playing the protector of the traumatized little girl that you were. He was playing the best friend.

"She won't want me anymore."

"One thought against another."

--

As you sit alone in the ultrasound room, a mixture of nerves and excitement fills the air around you. You watch intently as the nurse applies the gel and begins to move the ultrasound wand over your belly. With each passing moment, your heart beats a little faster, anticipation building as you wait to catch a glimpse of your unborn baby.

As the image starts to form on the screen, your breath catches in your throat. The nurse smiles warmly and points to the screen, "There it is," she says gently, "Would you like to know the gender?"

You nod eagerly, your eyes fixed on the monitor. A rush of emotions floods over you as you hear the nurse reveal the news. Tears of joy well up in your eyes as you realize you're about to embark on this incredible journey of motherhood.

In that quiet room, alone with your unborn child, you feel a profound sense of connection and love. Despite any challenges you've faced in the past, you know that this little life growing inside you is a blessing, a beacon of hope for the future. And as you wipe away your tears, you whisper softly to your baby, promising to love and cherish them always.

After eagerly waiting on the chair, you receive the news that you are expecting a little baby girl. Excitement bubbles within you as you envision the adventures and moments you'll share with your daughter. It's a beautiful revelation, filling you with a sense of wonder and anticipation for the life that lies ahead. Holding onto that image of your precious baby girl, you feel an overwhelming surge of love and protectiveness already blossoming within you.

The nurse asks if you'd like any of the ultrasound pictures for yourself and others, to which you eagerly agree. With a grateful smile, you accept the offer, knowing that these images will become cherished keepsakes, capturing the very first glimpses of your daughter. You imagine sharing these precious moments with loved ones, their excitement and joy mirroring your own. As the nurse prints out the pictures, you hold them close, feeling a deep sense of connection to the little life growing inside you. These images, small as they may be, already hold a world of meaning, symbolizing the boundless love and anticipation you have for your baby girl.

As you leave the office and finally get to your car, a rush of emotions overwhelms you. Holding onto the ultrasound pictures, you feel an immense sense of gratitude and excitement for the journey ahead as a mother. But amidst the joy of this precious moment, another wave of anticipation washes over you.

With trembling fingers, you pull out your phone, knowing that today marks not only the announcement of your baby girl but also a milestone in your career as a singer. With a deep breath, you open Instagram and share the news with your fans and followers.

"After a journey filled with challenges and growth, I'm thrilled to share that my new album is finally here! 🎶 This project has been a labor of love, reflecting the highs and lows of my life's experiences. I poured my heart and soul into these songs, and I hope they resonate with you as much as they do with me. Thank you for sticking by me through it all. Let's embark on this new chapter together. #NewAlbum #ComingSoon #MusicIsLife"

As you hit the "post" button, a sense of fulfilment washes over you. Today marks the beginning of two incredible journeys, and you couldn't be more grateful for the love and support surrounding you. With a smile on your face and a heart full of hope, you start the car, ready to embrace whatever the future holds.

After posting the news, you head to the beach, the rhythmic sound of the waves providing a soothing backdrop to your thoughts. As you stroll along the shore, you're keenly aware of the conversation that awaits with the father of your baby. He knew you were pregnant but had expressed curiosity about the gender. With each step, you gather your thoughts, preparing yourself for this important discussion.

---

Jake's heart weighed heavy as he approached you on the beach, knowing he had caused you pain. The sky was overcast, mirroring the turmoil within him, and the waves crashed against the shore with a relentless rhythm, echoing the pounding of his heart. Despite the fear of your anger and disappointment, he couldn't stay away. Each step he took left a deeper imprint in the wet sand, and with every step, his resolve grew stronger, fueled by the love he still held for you.

As he drew near, he saw the storm of emotions brewing in your eyes, a reflection of the hurt he had inflicted. The wind tousled your hair, and you hugged your arms to your chest, a protective barrier against the chill in the air and the coldness between you. Yet, he couldn't delay any longer. Taking a deep breath, he reached out to gently touch your arm, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed your skin, seeking solace in your presence.

You turned to face him, your expression a mixture of disbelief and guardedness. Your eyes, usually so warm and inviting, were now tinged with hurt and scepticism. But before you could utter a word, Jake closed the distance between you and pressed his lips softly against yours, a silent plea for forgiveness. The kiss was tender, filled with unspoken apologies and desperate hope, a fragile bridge trying to span the chasm that had grown between you.

As he pulled away, he looked into your eyes, his own filled with remorse and longing. "I know I've hurt you," he began, his voice raw with emotion, cracking under the weight of his guilt. He paused, struggling to find the right words, his throat tight. "But I can't shake this feeling, this need to make things right. I love you, Chick, more than anything. And I want to be there for you, for us, especially now that I know our baby is going to be a girl."

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his confession. He took your hands in his, his grip firm yet gentle, as if afraid you might slip away. "I was a fool," he continued, his eyes searching yours for a glimmer of hope. "I let my fears and insecurities get the better of me. I pushed you away when all I ever wanted was to keep you close. I see that now, and it tears me apart knowing the pain I've caused."

He glanced down, unable to bear the intensity of your gaze, the tide of his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "Every moment without you has been a reminder of what I've lost," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. "But when I found out about our daughter, something inside me changed. I realized that I want to be the man you need, the father she deserves."

Jake looked up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Please, give me a chance to prove myself," he implored, his voice steadying with determination. "Let me show you that I can be better, that I can love you the way you deserve to be loved. I want to be there for every step of this journey, for you, for our little girl."

He squeezed your hands gently, his touch a silent promise of his commitment. "I know I have a long way to go to earn your trust again," he admitted, "but I'm willing to do whatever it takes. Just tell me what you need, and I'll be there. Always."

His words, filled with genuine remorse and a heartfelt plea for redemption, lingered in the air, a fragile hope that perhaps, just perhaps, you could find it in your heart to forgive him.

A/n: So this is where our series end! I'm going to post some parts on what happened to them in the future and with this comes a big step for me. I'm probably not going to write much more in the tgm fandom, I loved writing for you guys but we all know how downhill things went around here, I'll probably still post one-shots but this is the end of the major series!

tagging:

@callsign-magnolia

@callsign-dexter

@horseslovers2016

@rosiahills22

@djs8891

@hookslove1592

@emma8895eb

@hardballoonlove

@kmc1989

@dempy

@senawashere

@buckysteveloki-me

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@itsmytimetoodream

@jessicab1991

@ahh-chickens

@dingochef

@dizzybee03

@mrsevans90

@lynnevanss

@drakelover78

@smoothdogsgirl

[thatoneluckybee]

Okay, so lemme ramble about the Wild Hunt for a sec, given the new episode, because I am certain there is/will be symbolism at play

Essentially, the Wild Hunt is this germanic (though there's many similar ones around the world) myth. It's this horde of spirits/ghosts that travels through the night on an eternal hunt. Crossing their path is generally seen as a big no-no and a good way to become part of the horde of hallowed dead stuck in the eternal hunt. The same goes for copying their sounds of howling wind (and sometimes barking dogs). However, either of these can be rewarded (usually with something that seems worthless and usually turns out to be gold)

Now, for that sweet symbolism. First of all, the Wild Hunt usually consisted of the hallowed dead. They didn't get to pass onto the afterlife, instead bring swept up by the hunt. In the story this more than likely is replaced by those floating eyeball thingies - the souls of those who got stuck in this world before the afterlife

What I'm more curious/concerned about though is who leads it. It's most certainly someone's Phantom, given the little card with abilities. But who could it be? Let's use some clues from both the episode and the myth

First, the episode. There's 3 main things to consider here. 1) this phantom was outside the gate (and thus also unlikely to be a dean or student). 2) your phantom has to do with how you die (this also ties in with the myths). 3) looking at it's abilities, it has something called 'overclock', and while this could be some sort of rage mode, I think it'd make more sense if it means that this Phantom form can stay up either for a long-ass time, or straight up indefinitely

Now, for the myths. The figure who leads the Hunt actually changes a lot depending on the specific telling, and it's been both men and woman. A largely common factor though is that they get stuck in the Hunt after exclaiming their love for hunting, and something along the lines of wishing they could do it forever (potentially specifically instead of an actual afterlife). Given the thing I said before, I think it's a fairly safe bet the person who's Phantom it is died hunting, or at the very least pursuing something

The person who leads the hunt also seems to be searching for Lenore specifically, which is interesting to me. The Wild Hunt generally hunts animals, not people. So I propose 2 possibilities:

1, mythological: The Wild Hunt, like I said, should generally not be interacted with according to most myths. A possibility is that Lenore or on of her predecessors did do that in some way, shape, or form. Maybe in the real world, but Phantoms can't really be there I think? Maybe someone else like her brother or parent were also in this between dimension and messed with it, though I don't believe that's how it generally works. But maybe that thing at the start of the story, where they got noticed by those monsters, was actually them getting noticed by the Hunt, which is why it's now after her (and likely Annabel too in that case)

2, relationship driven: Essentially, my other idea is that the Phantom that is the Hunt is going after Lenore specifically because of who she is. Maybe her father died or something? But in that case I think her brother is way more likely. Think about it, Theo was first looking for (pursuing?) Lenore. The tree got knocked down by lightning (one of the Phantom's abilities). And he was riding his horse when he was killed. Just saying, it could be possible

Also, interestingly enough, both Lenore and Annabel have a certain degree of connection to the Night Hunt? Lenore has already denounced the 'natural' way passing onto the afterlife is supposed to go in favour of having herself and all her friends coming back to life, somewhat reminiscend of the leaders of the hunt commonly rejecting the afterlife in favour of their hunt. And the woman that led the Hunt in some stories likely all stem from the same figure, the supposed Old Mother Frost (and what, if I may ask you, is Annabel's ability?)

No matter who it is though, I'm hoping they touch on that idea of someone who crosses the Wild Hunt (and shows cleverness/boldness) sometimes gets rewarded. And while is generally looks useless at first, it often turns out to be valuable. Who knows, this endeavor just might be the key to escaping...

...well, that or I'm looking way too deep into it and the writer just chose the Wild Hunt because it looks/sounds cool and vaguely fitting of spirits of the night coming to get you. I mean, most thing I just said are honestly closest to incoherent rambling with vague connections, but who knows...

This is nevermore, you’re NEVER looking too deep into it

IM MAIN TAGGING THIS THIS IS AMAZING

I think it could be Theo? We know SOMETHING happened to him as he was at the top of his class. Was he reincarnated? I doubt it. Theo is also connected with deer and hunting. Would also explain why the Wild Hunt (which Lenore thinks is her curse) seems to be targeting her and her family.

[ziracona]

The fortune teller had shown him this. A week ago. Such a tiny handful of time.

He had simply thought, ‘the fuck was that?’ and shaken it off, to do his job. Like always. He had forgotten, turned away, and moved on.

Pavel was not supposed to believe in ghosts.

There is a fork in the road, and one leads down, endlessly, and you will not be the one to decide which way you go, but you will be the one to walk it.

It was too impossible to explain.

He didn’t think he could have with a year, if he tried. Everything, it was so easy to know, so impossible to express.

Pavel hadn’t wanted to die. He hadn’t wanted to kill Artyom. He had never wanted to drug him, and hand him over for interrogation. He had tried to explain that, but somewhere along the way, he had realized that was impossible too.

He didn’t hate the Spartans; he didn’t want to poison D-6, or Oktyabrskaya. But it didn’t matter, and it was as impossible to explain now, as that had been then.

No, it was more.

The simple truth was that D-6 was going to be taken over, if not by them, then by the Nazis. By Hanza. Maybe by a Ranger gone rogue. If they’d had a sleeper, who knew who else might be hidden inside. And it only took one to end everything.

They had to be the ones with D-6. People would die. Like a giant chess board, Oktyabrskaya would burn. Sacrifice a pawn. Take a bishop. There were no bloodless wars. This was the best that existed in reality: the war with the least blood. It was the best war offered. The lesser of evils. And the Red Line could provide that—equality, peace, order, structure, safety. Nobody else could be trusted to do it. Nobody else would. With every other faction, it would us vs them forever. With the Red Line, eventually ‘they’ would all become ‘us.’

But the rangers would not surrender. They would not give them D-6. It must be taken by force.

And that meant the only choice was how to do it. How many of their people died before the rangers were gone.

It wasn’t about honor and clean fighting. It was about strategy, and the most men going home still breathing. Even if it looked like this.

But of course Artyom had to be here.

It wasn’t fair. Hadn’t his luck torn him to shreds enough the last month already?

He had sort of hoped Artyom would be in Polis. Away from D-6, alive. Staying alive too. Shit. But here he was. And Pavel couldn’t let him through. He had orders, and the orders were right. The orders were ‘kill him.’

He was too strong, too connected, too lucky, too goddamn lucky. And he knew too much.

So either Artyom would die here. Or he would, and so would all his men.

Fair, right, love and war? At least that part was simple.

He couldn’t let him through. He couldn’t look the other way, or give up. Pavel had the same responsibility to fight as hard as he could, that he knew Artyom had, for his Spartans.

If only you’d taken the goddamn offer. WHY didn’t you take the offer? Why couldn’t you just join us? We would have taken you in! You could have stayed! I tried! I really tried! It didn’t have to end like this! This wasn’t the only version of the story.

But. Maybe it was.

The thought was a painful ache. He wished he only understood duty when it was his own.

There was nothing to do then, but kill each other.

Drawing on d’Artagnian was wrong. He hated it. He despised it. But he did it, because the only betrayal worse, would have been not to do it.

A rock and a hard place.

Nowhere left to go.

So he did the only thing he could, for either of them. He yelled.

Pavel mocked, and he baited, and he spat insults down from the roof and the scope of a rifle, taking shots at the friend down there who had saved his life three times, and was taking shots back at him. He played his part as hard as he could. If he killed Artyom, at least he would know Artyom was angrily firing back at an enemy, not dying for faltering on the trigger, not wanting to shoot a friend. And if Artyom killed him, then Artyom would live with the memory of how despicable and callous the traitor had been in his last minutes, not the pointless wondering of if it could have been another way.

It was the only mercy he had to give.

And as the fight drew on, and bodies dropped, and shots rang out, Pavel became more and more convinced it would be the latter.

Somewhere along the way, he looked over as a floodlight beside him shattered, and he realized he was the only one left. It was quiet in the yard.

Just him. Just Artyom.

“Come on up! Come and finish this!”

He reloaded, watching the ranger breach the first floor, hugging walls for cover, fighting in the way Pavel knew. It felt wrong to know. It gave him an edge, an edge he only had by working beside Artyom for so long in the trenches of the metro. He could only hope that Artyom held the same edge towards him, and take his next step forward.

Maybe this is what she meant, he thought, yelling insults of cowardice down the stairs, and taking expert shots at the man he had worked so hard to protect. Sending a bullet through his arm. Down is death. The other path is life. And it’s up to how quick Artyom’s draw is.

It almost felt out of his hands like that. And it was, as he caught a round in the side in exchange, another in the hip, and fell back, bleeding, up the stairs.

He kept shouting, kept taunting. Do not hesitate, d’Artagnian. Hate me, if you want to win. Remorse will make you slow.

Slow meant time to think. Slow meant time to regret, meant time to look back and think, ‘I could have made another choice.’

Pavel saw Artyom stick his head out from the edge of the stairwell, and shot him in the shoulder, taking a round to the chest in return.

That was the one. He felt it tear inside him, not pass like a lucky shot through muscle. That was it then. He was going to die, now. There was no way he could win. He would be too slow. It was over.

No. Unless he lowers his guard because he shot you, and you’re dying.

“Come on, Artyom, come on, come up here, blyadj! I I can't chase you anymore, but I can still put a hole through your head if I see it—don't you worry!” he called with all the venom he could muster, coughing the wet cough of blood, and dragging himself back, trying to find somewhere to retreat.

Artyom must have listened, because he stuck an arm out and fired blind, catching Pavel in the arm and the side. The force flung him to the floor, and Pavel grunted and coughed again, fighting a little to breathe and move at the same time now, dragging himself back along the floor. Unable to stand.

My filter is almost up. I can’t stand. It’s over.

There was no use. Even if he killed Artyom now, he would die before being able to deploy the virus in D-6. There was no longer a duty to kill Artyom. It would accomplish nothing, but the loss of a friend.

Pavel let go of his gun, and dragged himself back as far as he could, until he hit a little table by the far wall of the second story, and watched the entryway with something more like dread than he had expected. But not fear. —Pain. Sadness.

It didn’t have to be this way.

It hadn’t. It didn’t. But it was too late now; it was.

I wish I could explain. There must be words, somewhere, the right ones, that someone could have put into an order to make all this make sense to his silent musketeer. He understood, so there must be a way for someone else to as well.

But Pavel didn’t have it. He couldn’t explain that it had had to be this way, and what was done was done, and he had meant all of what he said, about the Red Line, about the metro, and about Artyom. It was just…

But I can’t. I can’t explain you are my d’Artagnian, and it’s okay to kill me here. And I know it.

So he would do what he could. It was easy, to kill an enemy and walk away.

Easier for Artyom, who would live.

But it wasn’t the truth. And he wished he could have kept that.

The tall shadow of the young ranger darkened the doorway to this last hall, and the bloodied figure approached and stood over him, gun raised, movements careful. He paused, surveying the clearly empty hands and weakened state of his enemy, and he lowered the gun.

There was a moment where Pavel thought somehow, things were not going to end the way he was so certain. Some strange miracle, like the other times Artyom hadn’t been the last thing he’d seen, but the person who’d gotten him back up instead.

Then Artyom holstered the gun, and drew a knife.

“Oh, a knife ah?” he asked, voice taunting, apathetic, eager. He knew it wasn’t ‘a’ knife. It was the knife he’d given him when they met. When they saved each others’ lives the first time, in that death camp. But there was no point left in saying that. He had not wanted to kill Artyom painfully. Why make him live that way either? Athos was supposed to look after d’Artagnian, after all. And he was also supposed to die.

“That ‘ma boy, that’s my boy! Давай - давай! No remorse, no reproach!” he called, fighting to make each syllable egg his friend on this one last time. “Давай!”

And Artyom came. No, ‘Why!?’ no angry shouts of blame, just silence and movement, falling on him almost like a cat, and dragging him up, a knife to his neck.

He should have slashed his throat. Pavel was as close as he could be to ready for that. It was the best he could offer, and he’d made it to the end.

And instead.

There was this.

The small dark one had grabbed him, and he’d been dragged into a memory like he was there again, in the flesh, his orders, less than a day ago. And at the mention, at the thoughts of infecting, poisoning Oktyabrskaya, D-6, Artyom, he had been overcome from the inside by something that felt like an echo and a whisper and a scream.

Pavel didn’t know the voices he heard, yet somehow he did. He knew them like he’d heard them all his life.

A good communist did not believe in ghosts, but he knew it was the phantoms of Oktyabrskaya, of everyone he had had to kill to get this far, reaching out for him. A cold, awful sound, like a dying breath, shrieking a testament to all his sins.

His bones felt like they were being overtaken by ice. His head was pounding, so much it was hard to see. And he couldn’t move. Everywhere, there were hands—arms—grey and boney and dead, charred corpses burned away so fast and so unfairly, so inexplicably, they couldn’t understand they had had to die. And Pavel didn’t know what they were, or how a cave of twisted bodies making up wall and ceiling and floor, hands everywhere you could see, devoid of muscle like a rotting corpse, could hold him back—could exist at all—but, they had him. They had him and he could not get free. He felt hands on his arms and wrists, ankles and feet, his legs, his sides, digging into his head.

They could not be this strong! Even wounded, he should have been able to break free, to run! But it was like he physically could not. Like they had been made to hold him, and him alone.

And across from him, in the dim red light of this impossible hell, was Artyom. No gas mask here, face clear, eyes almost blank as he stared back at Pavel. He didn’t look shocked. He didn’t look afraid. Like…like he knew.

A sudden terror gripped him. Pavel didn’t know how he knew, but he knew with absolute certainty in every fiber of his being that if he didn’t get out now, he was going to be here, feeling himself bleed to death while hands dragged him apart, forever.

“Hey! Artyom! What’s up with you!? Hey, hey! My friend! Artyom?!”

The response was automatic. He had not been afraid to die. But whatever this was? This, it terrified him. He could feel it trying to eat him alive, to tear back his soul piece by piece, like it was picking apart his skin, and he couldn’t even move!

A second cold wave of fear crashed over him as he remembered that he had seen this before, with the soothsayer. He had seen this exact scene, from the third person.

No, he realized with a terror like your grip on a cliff face slipping, From Artyom’s point of view. I saw what he’s seeing. And this is the choice.

God, he was going to leave him.

He had not moved when Pavel called out. He was just staring.

God please, no.

“Artyom! Artyom—please! Artyom!” he called, the terror in his voice now, “Don’t leave like this!”

Artyom took a step forward, and then another, like someone sleepwalking, and Pavel felt terror mingle with relief, and then he saw patches of Artyom grow transparent. Like he was…fading.

No.

“Artyom! Kill me!” he shouted, thrashing with building desperation, “Kill me! Artyom!”

The hands were sinking into him. Pain shot through his arms and legs, his gut, his forehead, and he screamed.

“Artyom! Help!” His voice was breaking, and he fought with everything he had, but it was killing him. It was making him like it, and he could feel it. “Artyom!”

His friend met his eyes, and Pavel felt despair run him through as he realized what was going to happen to him, now, and forever. He couldn’t take it, but he was going to anyway. There was nothing left.

And then Artyom’s expression changed, and there was a familiar look in his eyes. Pavel had seen it. Through the bars in that Nazi cell, and from the noose choking the life out of him at his public execution, one last time on his back in that plane, looking up at the frantic ranger trying to force a gas mask over his head.

Artyom ran for him.

Pavel wanted to cry. He felt like he was being ripped to shreds. “Faster...” he begged weakly, straining towards Artyom with everything he had, “Can't take it...”

Artyom reached him; fingers dug into his coat and ripped him free. Pavel felt himself fall back against the ground. Saw Artyom above him. But, his brain was past processing anything but the whispers of condemnation, calling him to join. Anything but the fear and pain of dying forever here.

The hands were everywhere. Still reaching, grasping, trying to pull him back. His eyes found Artyom’s.

“Anything...” he begged. Almost a whimper. He couldn’t find the words. He could never find the words, and it would be his soul this time. Because he couldn’t…

The Ranger was looking down with the same almost violent distress in his eyes as before, and then he dropped on top of him, dragging Pavel into himself. For a moment, he thought he was being attacked. “But not...” he pleaded weekly, voice muffled against the bloody Ranger armor, and then as no more pain came, he realized d’Artagnian was shielding him, and he stopped.

Things changed.

The shrieks faded, the chill, the hate. He couldn’t breathe, but Pavel didn’t care. All he had wanted, was to be away from those things, and he was. It was enough. He let his eyes shut.

Vaguely, Pavel was aware of being moved, but he was too weak to move or to look. Even choking poisoned air into his lungs was about to be too much. But then, there was a click, and his breathing eased again. An air filter… must have…

He tried to open his eyes. He wanted to say something. Maybe, ‘Thank you.’ But, that wouldn’t be right either. And his body could not find the strength for any words, and it dragged him under, into a deep sleep. Still breathing.

One last time.

[Part 2][Part 3]

[horizon-verizon]

How are we not supposed to root for the Targaryens when Daenerys performed a miracle of resurrection and is using her power to free enslaved people across Essos ? Even though we are told in the prologue of the first book that the true enemy is the cold and Daenerys is a dragon queen who birthed fire-breathing creatures ?

Daenerys is the ONLY character that is using her power to benefit more than just themselves or their family’s power. The emphasis on her fertility is not because the Targaryens are doomed to die, it’s just another aspect of the way she consistently defies reality and achieves the impossible, Mirri Maz Dur told her a flowery statement about the nihilistic situation Daenerys had been cast in but Daenerys rejected it, birthing dragons and healing herself.

Thank you, anon, for the Mirri thing, I esp appreciate this point bc I've last talked abt how Mirri attempts to deceive Dany concerning her son's death in the womb, how Mirri tries to "gaslight" & confuse her and very likely could have also tried to make sure she at least instills a seed of doubt in Dany even after death HERE.

And I agree, this is one of the early instances of Dany defying the expectations and machinations of both out-world and in-world; as the once-ozymalek/Phoenix-Ashes once said, in a conventionally written fantasy work, Dany would have been long-killed perhaps in her first married night or by Viserys or in childbirth. And despite her brother's and Illyrio Mopatis' and yes, even Mirri's, plotting and intentions for her, she manages to defy them all and survive but also work towards her people's wellbeing and safety anyway she can. Her brothers & husband die for her rise instead of the other way around. Through that fire that birthed her dragons, she is also passing through a inner transformation she herself triggered & orchestrated after doing away with her enemies, Mirri one of the first, turning Mirri's deception into something useful for herself even though it was never her intent to use her husband for said dragons. It's truly a beautiful and well written thing!

As for her ancestors, I favor them bc they simply are the more interesting party whoever you put beside them and that's because they are fleshed out for Dany's sake to contextualize her arc and character and role in Planetos history, past, present and future. While being very entertaining.

Truly, I think some people also hate the Targs as a group/collective bec EITHER bc:

they just cannot get behind who they see as enthusiastic/complacent participants of feudalism/exploitative structures when Dany is right there to be the opposer to any sort of exploitation, reevaluating and working against the legitimacy of absolute for its own sake

they hate how they make the injustices of Westerosi feudalism that much more obviously unjust in myriad of ways

Of course some Dany stans dislike or hate the Targs before her, and that makes sense precisely as you say abt her being the only one who is not trying for power either for themselves or for their house at the expense (or simply not centering) of lower classed people. Participating in their exploitation. I don't have anything to really say about that except for sometimes that comes at the expense of understanding the value of some Targs's stories--like with Rhaenyra's particular histiographical and personal experiences with sexism and how while she herself is nothing like her, her experiences and the themes there do connect with Daenerys and other F&B women [acertifiedmoron]:

within the culture of westeros all women are a commodity, valued entirely for their reproductive capabilities, exchanged by men to maintain the male line. this is the very basis of patriarchy. which is why the real evil here is the institution of marriage. yes, we've established that targaryen women are trapped within their endogamous marriages, but noblewomen in exogamous marriages also have very little hope for recourse. they don't have anywhere to go but pray for their family's aid (which happens rarely or never, as i've pointed out) or their husband's death. this is not me going to bat for incest, just that there really is no significant material difference between targaryen incestous marriages and other westerosi marriages. but to speak of the former as a unique kind of evil, one has to tacitly go to bat for normal westerosi marriages. and that obscures what the text is communicating. the targaryens are not an abberation. westerosi society as a whole is built on gendered violence perpetuating systems of gendered oppression. rarely is anyone not brutalising their daughters. the targaryens do it by keeping daughters within the family structure for consolidating dragon power and the other houses do it by trading their daughters for political power. both cases involve using young girls to bolster male power

[goodqueenaly]

Hi and I hope you are well! I don’t know if this is a weird question, but I’m always fascinated by the legends of the Reach particularly regarding the children of Garth Greenhand, and how that connects to the Faith in those areas. I think I saw a post you wrote some time ago about how for example Rowan Gold Tree’s story might have been adapted by the Faith into a parable about the Mother (apologies if I’m mistaken). I guess my question is, do you think Rowan and the others might have been actually worshipped as gods before the Faith, like Garth might have been? Also if I may ask a second question: do you have thoughts about Floris (my personal fave) how her story fits into Westeros’ patriarchal attitudes towards women? Does the fact that she founded three houses mean that she’s not vilified by the Faith for being non monogamous? Thanks and sorry again for weird questions!!

(I was mistaken, I think it was actually about Rowan’s story as a parable about the Maiden, like that her hair turned into a tree as a sign of being favored by the Maiden? I don’t quite remember who wrote this post.)

I have a vague memory of a post I wrote along similar lines a very long time ago too, but I couldn’t find it, so either I never did or I deleted it. Anyway, I do very much like to headcanon that the myth of Rowan Gold-Tree was co-opted by the Faith during its early establishment in the Reach as a myth about the Maiden - that Rowan, abandoned by her love for a richer rival, prayed to the Maiden in her heartbreak, and the Maiden, guardian and benefactor of virtuous maids, gave Rowan her golden tree, almost Cinderella style, perhaps as a sort of dowry to show that maidenly virtue was literally worth more than gold.

Whatever the particular relationship between the Faith and the myth of Rowan Gold-Tree, do I think that some or all of the legendary children of Garth Greenhand may have been worshiped as gods themselves? Very possibly. We know that there was at least some tradition of Garth being worshiped as or at least considered a god by Westerosi: Yandel notes that “[s]ome even say [Garth Greenhand] was a god” and that “[a] few of the very oldest tales” present Garth as a “considerably darker deity, one who demanded blood sacrifice from his worshippers to ensure a bountiful harvest” and a “green god [who] die[d] every autumn … only to be reborn with the coming of spring”. Yandel also compares Garth to fertility gods and goddesses worshiped by “[m]any of the more primitive peoples of the earth”, as Garth not only “taught men to farm” and “showed them how to plant and sow, how to raise crops and reap the harvest” but also scattered a seemingly divinely plentiful bag of various seeds and “brought the gift of fertility” to people and crops alike. Nor was this early history of Westeros an era without the worship of local deities beyond the old gods: the myth of Durran Godsgrief features a sea god and a goddess of the wind, the people of the Three Sisters worshiped the Lady of the Waved and the Lord of the Skies, and of course the ironborn believe in the eternal divine struggle between the Drowned God and the Storm God.  

So I could see where, depending on the era and the location, various individuals among Garth’s legendary children might have been worshiped as gods or semi-divine heroes themselves. If Garth Greenhand was worshiped as a god for teaching the First Men to sow, cultivate, and reap, might Gilbert of the Vines have been similarly worshiped by the people of the Arbor for teaching these people “to make sweet wine” from their island’s lush native grapes (and indeed, might there have been some local tradition that Gilbert had inherited his father’s fertility and made these grapes grow “so fat and lush across their island”)? If Garth was treated as a god for his apparently mystical and/or divine ability to bring and cultivate life from the land, might Ellyn Ever-Sweet, Rowan Gold-Tree, and/or Rose of Red Lake have been similarly worshiped by the locals of Beesbury, Goldengrove, and/or Red Lake, respectively, for their supernatural, perhaps also seemingly divine, connections to and power over the natural world? If the earliest worshipers of Garth Greenhand offered him blood sacrifices in return for bountiful harvests, might worshipers have given Bors the Breaker similar blood sacrifices in return for grants of strength and courage, since he himself had supposedly drunk the blood of bulls to gain the power of 20 men? If Garth’s divine power included the gift of specifically sexual fertility so strong that he “[made] barren women fruitful with a touch” and caused “[m]aidens [to ripen] in his presence”, “mothers [to bring] forth twins or even triplets when he blessed them”, and “young girls [to flower] at his smile”, then might Harlon and Herndon have been similarly worshiped for the seeming eternal fertility they apparently enjoyed and represented as husbands to their woods witch wife, or Foss the Archer worshiped as a similar roving fertility god casting a welcome eye on maidens as his father had done (with his arrow and apple exploits perhaps a sort of sexual euphemism)? Again, these are just a few creative examples, but the larger point is that I could very well see where Garth’s children may have been seen not only as extensions of his own legend, but gods in their own right who took over aspects of the worship of Garth Greenhand. (To say nothing of whether any of them might have been worshiped for their own persons and/or deeds - if, say, John the Oak, Owen Oakenshield, and/or Brandon of the Bloody Blade might have been viewed as a sort of proto-Warrior or god of war, or if Maris the Maid became a sort of mother goddess for Oldtown and House Hightower.) 

As far as Florys the Fox goes … eh. I think that strict monogamy was not an entirely consistent or mandated practiced among the First Men before the arrival of the Andals, including in the Reach: not only do the myths of both Florys and the twin ancestors of House Tarly feature as their protagonists participants in polygamous (and, indeed, polyandrous) marriages, but King Garland II successfully brought Oldtown into the Gardener kingdom by putting aside his wives, plural, to marry Lymond Hightower’s daughter. Nor indeed should we ignore the fact that Florys seems to have been considered clever not just for having three husbands but for keeping each a secret from the others - a suggestion, perhaps, that the expected (read: patriarchal) order of the universe, playfully subverted by the literally extraordinary Florys, was that a woman should be the submissive partner to a single man, rather than the dominant mistress keeping three men at her nuptial leisure. So I think the pre-Andal Reach may have accepted two beliefs as true at the same time - namely, a patriarchal world in which women were expected to serve and obey men and also a pro-polygamy world in which a demigod/heroine/goddess figure could be lauded for having kept multiple husbands simultaneously without being caught. 

Too, I think it’s possible that just as septons and maesters downplayed the mythology and divinity of Garth Greenhand in later accounts - with Yandel noting that legends of Garth Greenhand, “though cherished by the smallfolk, are largely discounted by both the maesters of the Citadel and the septons of the Faith, who share the view that Garth Greenhand was a man, not a god” - so these same post-Andal Invasion academics may have deemphasized the myths surrounding Florys the Fox, including her celebrated polyandry. Perhaps dynastically persnickety maesters or septons argued that Florys had not really been married to three men, but rather that the myths had conflated her marriage to the ancestor of House Ball/Peake/Florent with marriages by other women, or perhaps remarriages by Florys, to the ancestors of the other two Houses. Perhaps the myth was bowdlerized to have Florys merely be courted by the founders of each of these Houses, rather than having her marrying each, with Florys perhaps then serving as more of a spiritual or romantic ancestress rather than a literal matriarch of this bloodline. Of course, it’s also possible that septons did look down on and preach against Florys for her polygamous marriages, branding her a “wanton” - though to what extent they could or would do so, while also looking to convert these powerful aristocratic families of the Reach, is speculative at best. 

[hylianane]

I know it doesn’t have the same drama or canon-backing as the idea of Zoro being trained and even raised by Mihawk since young, but I’m still a little surprised that there’s practically no fan works playfully referencing the fact that Zoro was originally going to be a Buggy pirate. Walk with me here. Here’s how we could make this AU fall in line with Zoro’s final, canon characterization.

Yes, Zoro was hesitant to become a pirate with Luffy at first because being a criminal would limit his freedom of movement in his search for Mihawk. However, let’s look at the reason he ended up joining anyway: blackmail and the fact that Luffy was offering a real, tangible way to achieve his dream

Crazy thing is, Buggy is kind of the only other pirate in the East Blue who could offer him a similar thing. Though he would rather die than freely discuss his connection to Shanks, he is a pirate with connections (and a connection to Mihawk even this early in the story isn’t too much of a leap if we take in his interactions with Buggy and Shanks, as if they go way back). Buggy could very much use this fact to get what he wants. And what does the cowardly Buggy want? Protection, of course. Security in his place as the top dog pirate of the East Blue. A spot that the arrival of an upstart demon bounty hunter could threaten if he doesn’t play his cards right. And of course, his troupe could use a sword swallower.

Now, would Buggy be genuine in offering Zoro an easy way to reach Mihawk? Probably not. I mean, I’m sure he’d fail his way upwards into making it look that way so Zoro stays around, but what I’m getting at is that he wouldn’t have to be. Because Zoro, specially bounty hunter Zoro who only has himself to lose, can be just a liiittle bit naive. Because he has so much pride in his own word, he takes other, less deserving men at theirs. We see this when he expects Helmeppo, despite all his faults, to honor their deal. He’s genuinely shocked when the deal doesnt go through and he’s stuck tied up in ropes. We even see it a little with his blind faith in Luffy from day one. Yes, Luffy is a more than worthy Captain, but also for someone who had to be swindled into swearing himself to Luffy’s side, Zoro’s sense of honor and honesty led to him going to immense lengths to protect him before he really started to prove that, specially considering he’s someone who was already causing him way too much trouble within days of knowing him.

And mind you, it’s not like Buggy would give him no reason to stay loyal, either. His influence over the East Blue wasn’t anything to scoff at, and even though as a man he’s pretty corrupted, as a Captain he’s kind of brilliant. It’s a running gag how much the Buggy pirates are in love with him. He’s got wits and charisma and ways of gaining loyalty. He and Zoro wouldn’t be too bad a match.

And when Luffy does make his way to this Buggy Pirate Sword Swallower Zoro, and is taken in by his skill, determination and overall cool factor? Baby that’s the most exciting part about this. We’d get rivals to lovers Zolu but Zoro is dressed like a clown

[cheeriecherrymain]

viktor is a cat, no i do not take criticism

you're right and you should say it.

The Likeness Of Men And Cats [Oneshot] Pairing: Viktor x Reader Rating: T Proofread: no beta we die like men Synopsis: You acquire a cat for the first time, and make a startling connection between it and your best friend, Viktor. Of course, you now have to test your theory: is the man you're crushing on actually several cats in a trenchcoat?

You’ve worked with Viktor for years. Six years, in fact, if you started all the way back in your first year at the academy.

You hadn’t had much interest in him, then. He was just another face in the crowded classroom, just another hand that got raised whenever your professors asked a question. He was smart, sure, but no more than some of the other people in your peer group.

Only once you’d been assigned to a group project did you really start getting to know him - and his less than stellar reputation around campus.

Your friends had all given you their condolences when you’d told them who you’d be working with for the semester, each of them sprouting off some story or another about an interaction they’d had with this Viktor.

And the more you got to know him, the more you realized their stories were true.

He was blunt, and logical to a fault. He refused to take breaks, for either his or your sake - even when you’d been about to pass out from sleep deprivation, he’d merely sighed and told you to sleep, then, if you need it. He frustrated you to no end.

And the more you got to know him, the more you realized your friends’ tales were…wrong.

You had hardly wanted bad blood between you and the man you were supposed to be working with for the whole semester, so you’d stuck it out. You’d been friendly, made yourself approachable, listened to him when he spoke and tried to include him in conversations.

And eventually he opened up.

Shared little jokes with you, brought little snacks to your study sessions so you wouldn’t go hungry. He showed a profound sense of compassion, the deeper your chats got, and a truly spectacular desire to change the world for the better.

It only made sense that you’d fall in love with him. Stupidly, terribly in love.

Even now, years after you’d graduated and moved onto your own projects, you still got heart palpitations whenever you spent time with him. Which happened to be most days, what with your work coinciding so closely. You’re certain that one of these days, the persistent thrum in your chest is simply going to stop, and you’re going to perish.

All because of him, and his stupid handsome face, and his stupid beautiful brain.

And it’s not like you hadn’t tried to tell him how you felt! You’re not the kind of person to just stand there stewing in your feelings for years without trying to resolve them!

He was just…not interested. You dropped hint after hint after hint, suggesting you spend time together to catch up, or maybe go out to lunch, or even dinner. You’d flirted with him so openly that even Jayce was cringing from your efforts!

But he never reciprocated.

Jayce had tried to comfort you one evening, after a particularly rough afternoon of thirsting after your best friend. He probably just doesn’t realize you’re trying to uhh…woo him, he’d said, in a vain attempt at calming your roiling emotions.

Didn’t realize. Right.

You’d been heartbroken for so long after being rejected by Viktor, lost in thought and unable to effectively work. Making excuse after excuse as to why you were ‘out of sorts’ and ‘not feeling well’.

That is…until now.

Three weeks ago, you’d…come into the possession of a soft, fuzzy creature. Or she’d come into possession of you? 

Either way, you’d found a cat. Skinny, mottled black and white, covered in fleas - she’d woken you up in the middle of a fateful night, screaming haplessly from your balcony where she’d gotten stuck. The moment you opened the sliding door, she’d run inside and had since refused to leave.

It had been hectic in the first couple days, particularly when you were trying to get her into the bath to remove all the built up dirt and dust from her fur. But you’d gotten her settled eventually, and since then she’s become a staple in your everyday routine.

It had taken you a while to really notice the patterns in her behavior, and to connect the dots.

Your cat behaved an awful lot like Viktor.

Rather, Viktor behaved an awful lot like a cat.

Bringing you little gifts for no apparent reason, typically in the form of snacks or trinkets. Preferring to sit in the same place as you and work separately, as opposed to actively engaging in conversation. Only showing you his softer side once he knew he could trust you. Even the few times he touched you, he did so in the most unusual way you’d ever seen - running a hand down your arm, or your back.

Not unlike a cat brushing up against its companion.

Looking back, knowing what you know now, you feel…stupid. For disregarding the man you loved so easily, for not clueing into his way of expressing love.

Because of course he loved you!

…probably.

Maybe.

…you need to test your theory.

—

The next day is when you begin Phase One of your plan.

You spent the entire night working on a detailed month-long set of experiments, subtle enough that Viktor wouldn’t think your actions were too weird or out of the blue. In the event that you were wrong in your hypothesis, you would be able to chalk your behaviour up to…

…to…

…wanting to switch things up a bit?

So, truthfully, you hadn’t really thought much about it at all. You’d actually fallen asleep with your face smashed into your desk around ten in the evening, and by the time your alarm had started blaring, you had to scramble to make sense of what little you’d scribbled down.

“Good afternoon, my brilliant men of science!” you cheer, skipping into the lab in your typical loud fashion, your arms full with a large cardboard box that had steam wafting from between its creases.

Viktor hums a quiet greeting from across the room, barely paying you any mind as he continues to focus on his current project.

Jayce, on the other hand, looks over the moment you set foot in the room, making a beeline towards you when he sees you struggling with your parcel.

“What’s in the box?” he wonders, watching over your shoulder as you set it out on one of the free desks, and begin to unfold the flaps.

“Lunch!” you reply, finally revealing a bunch of smaller boxes packed tightly within. “I know you two don’t always have time to run out to grab something to eat, so I thought I’d do it for you. It’s important to keep your energy up when you’re using your brains so much.”

Jayce wastes no time in helping you unpack everything you’d brought, opening up each little package to discover the treasures that lay inside. It’s mostly foods that you know Viktor likes - a couple of baked goods, some potato dumplings, a thermos of root stew, some little swirly breads. 

In no time, he’s fixed himself a plate and gone back to his own workplace, leaving you to stand alone by the feast.

Looking at Viktor.

Who was looking at you.

Looking at you with the most suspicion you’ve ever seen him wear, with his eyes narrowed in thought and his shoulders held tight and square.

“Why?” he asks, glancing between you and the food.

“What do you mean, why?”

His brows pull together slightly, adding to the absolute absurdity of his expression.

“What’s the catch?” he reiterates, finally rising from his seat to slink towards you. “You never bring us lunch. Ever. What’s the occasion?”

You shrug nonchalantly.

“Why would I need a reason to be nice?” you ask. You supposed you could just tell him what you were up to - you doubt he’d be upset with you if you did. He’d probably just be curious about your theory.

The only issue was that if he knew, it might skew your data. If he knew what you were looking for, he might try to react in a way that he thought you’d like - or in a way that would purposefully fuck with you.

No, it would be better if you didn’t tell him. At least not yet.

“V, I’m all for asking questions, but please stop trying to dissect a good thing?” Jayce pleads from the other side of the room, casting over his best impression of a kicked puppy.

You’re pretty sure he knows what you’re up to.

Viktor, in any case, appears to be momentarily placated by your explanation, poor as it was. You know that he’s going to wonder about it eventually, but for now you’ve got time. You’ve got time to sit and eat lunch with your two best friends, and hopefully think up some better excuses.

—

You continue bringing the two of them lunch for the next week. Jayce remains completely unbothered by the situation, and even offers to help once you tell him what your master plan is.

He knows how down bad you are for your friend, and you’re certain that he’s fully sick of listening to you lament about how pretty he is and how badly your heart aches.

Viktor hasn’t mentioned anything since the first day of your new routine, either, but you can tell he’s just as suspicious as he was at the start. His gaze is always sharp when you clatter into the room with another box of food, watching intently while you unpack, remaining trained on you while he makes his way over to hesitantly scoop some up for himself.

Almost like he’s waiting for some kind of reaction out of you.

But you give him nothing, no hints as to what your plan is. You wait patiently while he fixes himself a plate, asking him how his day has been or perhaps about what he’s working on, smiling softly all the while.

It’s exactly one week to the day when you burst into the lab again, followed closely by your loud and raucous announcement of your presence, only to be met with silence.

“I’m afraid Jayce isn’t here today,” Viktor sighs from behind a stack of notebooks, not even bothering to turn his attention away from the formulas he’s copying down.

You, however, are undeterred, continuing your trail into the room, over to your usual table where you are about to begin Phase Two of testing your theory.

“I know,” you reply, setting your things down. “He said he had a thing with Mel today - and a busy week, too.”

You can see from the corner of your eye as your friend finally turns away from his work.

“You knew he wouldn’t be here?” he wonders, utterly perplexed. When you hum your confirmation, he continues, “Then why did you bother coming?”

That alone is enough to give you pause, glancing towards him in confusion.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you ask.

You stare at each other for a couple of seconds, before he shrugs and makes a noncommittal grumble, turning back to his papers.

He…thought you wouldn’t come? If it was just him, he thought…you wouldn’t even bother showing up. As if he wasn’t your best friend, and the love of your life, and the brightest part of your day? Like he couldn’t possibly be the reason for your kindness?

Your heart clenches.

In silence, you fix him a plate of the little foods you know he’ll like; you’d gone out of your way to pick out a couple of his favourites today, having suspected that he might be difficult to persuade without Jayce nearby to bully him into eating.

“Here,” you tell him, softly, setting the plate on the desk beside him. You set your hand on his shoulder for a brief moment, letting your fingertips wander down his arm, and then turn away to head back to your own work.

Knowing Viktor, he’d prefer the silence over active conversation. It was easier for him when the other half of HexTech was around to act as a buffer and keep your endless desire to talk entertained. But today, when it’s just the two of you? You know you’ve overstepped your bounds in the past, pushing him into a state of discomfort with your constant chattering.

But not today.

Today, you’ve brought your own work with you, fully intent on sitting quietly with your best friend while you both eat your meals. You had the entire hour to catch up on grading your students’ tests - grades they’d been hassling you about for a while now.

It’s a little bit uncomfortable at first, to not talk while you know he’s nearby. There are things from your day that you want to share with him - something funny that one of your first-years said to you, the gossip you’ve heard about other faculty members.

But you resist.

Viktor, on the other hand, only makes it about ten minutes.

All at once, the incessant scribbling of his pen stops, followed by a deep sigh, and the quiet clatter of the utensil being set down. A creak in his chair, as he turns towards you.

“Have I done something to offend you?” he inquires, bluntly, as usual.

You glance up from your pile of papers with wide eyes, surprised by the suddenness of his question.

“No?” you reply, “Why would you think that?”

He sighs again, his gaze wandering away from yours and down to the floor. He looks hesitant, the same sort of hesitant that he’d been when taking the food you offered to him: like he was waiting for something to happen. 

Like he was waiting for you to…to announce that you were playing some kind of absurd prank-

Oh.

“You’ve hardly said a word to me today,” he mumbles, crossing his arms on the back of his chair so he can rest his head between them.

“But…you like the quiet?” you reply, far more meek than you’d intended to be. Had he been taking your entire experiment as some kind of mean joke on him? Had he already known that he was reminiscent of a cat? Did he think you were making fun of him for it?

“Yes!” he retorts quickly, running a hand through his already-mussed hair. “But you’re always talking! To me, to Jayce - about your students, or some shitty scholarly article you read! You’ve been acting strange for the entire week. First the food, and now this - are you okay? Are you-”

“Viktor, breathe!” you squeak.

The moment you see the worry in his eyes, you jump to your feet and make your way over to him. Taking his face in your heads, despite your better judgment or regard to the rules of your plan. Stroking your thumbs slowly over the curve of his cheeks, holding him close while he forced himself to relax and slow his breathing.

You’ve never seen him so outwardly worried about you.

“Look,” you murmur, “I just…I care about you. A lot. And I feel like sometimes I…do a pretty shitty job of showing it.”

Slowly, you let your hands slide down to rest atop his shoulders.

“I’m always after you to take better care of yourself, but I never actually do anything to help. And - and I always push conversations on you, even though I know you’d rather work on your own projects.”

With a dejected sigh, you remove your hands from him completely, “Even now. My first instinct when trying to comfort you is to touch you, even though I know you don’t really like it.”

Idly, you fiddle with the edges of your sleeves.

“I just want to make you happy, but…I know I can be annoying, sometimes. I’m sorry.”

The air is thick between the two of you after that. You can’t for the life of you figure out what else you should say, if anything - you can’t even bring yourself to look him in the eye. Instead, you turn on your heel and wobble back to your seat, trying your hardest to keep the hot sting of tears from reaching your eyes.

You feel like an idiot.

Your entire plan was stupid, and your theory was stupid, and wanting to test it? Stupid!

So caught up in your own thoughts, you don’t even notice the sound of a chair being dragged across the room, over to where you sit. Only when Viktor shoves it right up beside you and plops down nearly in your lap do you jostle out of your own head.

Staring up at him with wide eyes.

“You think you’re annoying?” he asks, nearly incredulous. “I never have anything to contribute to your conversations - never have any stories or adventures of my own to share. You have to carry all our interactions! And you…think you’re annoying?”

You scoff softly. “I mean, most of my other colleagues tolerate me, and only barely. Do you know how many break room conversations I’ve accidentally overheard about me?”

He grumbles a bit, letting his head roll sideways to carefully knock against the curve of your shoulder. 

“This isn’t about them,” he insists. “You’re not annoying. I enjoy listening to you talk - you always have interesting perspectives on subjects that I rarely consider.”

He tilts his face up, then, staring up at you from mere inches away with a sort of intensity that makes your cheeks nearly catch fire.

“And I also like it when you remind me to take a break. You know how I am about keeping track of time - if there isn’t an alarm, I’ll sit and work until I pass out.”

Slowly, oh so slowly, you lean towards him. Gently, tenderly, with an affection that makes your chest ache - you bonk your forehead against his, the barest of touches, but the most intimate you’ve ever been with him.

And all at once, his face lights up into a bright, rosy hue.

Much like how you had connected the dots a week ago, all the pieces fall into place in his mind. One by one, clicking together to form an entire beautiful picture: a story of your friendship, finally understanding.

“You…” he begins, trailing off as he tilts his head up by a fraction, drawing you into a kiss you’ve both been waiting years for.