#and it's still a number too large to comprehend

[danielgold-16]

The Forest

Daniel tightened his grip on the strap of his water bottle as he moved through the forest. The dense fog curled around him like a living thing, clinging to his skin and obscuring the uneven ground beneath his feet. His breath came out in steady, disciplined rhythms, a habit ingrained from years of athletic training. The dark trees seemed to press inward, their twisted branches clawing at the blackness of the sky where no moonlight dared shine.

The only color in the darkness was his jersey—a shimmering gold Milan AC shirt with the number "16" emblazoned on the back. It had been a gift from one of his brothers, one he wore often during his evening runs. Daniel didn’t scare easily; his confidence, both physical and mental, had always been his shield. But tonight, something felt… off.

His golden eyes, almost otherworldly in their luminosity, scanned the mist ahead. He pushed his light brown undercut hair back absently, trying to shake off the unease creeping along his spine. The stillness of the forest was unnatural; no chirping insects, no rustling leaves, only the muffled sound of his footsteps against the damp earth.

Suddenly, a faint sound broke the silence—a mechanical whir, distant but unmistakable. He paused, cocking his head, trying to locate the source. The sound grew louder, a low hum that seemed to reverberate through the fog. Daniel’s pulse quickened. His instincts told him to move, but curiosity rooted him in place.

From the haze, a figure emerged.

It was human-shaped, but wrong in every conceivable way. The body was clad entirely in glossy black rubber that reflected the faint ambient light like a mirror. A gasmask obscured the face, the large circular lenses giving the figure a sinister appearance. Tubes protruded from the mask, hissing faintly as if alive.

Daniel’s breath caught. His body tensed, the urge to run surging through his veins. But he hesitated for just a moment too long, and the drone tilted its head toward him as if sensing his presence.

Its movement was deliberate now, purposeful. It began to walk toward him.

Daniel bolted.

He sprinted through the fog, adrenaline surging through his body as he pushed himself to his limit. His feet barely seemed to touch the ground as he weaved between trees, leaping over roots and ducking under low-hanging branches. The hum grew louder, and soon he realized why.

More drones.

They emerged from the fog like phantoms, dozens of them, their glossy forms blending seamlessly with the darkness. Their gasmasks glinted in the faint light as they moved with eerie synchronization. The forest seemed to close in around him, the trees now a labyrinth of twisted shadows.

Daniel’s chest burned, his lungs screaming for air, but he didn’t slow. He was an athlete, conditioned for endurance, and he knew he could outrun them—if only he could find a clear path. But the drones were everywhere, closing in like a noose.

A root snagged his foot, and he went down hard. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and for a moment, stars danced in his vision. He scrambled to his feet, but it was too late. The drones were upon him.

Rubber-clad hands gripped his arms and legs, their strength inhuman. He thrashed and kicked; his golden eyes wide with panic as he fought against their unyielding hold. But it was no use. They moved with mechanical precision, their grips like iron.

"No!" he shouted, his voice echoing into the void. "Let me go!"

The drones didn’t respond. They simply carried him deeper into the forest, their movements synchronized as if controlled by a single mind. The hum grew louder, a chorus of mechanical whispers that seemed to seep into his very bones.

Daniel’s struggles weakened as they brought him to a clearing. In the center was an object he couldn’t quite comprehend—a monolithic structure, black and glossy like the drones, pulsating with a faint, otherworldly light. It seemed alive, a heart beating in the center of this strange, fog-shrouded forest.

One of the drones stepped forward, holding an object in its hands. Daniel’s eyes widened as he recognized it—a black rubber polo shirt, identical to the ones the drones wore. His heart pounded as he realized their intent.

“No,” he said, his voice trembling. “You’re not putting that on me!”

But they were relentless. The drones worked in eerie silence, stripping him of his golden jersey and forcing the rubber garment over his head. The material clung to his skin like a second layer, cold and unyielding. He struggled, but their strength was overwhelming.

Next came the gasmask.

Daniel thrashed as they brought it toward his face, but the drones held him still. The mask was slid over his head, the straps tightened until it was snug against his skin. His breathing became labored as the rubber sealed around him, the sound of his own breath echoing inside the mask.

When they released him, he staggered back, gasping for air through the filters. The world seemed distorted through the lenses of the mask, the fog thicker, the drones more menacing. He raised his hands to rip the mask off, but they didn’t obey. His body felt… wrong, as if it no longer belonged to him.

He tried to speak, but his voice came out as a muffled whisper. The drones stood around him, silent and still, watching. And then, as one, they turned and began to walk.

Daniel hesitated, his mind screaming at him to run, but his legs moved of their own accord. Step by step, he followed them, his body obeying a command he couldn’t hear. The fog swallowed them as they marched deeper into the forest, the hum growing louder with each step.

As they walked, Daniel felt his resistance fading, his thoughts growing dim. The rubber seemed to merge with his skin, the gasmask a part of him now. He didn’t feel fear anymore, or panic, or even curiosity. Only a strange, detached calm.

By the time they reached the edge of the forest, Daniel was no longer himself. He moved in perfect harmony with the drones, his golden eyes now dull behind the mask’s lenses. The number "016" on his back glinted faintly in the darkness, the last remnant of the man he had been.

Together, they disappeared into the night, their footsteps silent, their purpose unknown.

[qqueenofhades]

I got political whiplash on Threads. First, everyone was screaming, “All is lost!” I came back an hour later, and everyone was screaming, “We Ride at Dawn!”

The right-wingers are in panic mode. Steven Miller was practically screaming on Feckless news. 🤣

I mean. The right-wingers' entire mentality, the fuel for the January 6 attempted coup, the recent SCOTUS President God-King Immunity ruling, and all the rest, is premised on the simple fact that the president is indeed, Almighty God King who serves for life and will never, ever willingly give up his power. So that's how I can guarantee that the GOP, because they are short-sighted fascist morons, did not plan for this. Their entire strategy was built around attacking Biden, because they hate him. Like, really hate him. He defeated Trump the first time and there was still a good chance that he could do it again. Trump got impeached the first time for trying to extort Zelenskyy for dirt on Biden, because he didn't want to face him. That's why they went after Hunter on largely bogus charges, tossed around the idea of impeaching Biden, actually (uselessly) impeached Mayorkas, etc.

And yet, because Biden (even if he was forced to do it) decided to step away and voluntarily give up his presidential power instead of wrecking American democracy to hold onto it, that has broken their little shriveled fascist brains. They literally can't comprehend it, and I can guarantee they're now shit scared about having to face Kamala, a brown woman, who is the epitome of everything their tiny evil brains hate. As noted by those bangin' fundraising numbers, there is also a lot of excitement around her. And suddenly, after MONTHS of "this election is a referendum on which old and mentally declining man you hate more," that has been removed as a factor. (Watch the media suddenly forget all about age and/or mental competency as a factor now that Biden is out. Does it apply to Trump, you ask? CRICKETS.)

Kamala is going to mop the f'n floor with Trump at the next presidential debate, and I guarantee that the GOP knows that too. Because yes, if Biden had another bad debate, or if he has a bad case of COVID that might end up giving him long-covid symptoms or keeping him off the trail for days or weeks, that would have been very, very hard to recover from. Now the GOP is the one stuck with an old, mentally baffled, virulently hated presidential candidate and the most pro-Russia, anti-woman, demonstrable-sellout whitebread VP pick imaginable, that they had to choose because Trump nearly got the last one killed and he wasn't interested in the job again, for some weird reason. And as we have pointed out before, this is the last-chance saloon for Trump in any number of ways, and he has been demonstrably overconfident the last few weeks as the media was consumed with discussion of Biden's stumbles rather than Trump's manifold unfitness, treason, felonies, and all the rest.

I don't agree with Biden on everything he has ever done in his long career in public service, but I will say that I don't think he would have actually done this if he wasn't eventually convinced, for whatever reason that might be, that it was the right decision. And my one big fear about him stepping down was that the party would instantly fracture, people would start flogging unrealistic Magical White Boy replacements, and otherwise insist on an "open mini-primary!" or some other fucking bullshit. Now, there are still a few idiots trying that, but by and large, the Democratic power apparatus has instantly thrown its weight behind Kamala. That doesn't excuse them for the weeks of wibbling Anonymous Sources self-sabotage beforehand, and I still vote that we destroy the billionaires at our next opportunity, but if we can stick with that and keep up those mongo fundraising numbers, we might indeed actually have a better chance than before, and that was what this was all about.

As I noted yesterday, Black women have been disproportionately influential in taking Trump down (think Leticia James, Fani Willis, etc) and there is undoubtedly a huge, HUGE amount of poetic justice if Kamala can be the one to stick the knife in his greasy orange gut once and for all. I can likewise guarantee the GOP is well aware of that, and the fact that while they can yell even louder and trot out the same old racist, sexist, misogynist fearmongering dirtbag attacks they used on HRC, that is a strategy with demonstrably diminishing returns (it sure as hell isn't going to help them win any more female or suburban or black voters or anyone else we always hear about how they're Making Inroads with). And we're not going to talk about how it's Obvious that America would never elect a black female president. Obama won two terms. Even with all that weight of frothing misogyny and DECADES of Republican smear machines, HRC won the popular vote and was ratfucked out of the Electoral College by the slimmest of margins, after a massive interference campaign by the Russians. It is fucking possible, we are going to do it, and the Republicans are so, SO FUCKING SCARED of having to live in an America run by a brown woman, that can only be for the good.

Kamala Harris 2024. Let's go.

[lialacleaf]

To Care For A Woman

Chapter 3

Simon Riley X Reader

Summary: You join the army as a last-ditch effort to avoid destitution, but when you sustain an injury protecting Lieutenant Ghost and earn yourself a medical discharge, you're stuck all over again. Or maybe not...

Warnings: Tension, Simon wants to care for you, small reader, a little bit spicy but not NSFW, man worrying about a woman's safety, typical cannon violence, deception, I'm sorry it's unedited...

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 chapter4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Reader’s POV

You weren’t sure why Ghost had to drive you out to your new home. He’d been insistent on seeing you there safely rather than letting quite literally anyone else do so. In fact, he’d almost seemed jumpy, stating that Simon wouldn’t like strangers near his home, and that you ought to keep that in mind.

How you were supposed to feel like this was anything but an elaborate plot to murder you and scatter your remains in the woods was unfathomable to you, but Ghost trusted Simon. While you weren’t entirely sure where you stood with the Lieutenant, he’d been the only one to stay back with you and ensure you got out alive.

“When will he be home?” You asked as Ghost focused on the road ahead. He’d given no indication how far the drive would be, and you’d left base about forty minutes ago.

“Tomorrow,” Ghost answered plainly, giving no indication as to what Simon was doing that would have him preoccupied elsewhere.

You let out a soft hum and leaned back in your seat. The humvee would occasionally jostle you, and you hissed at the pain in your knee. The pain medicine was beginning to wear off, but you were too afraid to bring it to Ghost’s attention.

Instead, you closed your eyes, and focused on your next steps. You would need to get some new clothes, having little more than the clothes you’d been sent off in. Maybe if Simon wasn’t too opposed to taking you into town, you could visit the second-hand store.

When you were young, your mother used to take you to pick out patterned tablecloths that had been donated, and would take them home and see you little sundresses.

You recalled a white one with frills that you wore down to the neighbor’s strawberry field, and hadn't lasted the morning before it was an unfortunate mess of red strawberry juice and mud after you had burrowed beneath the strawberry patch and clawed the fruit off the vine like a little, white mouse taking refuge in the cool dirt.

Your mother had called you a little troll for your bad behavior, and made you wear the stained up dress to school anyway.

The Humvee jostled you again, knocking your knee against the vehicle, and you nearly choked on the breath of air you inhaled. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Ghost was anything but gentle, even in his driving.

Simon’s POV

He left you settled on his large, plush couch, your only bag on the floor by the door. The cabin was a single story, so he doubted you’d have much trouble maneuvering around as long as you had your crutches.

He’d given you his cell number, not that you knew it was his. You looked…lost as he walked out the door, and if he didn’t have work to finish for price before his leave, he’d have been tempted to tear the mask off his face and assure you that you wouldn’t have to spend the night alone.

It was still hard for him to comprehend that he was now a married man, even if this had been entirely his plan. It didn’t occur to him until you were seated on his sofa, looking as if you felt out of place in your own home that he didn’t know what he was doing.

He had a rough idea of how he wanted things to be. You’d get to know Simon, a second chance for him to redeem himself in your eyes as someone more patient and gentle, and with time you’d forget about the harsh treatment of Lieutenant Ghost. He didn’t try to fool himself into believing that you could ever love Ghost, but maybe he could convince you to love Simon.

The hour drive back to base didn’t feel real. It was still early, and he needed a cup of tea, something he would have preferred to indulge in alone, but alas…

“How’s married life?” Soap asked with a poorly disguised grin, and Ghost glowered at him from the sink.

“Not now, Johnny,” he warned, rolling his eyes. He hadn’t necessarily wanted Soap to know, but he’d also wanted a second opinion on his decision to offer you a bloody marriage contract.

Johnny had thought he was pulling a joke, until he’d seen it with his own two eyes. Once Simon had rather stiffly explained that he had some very confusing feelings for you that wouldn’t allow him to abandon you, the Scotsman had patted him on the shoulder and told him he was a good man. A bloody mad one too, but that was besides the point.

“Difficult drive with the Mrs.?” He asked, that grin still ever present on his face.

“Something like that.” Not at all like that. More accurately he simply didn’t want to leave you there all alone.

“Cut her some slack, L.T., one minute your her boss, the next your her husband, probably a real doozy for the lass.”

“She doesn’t know,” he said softly as Johnny popped a biscuit in his mouth.

“Doesn’t know what?” He asked over the food in his mouth.

“Doesn’t know she married me.”

The Scottsman choked on his biscuit. “Bloody hell!” He exclaimed, wiping a palm across his face. “Ghost, you’ve gotta be yanking my leg here, mate!”

Ghost shook his head.

“Who does she think she married?” Johnny asked, eyes blown wide.

The Lieutenant shrugged. “Simon Riley.”

Johnny sputtered for a moment and shook his head. “That’s so wrong, Mate. She’s gonna be bloody pissed when she finds out-“

“She’s not gonna find out, Johnny,” Ghost hissed. “She’s gotta forget about all of that. Move on with her life.”

“People don’ just forget that kinda trauma, Simon. She nearly lost her leg,” Johnny said.

Simon sighed, pushing his mask up over his nose so he could sip his tea. “Let me worry about my wife, Johnny.”

It was six in the morning when Simon was finally relieved from his post. He found himself spacing out all too often on the road home, pulled out of his thoughts only when the asphalt turned to gravel.

He liked having his home so secluded. He hoped you liked it too. He’d stopped for groceries shortly after leaving base, planning on having breakfast ready before you woke up. He probably should have paid attention before to how you liked your eggs, but it was too late for that now. He’d just have to guess and go with it.

He pulled up to the cabin, the gravel beneath the car grumbling a greeting to his return as he slowed to a stop.

Simon took a deep breath, hooked his fingers beneath his balaclava, and pulled the mask off before stuffing it in his duffel bag. He unpacked the groceries, storing most of the meat in the deep freezer in his garage before finally entering his house.

He kicked off his work boots at the door, his eyes scanning over the room as if he expected things to be out of place. He paused, however when he noted your small form curled up right where he’d left you, your bag still by the door and your crutches against the wall. You were curled in on yourself, likely trying to keep warm as he’d forgotten to turn on the heat for you.

Shit. He’d left you alone for hours in a cold, unfamiliar place. You were supposed to have slept in the bed. He’d expected you to acclimate yourself over the past twenty-four hours, and instead you had curled up on the couch and succumbed to an uncomfortable sleep.

That wouldn’t do.

He moved to your side as quietly as possible, kneeling next to you on the tan rug. His palm gently brushed the side of your head as he watched you closely. “Y/n?” he murmured, his hand moving to squeeze your shoulder.

You gave no sign that you were awake, and Simon sighed, lifting you up as carefully as he could. Once you were properly tucked into bed, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

His shoulders sagged, and with a soft groan he leaned back into the mattress, only just now noticing that he only had one pillow and you were using it. Not that he minded. He needed to take stock of just how unprepared he was for this endeavor.

He switched between staring at the ceiling, and staring at you. You didn’t move much in your sleep, which was a relief. You did, however, let out a soft whine, alerting him to the fact that he’d rested you on the side of your bad knee.

He frowned, internally scolding himself for not thinking of it sooner. It was easy to roll you onto your back, but the action caused you to stir, and Simon stiffened.

~

It must have been early when you woke, because the room was bathed in a soft glow from the sun barely rising outside the window.

It took you only a moment to realize you no longer dozing on the couch. Your eyes settled on the massive figure beside you, traveling up his waist to his chest and shoulders, before finally finding his face.

Simon, or rather you assumed it was Simon, had ruffled blonde hair, with deep set brown eyes and a strong jaw. Handsome for a soldier. You’d expected him to be plain. You were very wrong.

You sat up slowly, and he watched you like a hawk. You expected him to greet you with something, anything, even if it was just snapping at you for crawling into his bed, not that you remembered doing so. Instead he simply stared at you.

“What time is it?” you asked softly, your voice hoarse from sleep.

“Almost eight,” he murmured, and you blinked in surprise. He had an English accent, very mancunian, just like Ghost’s. The similarity was actually rather uncanny. “You can go back to sleep, or I can make breakfast.”

This felt very strange. You were in a stranger’s house, in their bed and said stranger was offering to make you breakfast as if you weren’t an intruder. You felt tears prick your eyes, suddenly feeling very out of place.

Simon’s brow dipped, a look of panic crossing his face as he tried to figure out what he’d done this time as tears spilled from your eyes.

“Y/n?” He asked, a shaking hand brushing your hair behind your ear.

“I’m sorry, this is just…really overwhelming-“

Simon was quick to pull you against his chest, pulling a soft gasp from you.

“You’re safe, I promise. M’ not gonna let anything happen to ya,” he murmured, those deep brown eyes gazing at you as if he’d loved you for a lifetime.

You blinked in surprise, taken aback by his response, your body slumping as your head dropped onto his heavily muscled shoulder.

“Why…why are you doing this for me?” You whispered.

“You made a sacrifice for one of my mates. You could have gotten killed. He felt responsible, wanted to see you taken care of, and…I wanted to help,” he said gently, stroking the back of your head.

You sniffled softly. “Is Ghost important to you?” You asked, gazing up at him curiously. Simon stiffened, unable to hold your gaze.

“Let’s leave the topic of Ghost alone for now, yeah? Give you some time to recover from what happened.”

You tilted your head at him in confusion, but nodded in agreement. It was his house after all. If he didn’t want to bring up work then so be it.

“You’re in good hands here, I promise.”

~

Two weeks went by, and you found that it wasn’t as difficult to adjust to Simon’s presence as you expected. He worked on base twice a week when he wasn’t on mission, and spent the rest of his time caring for you.

You couldn’t help but feel like a pet that was being spoiled more than it deserved. He’d bought you one of those nice, memory foam pillows, despite your insistence that you could just sleep on his large, plushy couch.

Truthfully you were a little frightened at the idea of sharing his bed, but he kept a respectful distance away from you, and there wasn’t even the mention of sexual expectations.

He slept on his back, or facing the door, something you assumed was an ingrained behavior.

He let you sleep in the mornings, but once you’d had breakfast he was practically dragging you out of the cabin to take a walk with your crutches, encouraging you not to stay in bed all day.

You supposed it was a good thing, as you’d likely become depressed if left to your own devices. He took you to town only once to find some new clothes, and gave you a very displeased look when you tried to insist on the thrift shop rather than the department store he pulled the truck up to.

“No wife of mine is walking around in a stranger’s hand-me-downs”

With that, he’d helped you inside and gotten you an array of loose pants and comfortable tops to spend your recovery in.

He was certainly committed to his promise of taking care of you.

He didn’t talk much, and you still found that a little unsettling, but his lack of words was matched by his aptitude for actions, making sure you didn’t so much as lift a finger unless you adamantly wanted to.

You hadn’t told your parents about the arrangement, and had been worrying just how you were going to go about keeping the situation on the down low. They’d call eventually, and you had to think of something to keep them from going into a panic.

You watched Simon from the corner of your eye as he started the truck, having helped you into your seat and gotten you buckled moments ago.

You weren’t sure if he was anxious about your check up, or if he was simply displeased at the thought of having you back on base. He seemed to dislike the idea very much if his hesitancy to bring you back to Dr. Radcliffe was anything to go by, but the doctor had insisted on it as he was the one to handle your knee surgery to begin with.

“Simon?” You called as the gravel road disappeared and gave way to paved asphalt. “Do you think Ghost will be available today? I never got to thank him for everything,” you said softly.

Simon tensed, and you couldn’t help but frown a little. “I’ll ask him,” he assured you, taking your hand in his and giving it a light squeeze.

A smile lit up your face, the first one he’d seen since the ordeal at the warehouse, and his heart aches for it. “Thank you, Simon.”

He nodded in response, but his stomach was in knots. He didn’t deserve your thanks. Not as Ghost, and not as Simon. Maybe someday, when you had forgotten all about what had happened to you, and lived a carefree life. Maybe then he could deserve it.

~

“I’ll be honest, I’m not entirely pleased with the results so far,” Dr. Radcliffe said as he looked over your x-rays.

“What does that mean?” Simon asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Is it bad?” You asked as you sat on the paper covered table.

“It means unless we get you set up with a physical therapist you’ll be on those crutches for the rest of your life.” The doctor explained.

Your eyes widened, and you were about to exclaim that you couldn’t possibly afford that when Simon cut in.

“What are her chances with the physical therapy?” He asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Slim, but better. Might have a limp, but definitely more mobility.” Radcliffe assured him.

“I can’t afford Physical Therapy,” you cut in, and the two men glanced down at you.

“Yes, we can,” Simon said gently, brushing your hair behind your ear. You simply gaped at him in astonishment. PT was expensive, especially for such an involved injury. You couldn’t expect him to pay for that, but the warning glance he sent your way said that the two of you would not be discussing it now.

“I’ll send out a recommendation for the practitioner closest to you.” Radcliffe said. “However I’d still like to see you back here a month from now.” You nodded, and Simon ‘tisked’ in response.

Thanks, doc,” you said, offering him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

~

Simon left you to your lunch in the mess hall with the excuse that he had some paperwork to do, and you didn’t question him once he set a burger in front of you. He was quickly finding that a good meal was all he needed to keep you in a good mood.

He felt ridiculous, slipping into his office and shucking off his civilian clothes in exchange for his uniform and mask, before turning around and thundering back to the mess hall.

He didn’t plan on this double-life mess, but he was going to put an end to it. His eyes landed on your little form happily munching away on your lunch, and he let out a deep sigh, clearing his throat as he approached you.

“Ghost?” You looked up in surprise, wiping the condiments off the corner of your mouth on a napkin. He always saw you use your shirt sleeve, and he felt a swell of pride that you liked the little green sweater he’d gotten you enough to preserve its newness.

“Simon said you wanted to see me?” He asked gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest.

You nodded vigorously. “I wanted to thank you for your help. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise-“

“This is what you called me down here for?” He asked, and your face fell. He felt the absence of your smile as an ache in his chest.

“I…I just thought…you’d want to know that I’m safe,” you said.

Simon felt his heart swell at the words. It was a relief to hear you say it, and it made what he was about to do even harder.

“One less thing to worry about then,” he stated grumpily, turning on his heel with a roll of his eyes and leaving you to gape at his back.

~

He felt like a kid in a play, switching costumes depending on his role in the moment. Price raised a brow when Simon passed his door four separate times in two different outfits.

He could have sworn he heard Johnny mutter “you don’t want to know.” To his captain. They were going to give him hell for this.

He was nearing the mess hall when his phone chimed the very specific sound he’d set for you, and was quick to open his messages.

I want to go home.

He wasn’t sure if he should be glad you viewed the cabin as home, or worried about the damage control he was going to have to do.

He entered the mess hall, preparing himself for whatever state of disarray you’d be in, only you weren’t there. His head whipped around the room, looking for any sight of you, but you had seemingly vanished.

Shit.

Where are you?

He rushed out of the mess hall, looking for any sign of your presence. He didn’t see your crutches, so he could only assume you’d left on your own.

I’m in the truck.

He let out a breath of relief, pulling the keys from his pocket. He probably would have put the whole base on lockdown if you hadn’t replied.

He made quick strides to the parking lot, opening the door to the driver's seat and hauling himself in as quickly as possible.

“Everything alright?” He knew it wasn’t, but it felt polite to ask anyway.

“M’ fine,” you mumbled, leaning your head against the door.

Simon bit his lip as he watched you wilt. You looked as if the life had been sapped out of you. Maybe he’d been too harsh.

“Y/n?” He called, placing a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t acknowledge it and he sighed. “Let’s go home,” he mumbled.

You were silent the entire drive back, and Simon was genuinely starting to question if he’d broken you. You had just gotten some rather bleak news.

“We could stop at that bakery in town,” he offered, glancing at you to gauge your reaction.

“I’m not really in the mood.”

Simon pursed his lips, his brow ticking slightly. He was trying to make things better, why were you fighting against him? Ghost was supposed to be the villain here, not him.

Your mood only seemed to worsen as the day went on, and Simon couldn’t wrap his head around it. At least until you snapped.

“Can I please just do one thing for myself!”

He’d just wanted to take up your dinner, shooing you out of the kitchen so he could do so when you decided you’d had enough.

“You do everything for me. I’m not a child, I’m a grown woman! For fuck’s sake it’s like I’m a prisoner or something!”

Your tirade was followed by a pathetic hobble down the hallway and slam of the bathroom door. He was fairly certain he heard muffled sobs before the tub faucet was turned on to drown them out.

Simon crossed his arms and leaned against the kitchen counter with a frown. You weren’t just upset about Ghost, he realized. You were upset about your leg, about the feeling of losing your autonomy, and his dismissal of you in the mess hall had been the proverbial cherry on top.

You had said you felt safe, but what you really felt was stifled.

He let out a deep sigh, running his hands through his hair. It seemed while keeping you in bubble wrap suited him just fine, it was slowly eating away at you.

This wasn’t what he had wanted for you. He’d wanted you to be able to do things that made you happy, not be stuck doing nothing at all.

You may have been small, and fragile compared to Ghost, but you had still been a soldier, and it was something you took pride in. He hadn’t meant for you to lose purpose, but if you were really going to be happy here, he needed to help you find a new one.

~

You felt terrible. You shouldn’t have snapped at Simon. You should have just calmly explained that you needed him to give you some space, but after Ghost had reminded you just how useless, how much of a burden he saw you as, it had triggered the rage that had been building in you for a while now.

None of this was fair. You had done your job well, despite being at a higher risk, you’d put the well being of your teammates above yourself to the very end, and your mind was still just as sharp.

Despite all this, it seemed both Ghost and Simon thought you were useless. The difference was Simon didn’t seem to tack worthless onto the list of things you were as well.

You didn’t feel right sleeping in his bed that night, or taking advantage of any of the kindnesses he’d given you for that matter. You were tempted to go sleep outside but it was freezing. Instead you curled up under a blanket with one of Simon’s chess books and read until you fell asleep.

At some point you heard him get up and put on a kettle for tea, before venturing out through the back door. You pretended to still be asleep if only to avoid the impending confrontation.

You eventually heard the telltale sound of a saw in his work shed, and supposed the coast was clear to make a cup of tea.

You went back to reading your book, not sure what else to do, until Simon’s footsteps sounded on the back porch, followed by the door opening. You tried not to stiffen when he stopped right in front of you. Maybe he’d been out there making the coffin he was going to bury you in for being an ungrateful little-

“Could use a hand if you’re not busy.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his. “With what?” You asked skeptically.

He held out a hand to you, a gentle smile spreading on his face. “You’ll see.”

He walked slowly, acting as a crutch so you wouldn’t need to get them out of the kitchen. He led you to a portion of the yard that had been sectioned off with wooden planks. There was a chair seated beside it, along with a small shovel and a rake.

“What’s this?” You asked as he helped lower you into your seat.

“Garden box. Gonna start growing stuff,” he explained. “Fresh tea is good for you, especially in the colder months.”

He pulled a pair of gloves on and handed you a slightly smaller pair, along with the handheld shovel. “You can start pullin’ dirt out of those bags and droppin’ it in here,” ge explained.

“Wouldn’t this go faster if you just dumped these in yourself?” You asked as he picked up the rake.

Simon shook his head. “You could use some fresh air, and you might as well accomplish somethin’ instead of sittin’ like a bump on a log.”

You could tell he was excited about his little task by the way his accent got thicker, and you had to admit it was a little cute.

“Fair enough,” you murmured, shoveling dirt into the box for him to spread out with the rake. It was a little mindless, but the sound of the birds was nice, and the sun slowly rising in the sky casted a warm glow on your face.

Once you’d emptied two bags of dirt Simon went inside to grab you both a bottle of water before planting the seeds. He handed you the bottle, and a little packet of electrolyte mix, but he didn’t mix it for you, and instead went about opening the little seed packets after having downed his own water.

You had to admit that Simon was quite the sight in that tight gray shirt with a shovel in his hands. You bet he looked even better with a rifle.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” you murmured as he passed you a small packet of seeds. Simon paused, looking up at you in surprise, before nodding at you.

“I…I’m sorry that I wasn’t paying attention before,” he began, taking a step towards you and cupping your cheek with his large hand. “I see you now,” he murmured softly, bending down to place a kiss on your forehead.

You let out a sigh of relief, leaning against him as your arms wrapped around his middle. “Thank you, Simon,” you whispered as he returned your embrace.

AN: wow this ended up being long~ Lots of drama to come!!!

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[putellasawfc]

wrong hands !

mary earps x lioness!reader

(tw: this fic contains mentions of sexual assault, i promise it’s not anything too heavy but it is still there so please don’t read if this topic is triggering for you).

-

you rubbed your hands together in an attempt to accumulate some heat in your palms, hoping that in return the warmth would spread to the rest of your body and bring you some comfort from the freezing temperatures you had been stuck in for the past ninety-six minutes. albeit you had been playing in a very important game with your national team, so the chilly weather had been just a mere thought in the back of your mind whilst you focused on scoring goals with the help of your girls, but now that it was over, it was as if it was hitting you all at once.

you had finished hugging and shaking hands with the opposite team, sharing kind words with the occasional ‘good game’ or even a quick catch up with some of the players you had formed a friendship with over the years. next was the team huddle where sarina went over the highs and lows of the match, praising you all for winning the game and playing good as well as pointing out a few places where she thought you could’ve done better, though it was very brief as it always was after a match, the real talk would happen tomorrow just before you got training again for the next game.

now, you were engaging with the fans who had generously shown up in support of your team despite the november air cutting at their exposed skin like ice cold needles, they still stood with smiles on their faces. some of them held signs, whilst others held shirts they were wanting signed, and more held out their phones in hopes of getting a picture or two with some of the players. it was always heartwarming seeing how much support you had garnered over the recent years. not even just you as a person, not even your team, but women’s football as a whole had seen a large spike in interest lately and it was an amazing feeling.

when you had first began to play football, you played in small stadiums where most of the seats were empty, only a few hundred people showing up to show their interest in the sport if you were lucky. and although you would never take whatever kind of support you had for granted, there was always that side to you who would sit back and watch how easily men’s games filled with thousands and thousands of people eager to watch the ninety minute game, and it would be almost like a small kick in the teeth when you really thought about the difference.

but now, as the number on the board read 56,291 in attendance you couldn’t comprehend how much your passion had blown up over the world. and it wasn’t just other women who were showing their interest in the games, but men too. you knew how sensitive of a subject it was, men being interested in women’s football, it wasn’t something that was popular amongst them but you imagined their newfound support had something to do with the win your team brought home at the euros in 2022, they were finally taking you seriously.

you bent down a tad to take a picture with a young girl who couldn’t have been over the age of thirteen, she held her phone out in one hand and you leant in as close as you could with a gleaming smile on your face, staying in that position until she finished snapping a few pictures of the both of you. her arm lowered and she pulled back with a softer smile now.

“thank you so much!”

“you’re welcome”. you replied, sending her one last smile before you continued your way down the line, wanting to interact with as many people as you could before you were told you had to go back in.

you got another couple of pictures taken, signed a few t-shirts and even a phone case that a woman was adamant she wanted you to sign, and eventually gave away your shirt to a small girl who had asked you politely for it in the sweetest voice you had ever heard. you had folded instantly, disregarding the weather that you had been complaining about since the match ended in your head, your number one priority had now changed to making that little girls night.

finally feeling satisfied with the amount of people you had pleased tonight, you turned to leave, eager to get through the tunnels and under the hot shower. the quicker you were done with that the quicker you could return to your room for the night and get into your comfy pyjamas and cuddle with mary. speaking of, your eyes wandered to the goalkeeper who stood just a few feet away, chatting happily with rachel and georgia about god knows what but with the grins on their faces you could only imagine it wasn’t anything serious. just as you were about to make your way towards the trio, another phone was shoved in your face, quite rudely you thought, that had you pausing in your steps.

you looked to see a guy, who seemed to be just slightly older than yourself with a smug grin on his face as his eyes shamelessly wandered your england kit clad body. you frowned, instantly put off by his perverted demeanour, his actions making you take a step back.

“wouldn’t mind taking a quick picture would ya love?” his gruff voice sounded, and you glanced from him to the phone that was still held out infront of you.

you thought about it for moment, weighing out the pros and cons in your mind. it was only a quick photo, wouldn’t take more than a few seconds and then you could move on. it would definitely spare you any verbal abuse the man would no doubt spew out towards you if you refused the picture, and you’d avoid any negative backlash online if he or anyone present were to post about it and make you look like the bad guy.

so with a hesitant smile you nodded, “sure.”

you stayed a step away from the barrier separating you both but chose to lean in a little to get the picture, just wanting to get it over and done with as fast as possible. what you weren’t accounting for though, as you forced the most convincing smile onto your face, was the pressure you felt starting on your hip, before it slowly lowered to your behind. you frowned, not completely registering what the feeling was until you felt the grip tighten, and that’s when you jumped away in disgust.

the man didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed for what he had just done, still stood there with the smug look on his face as if he was proud that he had just squeezed your behind without consent - and that only angered you more.

“what the fuck? why would you do that?” you exclaimed, drawing the attention of a few people around you both.

the man furrowed his brows as if he was confused by your outburst, the realisation that he genuinely thought what he’d done wasn’t that big of a deal would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t in complete disbelief.

“chill out i barely touched you.” he grumbled, not happy with the amount of attention on the two of you now.

you scoffed, ready to lay in on him for the audacity he had to make it seem like you were overreacting, when a flash of green passed your peripheral vision and someone began doing it for you.

“does it make you feel like a big man grabbing women like that yeah?” the person in question focused in your line of sight, the number 1 with the name earps just above it alerting you of who it was.

you took a step towards your girlfriend, worrying about the close proximity between her and the man as she approached him with no hesitation, her body pressed against the only thing separating them so she could get as close as possible, something that distressed you slightly, there was no telling how unhinged this man actually was.

“mary don’t, just leave it.” you grabbed ahold of her upper arm with a gentle grip, “he’s not worth it.”

she ignored your attempt at redirecting her attention, and with the murderous glare she held towards the offender opposite you both, you knew she was not moving until she was satisfied.

“you’re scum mate.” she threw him a dirty look, “thinking you can go around behaving like that. it’s disgusting. you need to apologise to her.”

by now everyone’s eyes were on the three of you, more so mary than anyone else as they watched her anger levels rise. there were phones angled your way, no doubt recording every second so it could get posted to tiktok or twitter as soon as it was over, the thought making you more eager to deescalate the situation.

the man scoffed, now turning to look you up and down in disgust as if he wasn’t just eyeing you up like a piece of meat seconds prior, “i have nothing to be sorry for.”

mary breathed out a laugh, though it lacked humour and she rolled her neck in exasperation at the cowardly response. “stop showing off in front of your little mates, it doesn’t make you the big man you think it does.” she spat, and your grip increased on her arm as she pushed herself further into the metal barrier, closer to the man. “your just a prick who needs to learn how to respect women.”

“mary, come on let’s not start anything now.” your were more than grateful to hear sarina’s familiar dutch accent to the other side of mary, the older woman mirroring your actions as she laid a hand on the goalkeepers other arm.

you hadn’t even realised she was nearby, last you had seen her she was having a talk with the manager of the opposite team, and when you turned to look at her you noticed a few of the england girls were stood behind her too, the small group of them all sharing the same repulsed look on their faces.

“not until he says sorry. you can’t act like that and just get away with it, it’s not on.” she ranted, “you’re lucky there’s so many people around right now or else i’d be doing a lot more than saying a few words.”

the man seemed taken aback by that, the (what you thought was permanent at this point) smug expression finally fading as his jaw dropped slightly, you knew it was obvious not only to him but to everyone, that mary could do a lot of damage if given the chance, especially when it came to protecting the people she loved.

“just say sorry man. you know you’re in the wrong.” bright frowned, wanting nothing more than to share a few nasty words, but with so many cameras out now she knew it was best to keep it pg.

“god fine. i’m sorry. happy now?” the confidence in the man’s exterior had long faded, his face burning with what you could only assume was embarrassment with all the negative attention and you felt a sense of satisfaction at the quick 180.

it was obvious the apology had no genuine meaning behind it, he just wanted the whole situation that he had caused to be over with so he could run away and hide and hope that nobody had caught his face in the recordings. but it was all you were getting clearly, so without any further acknowledgment of him, you turned your back on him and focused all your attention on mary who didn’t seem to be pleased with the rushed words.

“come on babe, don’t let him ruin our night yeah? we won, we played well, no accidents or anything like that. it’s a good night, so let’s go and celebrate.” you grabbed her face gently and moved it so she was now eye level with you, and you watched as her blue eyes softened gradually.

with a heavy sigh and a nod of her head, you revelled in the win and wrapped a hand around her arm, gently pulling her away from the crowd. you didn’t miss the last hateful look she spared towards the man, before she turned and allowed you to lead her off without another word but you chose not to comment on it. you reassured the girls you were okay when a few of them asked, getting a few comforting shoulder squeezes and side hugs from them as you walked. and truly, though you were a little shaken up from the whole incident, you know that with mary by your side you would be okay.

-

“thank you for sticking up for me. i appreciate it.” you moved so you were standing infront of mary who had sat herself down at her cubicle once you made it back inside, your hands moving to pull her hair from the low ponytail it had been in since this afternoon.

once that was done you ran your fingers through her blonde strands, pulling out any knots that had been formed as gently as you could, smiling at the way her body slumped in relaxation at the sensation.

“no need to thank me love, i’d do it over and over again if i had to. people like that make me sick.” she grumbled, her eyes closing as she sank further into your soft motions.

“i know, but you got him told. think you scared him enough to put him off behaving like that for awhile at least.” you teased, recalling the way his face had paled at her threatening words.

she hummed at that, a smile finally emerging on her face. “yeah, he did look like he was about to wet himself didn’t he?”

the both of you shared a laugh, thankful that you could at least look back and find some humour in the situation that moments ago had you both fuming. her hands, now void of the gloves that warmed her palms throughout the game, found themselves resting on your hips, rubbing soothing circles through your football shorts in an attempt to convey the same coziness that she felt with having you so close by.

“think i should follow you around whilst you take your pictures with the fans from now on.” she spoke, and for a moment you thought she was joking until you saw the genuine glint in her eyes.

“really? i don’t think anything like this is gonna happen again darling, it’s never happened before.” you replied, making sure to be as reassuring as you could with your words.

“yeah i know, but i don’t think i’ll be able to relax if i’m not with you. it hasn’t happened before but it could happen again just as easily as it did tonight. just let me be with you.” she kissed your clothed stomach, “at least for a little while. i don’t know what i’d do if i let you wander off on your own and it ended up happening again.”

your heart warmed at your girlfriends protectiveness, though you never doubted that mary cared for you and your wellbeing immensely, having her confirm it out loud made you fall deeper in love with the woman who had stolen your heart almost two years ago now.

“how could i say no to this face?” you scrunched your nose and grabbed ahold of mary’s chin, moving her face back and forth as she rolled her eyes at your mildly childish behaviour.

“you can be my little shadow for the next few games. saves you walking round like a little lost puppy whilst you wait for me to finish, eh?”

her fingers dug into your hips at the dig and you jumped, squealing in surprise at the sudden motion. “mary!”

“you earned that, so cheeky you are. think you’ve been spending too much time with toone lately.” she shook her head, and you were relieved to have your playful girlfriend back.

“whatever you say earps. now come on.” you whined, dragging out the ‘n’ as you did. “let’s go back to the room. i want some love and some pizza, not really fussed about what order they come in.”

-

(i’m posting this from my phone so i’m hoping everything looks okay). 🤞🤞

[victoriadallonfan]

Having re-watched Alien (1979) and Aliens (1985), I think I've realized what went wrong with the further expanded film universe on a thematic level (this is not accounting for AVP films, which seem to exist within their own continuity atm).

The main issue is that these films made 2 intertwining mistakes:

Making the Xenomorph too animalistic

Removing the mystery of space

For the first part, Alien and Aliens are quite vague about the Xenomorph mind. Alien treats it almost like a serial killer at times, including a particularly interesting moment where it disregards Jones the Cat entirely, despite making a very easy target, and how it will sometimes meander up to the crew as if it knows it's inflicting terror upon them. This Xenomorph even seems to only flee when Parker goes to kill it with a knife and hides within the evac shuttle when it realizes that Ripley was going there as well.

Aliens forgoes this in favor of showing how terrifying their numbers are even in the face of superior (if greatly mislead) fire power, but then pulls the rug under our protagonists by (seemingly) cutting the power and testing the endurance of the auto-turrets. While the drones are not individually as intelligent as the original xenomorph from the first film, this is instead given to the Queen, who understands not only the danger Ripley poses to her Hive but hostage negotiations of the most blunt variety. And, of course, incredible spite and vengeance when Ripley burns her eggs.

Basically, the two films do a good job of making you wonder... how sapient and sentient are the Xenomorphs? Do we take Ash's word and think of them as simply Hostile Weapons or do we see them for the adaptable and complex - if instinct guided - parasites just trying to protect their hive? This is further food for thought when we learn that one of the cut endings would have had the Xenomorph kill Ripley, tentatively use the shuttles control panel, and speak into the intercom with Dallas voice (ala Predator).

Imo, that goes too far into making them human, but we'll circle back to that later. The point is that the Xenomorph is never clearly one thing or another, but rather, something that constantly foils our attempts to understand them completely.

Aliens 3, Alien: Resurrection, Prometheus, and Alien: Covenant fail in that regard, because they take the firm stance that the Xenomorph is... an animal. A very, very, dangerous and hostile animal but an animal nonetheless. It's not some vague horror that we struggle to comprehend and reason with, because all the facts (as they are for now) are laid out: the Xenomorphs are weaponized animals that just kill, reproduce, and kill etc etc.

Nothing is entirely new about the Xenomorphs in these movies (beyond the forms and one part of Covenant, but we'll circle back to that as well), but rather trying to recapture the formula of Alien and Aliens. And even when the film isn't necessarily about the Xenomorphs like Prometheus, it still goes out of its way to copy the play by play of Alien to an almost hilarious degree (except, somehow, having a cast entirely of stupid scientists).

The Xenomorph is used as a toll for the films to talk more about the human threats who would use them, which is fine, except the same message of "Weyland-Yutani wants Xenomorphs, They Failed" over and over again (except I guess for Alien: Resurrection, but that had Walmart as a plot point so...) gets tedious. It's not longer about the folley of mankind, but rather this one company led by a man (or Android?) who keeps fucking up.

Ditto goes for the second part: removing the mystery from space. Alien and Aliens treat the Space Jockey and other (non-Xenomorph) alien life at an arms distance. They are large, grand, ominous, and vaguely defined. We don't know much about WY in either movie, nor how much is them knowing versus independent people within the company (Burke mentions cutting out his own bosses for profit for example, and Bishop the company Android is heroic and horrified at the situation they are all in, a big difference to Ash). The Xenomorphs having a Queen was a huge reveal, because we literally had no idea until then if those were actual eggs or simply pods artificially created.

Aliens 3 tries to add some mystery with the prison colony, but it's also hamfisted and given a lot of exposition to explain the situation they are in, but I will give it kudos for making Weyland (???) look like Bishop as a twist. Aliens: Resurrection... yeah, no.

Prometheus and Alien Covenant gave us a plethora of seeming mysteries, but also gives us really super simple answers. Basically, Space Jockeys are just super humans seeding life across the planets and they wanted to bomb Earth into oblivion because we killed Jesus Christ (who was a Space Jockey). And one of our androids then - possibly - goes to their home planet and bombs them to oblivion thus wiping out the human race. And they made Xenomorphs yadda yadda.

Prometheus in particular seems to despise the idea of space being a mystery, with the conversation David has with a scientist being plainly spelled out as the theme of the film: "Sometimes, humans/space jockeys just build shit, and it goes wrong I guess. No gods or mysteries here, just hubris."

Which, if handled well, is still a fascinating idea (I think it's a pretty interesting 'take-that' against the stupidity of Ancient Alien Conspiracy Theorists)... but it's not handled well. At all. And certainly doesn't work well when trying to write Xeno-Horror.

So, what COULD work?

Well, I think we need to look at how Alien and Aliens made the Xenomorphs, Space Jockey's, and Space itself all work.

For the xenomorphs, I think back to one scene I actually thought was interesting in Alien: Covenant; as a chestburster is born from a hapless scientist, it lays its eyes (???) on David and replicates his movements, mimicking the first living thing it witnesses. Nothing is ever done with this (of course), but think about the potential that could be used! Plenty of animals like crows, ravens, dolphins, octopi, killer whales etc etc can use mimicry in voices and actions, and that includes things like tool-use! And of course, the fact that they take on new forms from hosts helps with that.

For the Space Jockey's: scrap them. They had their time, the mystery is basically solved. Show us new and different alien civilizations long past. Were they also victims of the Xenomorphs? From some other threat entirely? Surely, there are extraterrestrial predators out there that don't follow the Xenomorph formula. Why not have them share the splotlight, with just as little explanation?

For space itself: stop with trying to recapture Alien and Aliens. Alien: Isolation is the only successor specifically because of the format of the medium. Alien and Aliens rely heavily on the shock factor of sudden reveals. Remove that, and you are given "bug hunt" games and movies ala discount Starship Trooper. Focus more on making human space feel almost alien and beyond our understanding as well, but just enough that we can recognize the purpose that we would have them for our society.

How I would write an Alien Story:

(This would all be backstory and setup for the actual story)

I would set it within a colony satellite with an explicit task: a skyscraper ecological time-capsule for deep space experimentation of wildlife.

It would have levels, with humans situated at the second uppermost and an AI as the manager at the top level of the satellite, with all the other animals in different levels fit for their habitats (including some non-earth, non-xenomorph aliens). It's a religious sponsored and run organization, offshoots of [Insert Church Here] that is trying to get good press with cutting edge AI and biological research.

The prize is an alien lifeform that looks like a cross between a crocodile and a panther. Usually docile when fed, it has been growing more and more agitated, harming several workers on the job. Most assume it may be some late-stage degenerative disease within it's brain.

Not all things are as it seems, as at the bottom of the station, a location no one but a select few faithful engineers are sent to maintain, a pod is damaged. A young attendant watches in shock and horror as a bloody and maimed chest burster crawls out of the pod, possibly having injured itself to burn through the lock. The creature is mewling in pain, but the young attendant makes a choice: leaving food, water, and blanket for the creature. Watching as the creature watches them, before going to feast. All under the gaze of a camera.

The xenomorph grows and grows, eating more, getting bolder and allowing its "caretaker" to feel more comfortable. Soon it begins to recognize certain sounds as they pray when he feasts, and association occurs. One day, its hiss sounds suspiciously like "Lord".

This is when the young attendant reaches out to higher, but trusted, priests to share this miraculous revelation. The first one is shocked, terrified, but intrigued as the creature mimics words like "Lord" and "Mighty". Barely audible, some would say hallucinatory, but they believe they can here this humanoid creature speak their language.

The second is equally shocked, terrified, but listens and becomes a believer.

The third one does not believe. Rightfully horrified and full of questions. Their arguments in front of the beast escalate into violence and when the young attendant shoves the priest to the ground, it is the Xenomorph that pounces. Blood is shed. the creature rises in front of it's faithful, and the Xenomorph uses the same sounds it heard over the fight. Lord. Mighty. Here-tik.

They can't be delusional or driven by guilt! This is a sign... right? This creature is speaking to them!

The faith grows. Never large. Can't risk word getting out or people noticing too many missing priests. The satellite is just barely large enough that people can excuse going missing for a few days between objectives.

But key individuals are brought in. The creature is worshiped. Animal offerings are delivered. It's changing, slowly. Growing larger (not a Xenomorph Queen, it's too maimed, but adapting to a steady diet).

Things might have escalated, had one of the priests killed not had an estranged sibling/spouse/loved one who had the pull to make a formal investigatory complaint.

The investigator arrives with his repertoire, this supposed garden of eden in deep space, none the wiser to what he would uncover. (Again, this would be the backstory, not revealed except through character investigations and evidence found during that. Defeats the purpose if it's spelled out like this).

It would play with the idea of how sapient/sentient the Xenomorphs are (do they care? do they understand? if not, why act like this? if yes, what does this mean for their continued slaughter), how much one puts into faith versus delusions, and leaves lingering questions: who put the xenomorph on the ship, why is the AI so complicit with the deaths and disappearances, and why is the one non-xenomorph alien acting so dangerously agitated despite being far away from the xenomorph's quarters?

[aragaki]

Milo/Tank Cassettes

I wanted to make cassettes and descriptions for audios based on my Milo/Darlin thoughts but these have been sitting in my drafts so long I've accepted I'm not gonna make any more,,, so enjoy these!!

Found by Your Feisty Pack Member

Barcode: missedyou

Tank has been tracking Quinn on their own since they left their family in Washington. They stumbled on two of Quinn's friends during their hunt and took them on alone. Heavily injured and delirious from blood loss they couldn't stop themselves from going somewhere they were familiar with and ended up collapsing a block away from Milo's apartment. Milo, who is just making his way home finds them passed out and brings them back up to his apartment, and tries to patch them up as best as he can.

The two have a conversation with Milo filling them in on everything they missed and that they've been missed, which Tank expresses their doubt over. Tank is avoiding telling him the full extent of what's going on but says there's someone they need to take care of. Milo offers to help, offering his place to crash if they don't want to risk getting found by David. Milo is kept in the dark but is willing to back Tank up with what little they're letting him.

Your Pack Member Wants to Know More

Barcode: justwannahelp

Milo wakes up in the middle of the night and finds Tank in the living room wrapping new injuries. They look ready to fall apart and Milo doesn't think either of them has the skills to treat their wounds this time. He tries to press them for information about what happened but they shut him down, insisting that they handled it. Milo is getting frustrated that they aren't trusting him with what's going on when they're so willing to throw themselves into danger when he's putting himself at risk with the pack for them.

When Tank starts to freeze up and look like they might bail and handle it alone Milo backpedals and starts treating their wounds for them. He assures them that they can always come back to his apartment but wants them to open up when they're ready.

Your Alpha Corners Your Feisty Pack Member

Barcode: liarsgetcaught

David knows that not only is Quinn still at large and that Tank has been lying to him but they've been staying with Milo since they got back to Dahlia. With two pack members going behind his back, he confronts the wolf that's easier to find. Milo is stunned to learn that the person Tank is hunting is Quinn and struggles to comprehend how much danger Tank has been putting themselves and inadvertently the pack in.

David is both unsurprised and disappointed that Milo doesn't know the full extent of what he is getting into when trying to help Tank. Milo tries to explain that he didn't want to ask too many questions and risk making them run since Tank doesn't feel close to the pack and if they left they might not return. David tells him it's no excuse and makes it clear that Milo has put himself and the pack in just as much danger as Tank -- and broken David's trust in the process. He affirms that he's going to find Tank next and they're both expected to be at the next pack meeting. He leaves, telling Milo not to fuck up like that again.

Milo curses quietly to himself, taking a few deep breaths and trying not to cry. There's the sound of footsteps, then a number being dialed.

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 52

Part 1 Part 51

Steve sits in the backseat of Ms. Byers’ car, looking out the window as the trees pass him by. He feels small. He knows he’s not, can feel it in the broad line of his shoulders, the way his head towers above Will’s before he hunches down. But, he needs small right now.

So he pretends, just for the drive, that he’s Misses Byers’ kid and she’d bunddled him up in the backseat beside Will to keep him safe. That she’d buckled his seatbelt securely before climbing in the driver’s seat because she cares about him.

It aches, the open wound of something he can’t remember ever having.

Mrs. Byers’ had kissed his forehead when she’d come to pick him up, making him bend down so she could reach, murmuring quiet thanks that he was willing to come. As if he’d ever let Eddie and Will leave him behind.

This is a bad decision – he can feel it in his bones. He knows Eddie agrees, but Will’s their stupid kid. And Ms. Byers had asked. So, off they go.

The lab looms large in front of them. Steve clenches his knuckles, still feeling small. He wishes Uncle Wayne could be here. He gets out of the car, linking hands with Eddie as Will shuffles out to walk beside his Mom.

He doesn’t realize Chief Hopper joined their party until the man’s shoulder bumps into him. It’s been a while since he saw him. He remembers opening his eyes to him hovering over him there, in that place. Has a drug-fogged memory of him awkwardly poking his head through his hospital room door.

Before that? Maybe the last party he’d busted? Taking him down to the station and calling his parents like both of them didn’t know that the number was months outdated and no one would call him back.

He’d forgotten how big the chief is.

The lab is bigger. Steve feels like he’s being swallowed as he walks through the front doors. They buzz when they shut once more, locking them all in the belly of the whale. Hopper leads the way, talking to a doctor he seems to be familiar with.

“–kind of tests?” he asks quietly. It still caries back to Steve.

The doctor waves his hand, as if to say that nothing big was happening. As if being here wasn’t already too big to comprehend. “Nothing extreme,” he tries to reassure. By Chief Hopper’s scowl, Steve doesn’t think it works. “Routine fact-gathering tests! Blood draw, blood pressure, you know. Nothing to get worked up over.”

The chief leads them all into the elevator, glaring distrustfully at the doctor in their midst. Taking his queues from the man, Steve shuffles a few steps away, huddling on the other side of the elevator with Will, Misses Byers, and Eddie.

The test do feel routine though. They’re not separated, just taking turns having their weight taken, their blood drawn, the blood pressure recorded. The cuff feels uncomfortable and tight on Steve’s arm. He does his best not to squirm. Eddie reaches down and recaptures his hand.

The Chief raises an eyebrow at the display, but holds up his hands placatingly when Eddie glares his way. “Hey, not my donkey, not my wheelhouse,” he says, taking a step back. Whatever the fuck that means.

It all feels like the same stuff they’d do in the nurse’s office before you could get back on the court after an injury. That is, until the doctor starts sticking things to Steve’s head.

“What, uh, what’s this?” Steve asks, swallowing nervously.

The doctor chuckles. “We’re just trying to get a better picture of what your brain is doing!” he says cheerfully, as if that isn’t terrifying. “This will show your brain waves.”

He’s strapped to a clunky machine, and the tape of the nodes pulls uncomfortably on his still-short hair. Eddie’s still holding his hand, and the chief is hovering over his shoulder, glaring at the doctor and the readout from the machine in turn, like he can’t decide which one to shoot.

The needle moves erratically, painting pictures that look a little like the lines his hearbeat had made at the hospital, only sharper and quicker.

The doctor hums, looking over the printouts, looking pleased.

“What’s the prognosis, doc?” Eddie asks, somehow managing to sound both mocking and concerned. “WIll he live?”

Steve squeezes his hand, hard. Eddie squeezes back.

“There are all perfectly within normal parameters,” the doctor says.

They move on – Eddie, then Will. It all goes normally until Misses Byers tells them about the connection. The doctor and chief both look at them sharply, like they’re trying to vivisect them by the power of their gazes alone.

“Could this be from, uh, down there?” the chief asks, glaring over at the doctor.

In contrast, the doctor looks downright fascinated. It makes his skin crawl. “Quite possibly,” he says. “We know very little about the long-term effects exposure form the other side could cause.

“Is this dangerous,” Misses Byers’ whispers frantically.

The doctor looks down at the test results scattered in front of him. “I do not believe so, based on the test results as of now.” Misses Byers does not look reassured. Steve doesn’t blame her; he isn’t either. Especially when it seems like the doctor’s eyes linger on Steve’s face longer than the others. He shrinks further into his seat. “However, I think we should conduct weekly check-ups to make sure nothing changes.”

“Over my dead body,” Eddie says, pushing his chair back to stand and slam his open-palmed hands onto the table. It looks like something he saw in a movie once and practiced enough times to be seamless.

The doctor sighs. “Mr. Munson–”

“No he’s right,” Chief Hopper says, making Eddie almost fall with the force of his double-take. “No way in hell are these kids coming here without me and I don’t have time for that.”

“With all due respect–” the doctor starts.

“With all due respect,” Chief Hopper says over the top of the man, but louder, “we’re coming back monthly tops, or not at all.”

Chief Hopper shifts his gaze to everyone else in the room, waiting for their input, starting with Steve. Steve nods, even though he’d rather fall back into the Upside-Down than have to get his brain scanned again.

Eddie grumbles his own affirmative, and Misses Byers agrees as well, wringing her hands all the while. No one asks Will’s opinion at all.

Steve doesn’t mention the way sometimes he’ll blink and the sky is raining ash, or the dark looming figure, or the way something had been moving out there, that last time when he’d fallen in the library.

Steve doesn’t mention anything at all.

Part 53

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690

[orphicrose]

The Co-Host (Alastor x FemReader) X

<

Summary: You are Alastors Co host in life, perhaps more. But are separated by a sudden death. When you are finally reunited in the under world, it is up to Alastor to figure out why you don’t remember him.

Warnings ! ! Mentions of Death and Bl00D

W/C: 2.3K

Note : Thank you so so so much to everyone who has enjoyed this story. This is the last chapter to this book BUT I can make another book if anyone is interested. I really do appreciate the love this has gotten. As when it started I thought no one would open it and now i have so many readers.

@cannibalcoyote @kahlan170 @sugxryratz @multifandom-superlover @t0xic1vi @saccharine-nectarine

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Rage filled his body, replacing his lust. Surging through his veins like some sort of adrenaline booster. "Satan...."

A cane appeared in his fingertips, gripping to tight they turned white. Circulation scared to temper with the angered wendigo. Shadows tailed behind his hooves like an army of deviancy. Nothing more to lose but his second life, but that was meaningless anyway without y/n. His minions disperse from him like pathogens looking for a host, flying through the walls and dimly lit areas of hell, looking for their target. Satan. 

Alastor rampaged through hell, his demonic form replacing any evidence of someone who was a human once upon a time. Radio dials replacing his pupils, and black tar like legs emerging from his torso like something from the deep sea. Face like a crazed killer relapsing, reminding him of who he was supposed to be. Lilith hadn't given him this great power for no reason, and he was going to use it. 

On the other side of hell, Y/n lay battered on a warehouse floor. Abandoned by its former workers, bought by Satan to be turned into another means of business without a doubt. 

"There were no distractions" She spluttered on the floor, arms bringing her away from the dirt. "My numbers are up, I don't understand..."

"Not even your sins can be of deterrence to that fool." The man mumbled, trailing around her like a coyote. "I should of killed him when I had the opportunity"

Y/n sat still, doe eyes following his movements with any anticipation to flee for her life. "I never asked for any of this"

"No one asks for anything!" He bites back, stopping in his step to lean towards the cowering demon at his feet. "I gave you a job to do, and you failed. I gave you opportunities to be a great overlord, a wealthy power to be reckoned with. And what do you do with it?"

She remained quiet, face falling to avoid his gaze. 

"What do you do with it?" He repeats. Voice quieter, more sinister. "You don't even use it" The quiet whisper turns to a dark chuckle. Repeating the sentence over and over. "You don't even use it". He can't even comprehend how anyone wouldn't want the power, how anyone would fail to use it. 

"What could one want more than raw magic?"

"Normality" Y/n mumbled. Feeling the blood running from her heart to her fingers, a sensation she missed from her previous life. "What do you need a million souls for? " Her tone became accusing, bolder. Climbing to her feet and balancing her stance to oppose the large man in front of her. She couldn't lose more than her life in this moment, she thought. "There is a limit for power, even for a sin as important as you. So, why so many?"

He bared his teeth, psychotic grin turning upside down to a menacing frown. Words nor forming audible, except for the growl vibrating the glare from his fangs. 

"Why do you need the souls?" Her voice raised, coming closer. Too close. One move and he could bite her head from her shoulders like a rabid bear. 

"Power?"

"I must bring her back!" A vociferous outcry escaped him. A new level of hostility replacing his aura, a hand reaching out and grasping her neck. Restricting any air from escaping his prey. "They took her from me" Guttural sounds gave her goosebumps, watching the tormented memories in his eyes crying, driving him to the brink of insanity as the seconds passed. His anguish pouring out in a storm of shattered words and furious tears. 

Y/n clawed at the broken flesh of his fists in desperation, her fear doing the work for her as her body flailed about under his undeniable grasp. Air struggling to escape her muffled ranting for help. Her vision began to fade to the darkness of her eyelids, bloodshot at they roll away from the world. Her fighting against his merciless force taking her life from her. 

"You are replaceable, everyone is. That's what they told me. That's what they said when they took her" His fist grew tighter with ever slow word to fall from him. "They took her, so I'll take you"

Something flew through the air, something sharp. Hitting him in the hand, resulting in another nasty outburst of roars and splattered words from the sin. 

"So, this is why you are the Sin of wraith. Not very composed, I see. How fitting" Static rung in the air as y/n took in as much oxygen the world around her could offer. Clutching her throat in agony. 

The same static got louder and louder from the life outside the building, till it stopped abruptly. The sense of inevitable danger weighed on satans shoulders, looking around in a panicked state for the source. 

"A lot more paranoid than I suspected.." A hand landed on his shoulder, and sunk its claws into him. The large figure swung round, landing an elbow in Alastor's face. Stunning him. 

Satan took a long second to compose himself of the almighty being in front of him, almost too big for the large ceilings. "Impressive" he put a hand over his shoulder, a flicker of light hitting him before the wound was swiftly removed. "But not that impressive".

The sin tripled in size in just a minute. Legs stretching out, and new ones forming from his torso. Face warping into another species, one that Alastor feared the most. A hellhound, Hades himself would be scared. The absence of skin, replaced by hard bone, gave Alastor a feeling of doubt. Yet, his will to win never making a mark on the sinister grin sprawled across his jaw.  

Strong brick and infrastructure of the warehouse began to crumble. Falling around y/n like heavy snow. She had little time to comprehend what was happening as she was pulled out from underneath a falling brick. She sat, confused, on a patch of grass on the outskirts of a forest. A familiar shadow floating next to her on the floor, giving her a sad smile. Gesturing for her to remain in her place, before flying back to his owner. 

Green and Purple hues floated atop the skyline, rocks flying for miles around her as the two beasts began their decent on one another. Primal echoes of their agony sent a wave of anxiety into confused citizens. Scared to see what the commotion was about. A symphony of raw power emitting from the two, clashing and crumbling buildings around their feet. 

Y/n swallowed her fear, and struggled to her feet. It was true, she had power unlike any other overlord. Gifted to her from a sin himself, maybe she wasn't the most powerful being in the universe. But anything could help Alastor win this battle. She took a deep breath, and let it out. Letting her form sink into the ground with a purple mist following her to her destination. Materializing a few meters away from no-mans-land.

Alastor nor Satan took any interest in her presence. Till the ground shook under their feet, and Violet radiance blinded them. Almost like a storm was brewing from the core of the Earth. Years of pent up aggression and frustration came out in a loud bellow, her form warping into what could only be described as a Phoenix. Her large, dragon like body emerged from the human flesh on her back, ripping and burning it to ashes. Fur mixed with dark scales on her winged being, reminding everyone she was still a being from hell. A large beak let out a god awful screech, gaining the attention from everyone in the pentagram, and deafening those too close. Her feathers Ebony and Royal purple, resembling flames the colour of a dawning sky. Ash settled at the talons that broke the concrete below her weight, ash from her former body. 

Everything froze, to admire the beautiful beast in their presence. Mistaken for a corrupt god. Satan would have been proud, if the circumstances were different. He fell backwards a few inches, his form seemingly shrinking. Barely noticeable. 

"Y/n?" Alastor's figure remained the same, but the look in his eyes returned as he looked over to the large beast next to him. A mix of adoration and fear overcoming him. Y/n dared to move her gaze to him, then back to the offender. Remaining silent like a titan. 

Her stance shifted, a foot coming forward with great force in an instant. Letting out another unnerving scream. 

"What in my fathers name is going on here?"

Everyone looked over to y/n. Who did her best attempt at a shrug with her bird shoulders. Eyes widened as she, too, looked around for the source of the voice. The three of them turned to see a small man, hanging in the air with his large wings. Anger painted on his scowl, and arms crossed like a disappointed father. 

"Down!" He shouted, like they were animals, as he pointed towards the floor. The three of the beats shares a confused and almost embarrassed look, as they hesitantly retook their position as an average hell being. Shrinking simultaneously to their previous sizes. 

"Lucifer! How good to see you aga-"

The small man landed in front of Satan, taking no second to strike him across the face. "What do you think you are doing in pride? Destroying my buildings? Scaring my sinners?"

The large man looked down on him with a saddened look, holding the red mark on his face. "I had business to tend to"

Lucifer let out a frustrated laugh as he gestured to the damage around them. "Ya call this business?" He laughed again, stuttering, and holding his temple firmly "I don't even know what to say. Go home!" He flashed him with his horns for a brief second before letting himself calm down. "We will be discussing this later... But a few of your souls are going to be conviscated!"

Y/n stood awkwardly next to Al, holding an arm with the other. The king of hell turned to the two after Wraith had disappeared from his sight like a toddler with a tantrum. "And you two..." His arms crossed again, looking them up and down. Leaning uncomfortably close to them. "I expect more from overlords of my ring."

"I apologies... You're majesty" Y/n inched closer to Alastor for comfort, who remained silent. Staring at the short man in his gaze. 

The king shook his head, mumbling to himself. "This just won't do" 

"Do you mind... getting my soul back?" 

He returned her question with a very unimpressed stare.

"For Lucifers sake... Alastor!" Y/n's voice echoed through the house like a siren in the deer's ears. 

"Yes, Mon Cheri?" He appeared behind her in the kitchen, startling her. He spun and wacked him lightly in the chest in retaliation. "What's wrong?" "You ate the last of the snacks? I was saving them for our movie night" Y/n pouted, holding up an empty box of wafers. 

"I did no such thing. I don't even enjoy those bland creations" He pretended to take offence, holding his heart.

"Well, who else would have eaten them?"

He grinned wider, staring at her with little to no expression before grabbing her arm. "We are going to be late for our broadcast, dear. Lets solve this mystery later" He began to drag her behind him. 

"I think it's already solved" She mumbled, keeping up with his pace.

After the long journey they had suffered together, the two decided to bring a sense of normality to their life's. Staring a new Broadcasting service for all the rings of hell to enjoy. Y/n and co-host. Her name going from the overlord of souls, to the overlord of media. For now, at least. . They did broadcasts 6 days of the week, updating hell on gossip or general news. Even being introduced to sinners who listened to their broadcasts in life. Growing their names, all over again. 

If you want to know what happened to Satan, Lucifer had him put in mandatory therapy for his anger issues. And for his problems surrounding grieving. But y/n's soul was returned to her by the king himself. Well... not so much returned as it was re-located to lucifers possession. Giving a soul back is a lot harder than it sounds. But the point it, it is in a safer place. Satan's Business has been put on hold, for now. Losing over 70% of his workers to lucifer, due to mental instability. Maybe he will rise to power again one day, but at least y/n no longer has to worry about it. 

"Good morning you foul sinners, and today me, and my wonderful co-host Alastor, are bringing you todays news!" 

"Thank you Y/n! Yes, today is already a day not to forget. Turf wars making their way through the east side of the pentagram with someone known as Sir Pentious!" Alastor chuckled "He doesn't seem to be doing so well!" 

The two laughed together. The static from the radio emitting from the small device in a kitchen. Electronic fingers reach out to turn the dial, turning the volume up as the chatter continued. A large figure was perched, listening intently to the noise. A bored expression on his face. "you too, won't be doing so well soon" The boredom shifted to an amused grin. Baring his electronic teeth on his flat face. Static emitting from his body like a circuit.  Vox gave a knowing look towards his small radio. 

[ravendruid]

Hi 👋 I would love to see Vaxleth in number 27 kissing in the rain 💛 I love your writing so much btw

Hii!!! Thank you so much for sending a prompt! :D I hope you like it as much as I do ^_^ (And thank you for the compliment :D :D :D)

A Kiss In The Rain

(Read on AO3)

Rain is fun until it isn’t and, at this point, Vax’ildan is getting fed up of the second day of pouring outside. He wants to get out of this stuffy, snobby, much-too-large castle where he feels like he’s being watched at every moment of the day, which he probably is, considering his stomach can’t growl without a servant immediately coming over with a tray of food.

It doesn’t help that everyone he wants to hang out with is locked in the workshop with Percival, going over sketches, doing calculations, and planning things that are far more complicated than what Vax’s brain can comprehend. It sucks that both his sister and his girlfriend instantly bury themselves with work whenever they visit. 

“Mr. Vax’ildan?” A young maid calls his attention. Vax rolls his eyes at the title and looks over his shoulder, decided to give her a word or two about calling him that, but then he sees she is holding a piece of folded parchment and nods instead. “This is for you,” She says, handing the paper.

“From whom?” Vax asks, politely as he takes hold of it. He recognizes the feel of the parchment from the same in Percival’s sketch book. If this is a summons to that stuffy, smoldering workshop… 

“Miss Keyleth, sir,” The maid replies. The title, again, makes Vax’s stomach roil. Why would Keyleth send him a written note through a maid when she can just call him on the earring?

“Thank you,” Vax nods, then leaves the maid behind. 

The note is simple and effective—Meet me at the Widow’s Garden, right now—but it doesn’t answer any more of Vax’s questions. Nonetheless, Vax still obeys because that’s his super-powerful druid girlfriend who can call lightning, and he’s not sure she won’t do just that if he fails to show up when she summons him.

“Keyleth?” Vax calls as he transposes the unlocked iron gate. The garden has had better days, but Vax knows Keyleth has been working with Percy to fix it. “Is there a reason why you called me to meet you out here? It’s fucking pouring, love.” He calls again, to no response.

Vax wanders around for a minute or two, looking in every nook and cranny for the familiar flaming red hair of his girlfriend or for any out-of-place animals, but he doesn’t see anything. He’s almost determined to head back to the castle when he hears a twig snapping behind him.

“Who’s there?” He holds two daggers out in front of him, ready to face the threat.

“Relax, Vax. You know I could snap you in two before you even flung that thing at me,” Keyleth mocks him. She’s not totally wrong. 

“Hey,” Vax greets her. He allows his shoulders to sag with relief and stores the daggers back in their belt. He sees her now, so beautiful and soaked to the bone, just like he is. Her beautiful teal dress sticks to her skin, hugging all her curves, which makes Vax smirk as he lets his gaze wander to her chest.

“My eyes are up here,” Keyleth hooks her finger under Vax’s jaw to bring his face back up. She’s smiling knowingly, a smile she always gives him when she catches him adoring her—which happens way too often.

“Not my fault you wanted to meet in the rain,” Vax shrugs. He wraps his arms around her waist and laces his fingers at her back. Keyleth does the same around his neck. “Why, though? I’m soaked and miserable, and I’m gonna smell like a wet dog.”

“I’ll dry you up, don’t worry,” She smiles. Vax could get lost in her smile. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—correction, Keyleth is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. “I figured you were bored up there and you needed to get some air.”

“In the rain?”

Keyleth nods. Vax holds his breath when she leans her forehead down to his and closes her eyes. He feels her breath in deeply, as if she’s trying to commit the scent of him in the rain to memory, then exhale. “I–I wanted to do something,” She mumbles, allowing Vax to hear the sound of insecurity in her voice. It’s only with him that Keyleth lets down the mask and allows herself to feel and talk about her insecurities, which Vax appreciates. He believes in her more than he has ever believed in anyone, so he knows she can be confident and strong, but Keyleth still needs reassurance once in a while, and he’s glad he’s there to give her that when she needs it the most.

“In the Widow’s Garden, in pouring rain?” Vax teases her by wiggling his eyebrows. 

“W–what? No! Vax!” Keyleth scolds him playfully. “It’s not t–that!”

“Alright, then, what is it, love? Should I be worried you’re attempting to kill me, then?” Vax keeps teasing his girlfriend until she gives him a shaky smile. 

“I wanted to do this,” Keyleth ends up saying, more confident, and then she places her hands on the back of Vax’s head and brings him in for a kiss. 

When the shock at the intensity of the kiss passes, Vax fully embraces his half-elf druid girlfriend, raising a hand to steady her back as he responds by deepening the kiss. His blood feels like fire at the feel of Keyleth’s body pressed against him, but not the kind of fire that usually makes them end up tangled in bed. No, this fire is different. This is a fire that makes Vax think about the future with Keyleth, to imagine the days of following her on her work trips; of her coming home to a hot, homemade meal and a nice, relaxing bath; of the tiny freckled, red-haired babies Vax would love to have with her one day. It’s a fire that makes him want to get on his knees and ask Keyleth to be truly, wholly his forever, to take him to be truly, wholly hers forever.

But the kiss ends and Vax regrets having to come back from his reverie. Yet, there is a different shine to Keyleth’s beautiful green eyes, a shine that lights a flame of hope inside of Vax that maybe, just maybe, Keyleth felt the same way he did just now, that one day she will take him by the hand and ask him to stay, because they both know that it is her step to take, not his. 

“Are you still angry at me for making you come out here in the rain?” Keyleth asks, fondly caressing his face.

“I could never be angry at you, Kiki. Never.”

Vax kisses her again, and again, and again. They stand kissing in the pouring rain until the clouds part and Vex’ahlia and Percival find them soaked but happy, with blushing faces, and once Keyleth dries them off with a touch of her magic and they join the other couple in the dining room, Vax thinks that, maybe after all, this castle isn’t that bad. As long as Vax has Keyleth at his side and his twin is happy in the arms of the man she loves, Vax knows they will be alright.

[bluestar22x]

Finding Eden: Chapter 2

Summary: You and Zach make your trek towards Canada

Pairing: Zach Wellison x F!Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Fowl language, mention of reader needing period products, mentions of violence/blood

Word Count: 5,700(ish)

Author's Note: I'm annoyed with myself that it took so long to get this chapter out but it's done, yay! This chapter is mostly set up for the future. Going to have a lot more action coming up real soon. I'm excited.

xxx

To say you were curious about Zach would've been an understatement. The truth was you were downright intrigued.

First he'd saved you, then he'd proposed that you travel with him to the safe haven he was searching for. A perfect stranger.

You couldn't quite comprehend it. Yes, you'd had plenty of experiences where people had been kind to you for the sake of it before the war, but that had quickly become a bygone after the riots broke out. Ever since then your survival had pegged on your family ties and what you could do to convince others to spare you.

It was different with Zach.

You were certain he had a motive besides just being nice, but you were also sure it wasn't anything sinister. There was nothing about his behavior and tone during your first conversation that suggested he was being anything but honest with you.

You trailed behind him and Athena through the forest, pondering over the why. What it could be. An extra set of eyes? Companionship? Both?

Both were why you'd personally agreed to the journey you'd embarked on. You fully believed in group survival. The strength in numbers. You'd had a fascination with wolves as a kid. You knew lone wolves had it rough and many didn't survive long enough to form another pack. You did not want to be a lone wolf any longer than you needed to be.

Zach had to have been feeling the pressure to find someone else too. Sure, with his military training he was bound to have far more survival skills than you, but it also meant he had to be almost constantly on alert. Athena was probably the only reason he looked fairly well-rested. Able to get some sleep each night because her large, pointed ears heard everything.

You had an urge to ask him a million questions about himself after that thought but you had no idea how tolerant he'd be of unnecessary chit chat, so you settled on observing him instead.

Of course you couldn't see Zach's face from your position behind him, but you could watch his back.

His very broad back. For a man his height and weight Zach had a wide set of shoulders, so wide they threatened to tear the seams of the brown and tan plaid shirt he was wearing if he flexed too much. It was an impressive sight on a man you'd quickly labeled as slim.

Less impressive was his nearly flat ass that barely held up his jeans, but that had a different kind of appeal. It was cute. It reminded you of a boy you'd dated in high school. The one you went to prom with who had been nothing but a gentleman with you despite his age. No prom night sex with that one. No, that had come months later, and you'd initiated it. You'd probably have married him if only the long distances between your colleges hadn't torn you apart.

Zach's brown eyes reminded you of him too. Though you obviously couldn't see them at the moment, you recalled them in your mind, dark, shiny, and expressive, more so than the rest of his face. What really stuck in your mind though was that his were still gentle looking despite the state of the world, the horrors he'd certainly seen and had probably done. They were in part why you'd trusted him enough to team up with him.

The similarities ended there though. While Zach still had some boyish features, his jawline was nothing but man. The same for his strong, sloped nose. You imagined he must have had an awkward faze in his youth due to their prominence, but at his maturity (late thirties, you'd surmised) they suited him perfectly.

Your cheeks heated up at your wayward thoughts about him, as if you'd spoken them out loud. You knew you hadn't, but it still felt inappropriate enough that you were sheepish about it. You'd just met him, after all. Not having had a boyfriend since a year before the apocalypse started was not an excuse to think about him like a piece of meat, analyzing every part of his body that peaked an interest in you (except for one in particular that you respectfully avoided with all your willpower).

Zach glanced back at you occasionally, on and off, for about an hour before your eyes locked by accident and you nearly stumbled over a rotten tree stump.

He's just checking in on you to make sure you're not lagging behind, nothing more, you reminded yourself. Cool your jets. Don't make a fool out of yourself over nothing.

Anyone who had a privy to your thoughts without having seen you first could have mistaken you for a teenage girl with a crush.

You weren't normally like this. Especially not after the country fell apart. But Zach was the first decent guy you'd run into the last few years who wasn't related to you, and he was definitely your type. At least physically, anyways. You weren't going to pretend you actually knew him enough for it to be anything else but basic attraction.

"You alright?" he inquired, hiking up an eyebrow as he did so.

"Yeah," you squeaked, flustering at your unusually high voice, even more so when you realized he was referring to your trip. "Don't mind me."

He nodded and continued on like you weren't behaving like someone half your age, but you decided then that silence wasn't the best idea for you anymore. It was better to risk annoying him to distract yourself and to actually get to know him than to continue to regress.

"Sooo...where are you from?" you began, walking faster to catch up with him.

"We're doing small talk?" he asked with some disbelief as you matched his pace and kept shoulder to shoulder with him, nothing but Athena between you.

"Sorry, are you busy?" you retorted with a huff, expression serious.

His eyes darted towards you, obviously surprised by your comeback, and he chuckled. "Got me there. Small talk it is. I was in Los Angeles. You?"

"Born and raised in Culver, Oregon," you stated plainly. "It's a small farming community. I went away to college in Seattle for a few years, but I returned afterwards. Found an accounting job with a local restaurant."

"That's funny," Zach mused, pursing his lips.

You frowned. "Why?"

"I worked as a building manager before everything went to shit, but for a brief time I worked for a friend's brother at his restaurant," he explained. "Nothing major, just washing dishes and helping the cooks out a bit, but it got me out of a bind, and I was considering going to college to be a chef before -."

"Everything went to shit," you quoted him flatly.

He sighed and glanced around at the trees surrounding you, looking for a distraction. "Yeah." You could hear the heavy regret that saturated that one word.

For the one millionth time since the bombs fell you thought about how unfair the world was. You'd do anything to be back looking through the books at Angel's Great Delights and you wished Zach had been able to pursue cooking like he'd planned to. It wasn't right you both had to pay for the mistakes of others.

"My cousin called it the preventable apocalypse," you informed him, tilting your head to the right, away from him. "I argued that most apocalypses in fiction were preventable. People just refused to pull their heads out of their asses. It was the most realistic part of those kinds of stories."

Zach laughed again. "Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

"So where were you when it all began?" you pressed on.

You could see it in his eyes, the way he withdrew into the memory. "I was at work, saw the news on the lobby's flatscreen TV. Washington D.C. was gone. It was surreal. And then after the riots began, it wasn't. LA was in the thick of it. I fled the city and lived in a trailer after it became too much. You?"

"I was alone in bed," you recalled, furrowing your eyebrows. "I was recovering from a severe flu. My boss had sent me home. Said he'd rather see me the next day or so when I wasn't half dead and ready to puke on the paperwork."

"Solid boss," Zach remarked.

"The fact that he could be considered solid just because he let me have a sick day when I was hardly in any shape to work, further proves how awful society was before."

"As opposed to now?"

It was your turn to chuckle. "What society?"

He hummed in agreement. "Why don't we talk about anything but the events that led to the current status of the world?"

"Okay, but the ones I have in mind are going to sound super trivial," you warned.

The edges of his mouth twitched up. "Perfect."

So that was how you both spent the rest of the day, talking about your favorite movies, music, animals (his was dogs, big surprise) and anything else that came to your minds intermittently (there was plenty of stretches of peaceful silence in between).

It was nostalgic, and for a time you could both just pretend you were hiking with each other on a day off from work. Like you'd run into each other in less dire circumstances.

Though only time could ever truly allow you to get to know someone, learning the basics was a start, and with every piece of personal information he entrusted you with you felt more and more comfortable in his presence.

It was pleasant, you thought. Zach wasn't super chatty, but he also wasn't aloof either. At least he wasn't with the things that didn't hit any sore spots, but that went for you too. Who would want to talk to a stranger about the painful memories they buried deep inside themselves? Even those who sought therapy didn't blurt out their deepest darkest secrets to their therapists until they had built a trusting relationship with them.

Your old trusty digital wristwatch read six eleven at night (probably inaccurately considering you hadn't touched it since you had to abandon your hometown) when Zach decided to stop for the day and set up a makeshift fire pit with some rocks, dried leaves, and old broken branches. You were so impressed with how neatly he'd stacked the wood and how easily he'd lit a match he had on him and got the fire going that you forgot to try to pretend to be useful. You did look for more branches and some logs to feed the fire for when it slowed down later on while Zach started pitching his forest green and tan tent.

"You should get yours up too," he told you when you came back from your third round of fire fuel hunting. He was busy zipping the entrance up. "Judging from the clouds, it might rain tonight."

You tipped your head back to stare up at the dark, angry clouds covering most of the sky above you and sighed. You hadn't wanted to ask Zach for any favors so soon, but if it was going to rain you had no choice.

"I don't have one," you admitted to him. "My cousin had a tent in his pack. I've been sleeping in whatever shelter I could find ever since his death."

"Well, you can share with me if you want," Zach offered without any hesitance. "It'll be a tight squeeze, but it's supposed to be a two person tent."

You didn't know much about tents, your parents had never camped out with you, but your cousin's had been a three person and it definitely had not felt like it had actually been made for three. You were sure a two person tent for two people wouldn't be any better.

Why did that make your heart jump a little?

"Sure, yeah, thanks," you said in return. "It's better than sleeping without anything over my head but the trees."

They were sparsely leafed due to the season and weren't particularly well bunched together where Zach had decided to set up. You knew if it downpoured you'd get drenched and that wasn't appealing with how cold the nights were starting to get.

You walked over to him and helped him finish setting up the tent, shoving and kicking the spikes that would keep the securing ropes taunt into the firm ground. You at least knew how to do this.

Once you both were finished you sat down cross legged by the fire, pulling out cans of old vegetables you both had in your backpacks. Yours was sliced carrots, his was green beans.

"I wonder how long we can eat these before we're recklessly risking our lives?" You peered at the label curiously, like it would tell you anything beyond the expiration date that you were already well past.

"Guess we'll find out," Zach stated dryly as he tipped his can's contents into his mouth, green bean juice spilling from the corner of his mouth.

You did the same with your can since you didn't have any utensils either. You missed utensils. But even if you found some again, they'd be a waste of space in your backpack. Essentials only.

You grimaced as you chewed and swallowed what you could fit into your mouth. Eating cold canned vegetables was getting real old.

"We really need to find a cooking pan," you decided.

"I have one," Zach said, feeding Athena the contents of the bottom of his can before tossing it into the fire after.

You blinked at him incredulously. "Then why didn't we use it?"

He shrugged and leaned back against the black cottonwood tree behind him. "I was hungry. Forgot to mention you could use it. Sorry."

You sighed and slouched forward like a wilting flower. "It's alright. Next time."

"At the risk of sounding like an old man, I think I'm going to turn in," Zach decided a few seconds later as he peered over at the distant mountains the sun had disappeared behind during your meager meal. "I'd like to head out at first light."

"I might as well too then," you figured. "I don't want to lose any sleep I can get. It's rough enough waking without coffee."

He groaned a little. "Ah, I miss coffee."

"Same."

You both straightened your legs out then pushed yourselves into a stand and went through your bedtime rituals, yours a lot shorter lately, now that you didn't have any luxuries like face washes and lotion. You simply brushed your teeth with only water from your drinking bottle and removed your belt. Zach also did the former, but not the latter, slipping into the tent as is. He didn't even take off his boots until he was inside, to your dismay.

You took your sleeping bag off your pack and unrolled it before also crawling in barefooted, doing what you could to flatten it out beside his.

You brushed shoulders with him when you crawled into it. "Yep. This is definitely tight. Are you sure this is okay?"

You weren't sure what compelled you to give him a way out of your new sleeping situation. You really didn't want to sleep out in the rain.

He nodded, eyelids already at half-mast. "I promise it's fine. Sharing a tent with you is much better than some of the guys I had to share tight spaces with in the military. You smell a whole lot better, for one."

Your stomach fluttered. You knew he was just stating facts, but Zach thought you smelled good. Or at least better. You'd gladly take the compliment.

You were still absorbing it when Zach whistled and Athena came charging into the tent. "Hope you don't mind sharing with her too."

"Of course not," you said, giggling when the dog nosed her way between you and wedged herself into the small gap between your sleeping bags.

He grinned at your laughter and how you fondly scratched at the base of Athena's ear after she settled down. "Make yourself at home as always, girl."

"Typical dog," you added, shaking your head before rolling onto your side to face them both and closing your eyes. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Zach returned, slinging his left arm over his stomach, getting comfortable too.

It wasn't long before you both drifted off to sleep.

x

The next morning you heard and felt Zach moving around beside you before you were even conscious of the nippy air seeping into the tent.

You wrinkled your nose, trying to get back feeling in the numbed tip of it as you blinked up at the inside of the tent top.

It was barely dawn, but it was light enough to see everything around you, which meant that it was time to go.

You crawled out of the tent as Zach began to pack up his belongings and you searched for a private spot to pee. You only had to wander a few yards away to find a big enough spruce tree to squat behind.

When you returned Zach was sitting by a newly lit fire, Athena lying by his feet, her head resting on her front paws, ears twitching with the sound of him opening another can of vegetables, this time peas, with the multi-tool that he kept in one of his back pockets.

You quietly sat down a few feet from them and opened your second can of carrots, using the tab already provided on the top.

"I'm not eating cold again," you said, glancing at Zach's backpack, which was right behind him. "Can I use that pan now?"

"Sure." Zach reached for and rummaged through his pack, pulling the pan out from the bottom it. "Do you want to throw our food together; peas and carrots?"

"Sounds good," you replied. "Just don't expect to get a bigger portion out of it."

He raised a hand palm up in a pledging gesture at you. "I solemnly swear it'll be split right down the middle."

Satisfied with his promise you dumped the contents of your can in the pan and he did the same with his before placing the pan over the fire. After several minutes he removed it to check how cooked the food was, sampling a few peas.

He smiled. "Perfect."

He quickly split the pile of vegetables in the pan in two and dumped your share onto the plastic plate you always carried around.

It was the best meal you'd had since your cousin had gotten himself killed and left you with only the supplies you'd been carrying on your back.

After you and Zach had scarfed down your portions and both shared a palm full with Athena, you packed up and resumed your trek north.

It was still cloudy out, but the clouds were a light enough gray that you did not think it would rain again anytime soon, thankfully.

Unfortunately it meant you'd need to use landmarks instead of the sun's position to guide you, or so you thought until Zach pulled a compass out of his coat pocket.

"Of course you know how to read a compass."

He twisted his body to look at you as he continued to walk. "You don't? What have you been using to find your way on days like this?"

"The mountains, mostly," you answered.

He huffed. "Good way to get lost."

"Well, it's not like it mattered before," you told him. "I didn't have a destination in mind then."

"Want me to show you how it works?" he offered.

You shrugged. "You can try."

"It's easy," Zach promised, invading your personal space so he could show you the face of the compass. "See the white end of the needle?" He pointed it out. "That always points south. And the red end always points north. If you make sure the needle stays steady, adjusting the path you take when you need to, you won't wander aimlessly."

"And this is always accurate?" you questioned doubtingly.

He hesitated. "Usually. Sometimes they can be thrown out of wack, but I check this one regularly and it hasn't failed me yet. In any case, it's better than going off scenery alone."

You nodded. You weren't much of an outdoorsy person before, but you had heard plenty of stories of hikers getting lost because they only used their sight to guide them. It was easy to get turned around in a forest. Your rational side knew that a compass was a lot more reliable, and fixable if something ever screwed it up. You hoped Zach knew how to calibrate one.

Zach pocketed the compass and continued forward, Athena ever glued to his side, rarely wandering more than a few feet away from him to sniff at something or do her business.

Occasionally you observed him scratching her head or stroking her back in passing and it made you smile.

You liked people who liked dogs. You'd been raised around them, and while they weren't perfect at letting you know who you could trust (sometimes they did trust the wrong people), you firmly believed dogs were at least a pretty good first indicator. The fact that Athena was so relaxed around Zach, and that he made an effort to give her affection, reassured you that you'd chosen your partner well.

"There's a highway ahead," Zach announced as afternoon neared, surpassing the twenty-four hour mark since you'd teamed up with him. "We should follow it a bit. Check to see if the closest town is safe to scavenge. I'm running low on supplies."

"Me too," you admitted. "But I'm not going to go into town if it's going to be a fight."

"I won't force you to put yourself in danger," he vowed. "If there's still people there and I believe I can slip past them but you're nervous, you can stay hidden. I'll share whatever I find."

You blinked at him in surprise. "Really?"

"Of course," he replied.

"You're not going to label me a burden?"

He pursed his lips. "I've been labeled that before. I would never do it to someone else. We all have different strengths and weaknesses, a team works with them."

That made you curious. You couldn't figure out why someone would call Zach a burden when he'd been anything but since you'd met. You supposed it was different times before, but still. He seemed so goal motivated and had so many skills, what would drive someone to suggest otherwise?

You approached the road slowly and Zach tentatively stepped out of the cover of the trees to study the sign alongside it. "There is a town nearby," he informed you as he ducked back into the trees to stand beside you. "It's a mile out from here. It's out of our way, but it might be worth it."

You sighed. "Well, that's not too bad. With it being so close we've got to at least see it for ourselves."

He nodded in agreement and started to walk parallel with the road, keeping just out of view of anyone who might be dumb enough (or had enough ammo) to be strolling down the highway without a care in the world.

To your relief, when you finally passed the town line nothing changed. There were no working cars in the road, no voices, no signs of life. You could feel the emptiness of it, even though the road was littered with abandoned vehicles and other items, none that would be useful to you, unfortunately.

You and Zach left the safety of the forest and carefully made your way into town, his hands cradling his shotgun, ready if he needed to shoot to protect you both if the situation changed.

"We should head to the supermarket," he suggested.

"That's always the first place picked clean," you argued before gesturing towards the town library that stood next to the town hall, both buildings once painted white, faded yellow and chipped since. "The library would be the best place to try. The one in my hometown had food and a bathroom, drinks too. It's worth a shot."

He scoffed. "Nobody raids libraries."

"Precisely," you said, smirking. You were pretty confident you'd find at least a few useful items.

He chewed his lip, silently debating, weighing the risks and potential benefits. "Fine, we'll check out both. Then we head back out. Don't want to overstay our welcome."

"Fine with me."

A part of you was tempted to make an attempt to convince him that checking out every business and house possible would be worth it, but you understood why he was clearly set on only a couple places. A town like this was valuable. Anyone traveling nearby would likely want to pass through just as they were, and running into a large group would be disastrous.

One man with one gun could only do so much. Same went for a dog with no protective gear and a woman with a limited set of survival skills.

Zach lead you over to the local supermarket first, using a crowbar that a previous raider had left behind to pry the sliding doors open enough so you both could squeeze through.

Once inside you both scanned the shelves up and down for anything useful.

As you'd predicted, the store was pretty barren. There were some non-survival items scattered about - a variety of novels, toy animal figurines, and different brands of pet stain remover - but none of those items would be beneficial to your survival.

You passed the pet food aisle and even those shelves were wiped out. You knew it wasn't because so many people were worried about what their pets ate. No, they were definitely eating the food themselves. Just thinking about people doing it made you gag. You understood the concept of desperate times, desperate measures, but oh did you pray to high heaven you'd never be forced to eat any kind of dog food.

The next aisle was themed health and beauty and you wandered down it with Zach in hopes of finding a toothbrush to keep as back up for your current one, but had no such luck.

You were about to enter another row when you noticed Zach had lingered behind and looked over your shoulder to see him on his knees, stretched fully out, reaching for something in the very back of one of the bottom shelves.

When he pulled back and sat on the heels of his hiking boots he had a five pack of men's disposable razors in his right hand.

"Yeesss!" he exclaimed triumphantly, expression gleeful, before he studied the package. You grinned, infected by his enthusiasm.

It was the first time you'd gotten a glimpse of the boy he once must have been.

"I take you don't like letting your beard grow out."

Zach rocked himself back onto his feet and shook his head at you. "It's not my preferred look. Honestly, it grows in kind of patchy. But the real issue is it gets itchy after more than a week of growth. Drives me crazy some days, and anti-itch cream is hard to come by nowadays."

You hummed in understanding, cutting off when you noticed a small bottle on a nearby middle shelf.

You had to reach all the way back for it, like Zach had with the razors, but you managed, and for your grunts of effort and overstretched muscles you were rewarded a bottle of Tylenol.

"Now, this made the trip worth it," you declared.

Zach chuckled. "See? Not completely wasted."

You sighed dramatically, for show. "Yeah, yeah, you were right. Now, can we hurry up so we can hit the riches at the library?"

"Sure."

Six more aisles later you left the store with only the razors and the pills, but at least you and Zach had both gotten something out of it.

You exited cautiously, Zach leading with Athena as per usual, but for once they could not ease the anxiety you felt being in a place that used to be populated with people again.

All you could think about was the sharp crack of a bullet, the last split second you saw your cousin and his wife alive before they'd slumped to the ground so suddenly lifeless that you'd frozen like a deer in headlights while their bodies leaked blood into the cracks of the worn asphalt. Helpless to do anything but stare in horror as their killer dragged their bodies into a pile on the side of the road like they were just another dead animal to clear out, until you finally felt your legs again and bolted.

Civilization was no longer a place that comforted you.

Zach broke into the little library by shattering the glass of the front door with a sharp, heavy stone and turning the lock blindly. As soon as it clicked open he stepped aside so you could enter first.

You choked on the dust and had to cover your mouth with your jacket sleeve, but you pushed forward, determined.

Luckily the building had a lot of frosted windows so you were able to maneuver around easily without the lights.

You started at the main desk, searching every drawer. All you found were a few pens, which Zach pocketed.

Next you tried the janitor's closet. "Oh, well, now this will certainly be a luxury."

You pulled two rolls of individually wrapped toilet tissue off one of the shelves and threw one to Zach, purposely trying to catch him off guard. Impressively, he still caught it. He laughed. "Okay, so we're already even scored. Think you can find more stuff?"

"For sure."

You headed into a corner that had once acted as a little self serve café, littered with rotten food and a reeking coffee machine. You found four unopened water bottles still in the cooler by the back of the space and nearly jumped with joy.

"Never doubt me again," you said as you handed Zach two of them.

He made the motion of crossing his heart at you and you smiled.

"One last place to check."

As Zach shoved his bottles into his pack you slipped into the unisex bathroom adjacent to the coffee corner alone and glanced around. There wasn't much in the room besides the sink and toilet, not even a window, so it was hard to see, but you found one more roll of toilet tissue and a half used bag of pantie liners you could use for when your period rolled around. You hid them both in your pack and rejoined Zach.

"Any luck?" he inquired.

"Just another roll of toilet tissue," you lied, not feeling comfortable talking to him about period products even in passing. It wasn't just because you grew up around men who didn't want to hear a thing about it, who preferred to live in ignorance over the female cycle. It was also because Zach was still just an acquaintance, and that just wasn't something you typically talked about loosely in front of people you hardly knew, no matter their gender.

"I'll share if you admit the library was the more productive stop," you added with a smirk.

"I can't deny it," he said.

"I actually want to look at the books for a second if that's okay?"

Zach nodded. "Hurry up though."

You raced over to the how-to section, scanning them almost desperately for a book you had in mind. You found it on a top shelf, a book on North American plants for survivalists.

You were plucking it from the shelf when Athena barked suddenly and you flinched.

"What's up, girl?" Zach asked her, warily turning in a circle in hopes of seeing what set her off.

She was staring at the back window, suggesting she'd alerted to a shadow or sound from that direction.

Athena wasn't a barker. You'd only known her for a day but it was long enough to know if she was barking there was a reason. That knowledge made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

"Follow me," Zach whispered.

You nodded quickly and slowly made your way to the front with him, creeping out of the door as soon as he gave the hand signal to do so.

You didn't breath properly until you were a good quarter of a mile back into the forest, back on track north.

You kept up with Zach. "Do you think she heard people?"

"Her warning bark is the same for people and animals so I have no idea," he said. "It doesn't matter. In either case, we got away safe. And if it was a false alarm, somehow, well, it's not like we weren't already leaving."

"True."

You turned the book you'd carried out in your arms over and skimmed the information on the faded back cover. The book had been published in 1985, but that was alright. Plant survival books didn't tend to get outdated too often.

"What's the book about?" Zach asked you when he noticed you studying it.

You told him and he looked pleased. "Great idea bringing it. I know about a few edible plants, but probably not as many as there actually are."

"All I know is berries are usually okay, and never eat the mushrooms," you said. "Even experts used to poison themselves eating wild mushrooms sometimes. Mushrooms look too alike and the risk is too great to be worth it."

"Noted."

You took a moment to stop and slide the book into your pack before running to catch back up with Zach again. "Are you nervous about the crossing?"

"We're still probably a few days out from that," he told you, "But yeah, I've been nervous from the start. Day one. I've heard as many rumors about the Canadian border patrol as you have. Micah said they have a zero tolerance for Americans crossing over. They will try to shoot us if they see us."

He halted to face you. "Are you still okay with this plan?"

"No," you said firmly. "Of course I'm not, I never was, but if I don't go with you to Alaska, I have no future."

He nodded, understanding what you meant. Entering Canada would be dangerous, but not necessarily more dangerous than staying behind, and if you wanted any sort of peaceful living you had to risk it.

Alaska here I come.

xxx

Tagged: @harriedandharassed @love-affair-with-fandoms @morallyinept

xxx

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

xxx

[raspberrysmoon]

ok so... i had an au idea. hear me out rq ok

prophecy, noun. defined as a prediction of something to come.

they don't know when, not where, nor how or why. but they know. they know that something- someone is coming.

they've known for centuries. something is coming to score the land with claws too large to even begin to comprehend. with eyes too wide to even see.

and someone is coming to stop them.

this doesnt mean most care. i'll be long dead before we see It, they say. why should i worry about something so far away?

they used to be right.

but when the lands fall dry, and the trees drop their leaves months in advance, you must worry.

when fresh picked apple rot on the counters, and the soil falls dry.

but this is drought, they say. drought from the bad water, the lack of sunlight.

they're not right. they haven't been right in a while. in years.

october 17th. the final day of safety. the day of stephanie lauters birth.

july 24th. the day the lights blew out. the day of gracelynn chasitys birth.

january 7th. the day the water turned brown. the day of peter spankoffskis birth.

that was years ago. numbers have dwindled, since then. days are still dark, food still hard to grow and water still thick with dirt and grime.

but they're here. they'll save us. its destiny.

destiny doesn't make mistakes.

[souglias]

The Meeting of Two Monsters [Sougo]

Mafia!AU. Someone, who you come to realise later on is extremely powerful, bids for you at a black market auction

c/w: slavery (purchase at a black market auction, nothing else mentioned beyond that), sougo is sadistic and is up to the usual bullying he does in the anime (though arguably upped by a notch here), crude language

wc: 1.9k words

Okita Sougo x gn!reader

note: This is @username-janai-katsura-da 's request for me as part of the @/ficsforgaza initiative! Prompt is 'try me' taken from this prompt list here. Thank you so much for requesting mwah <3. I may make this into a series but well we will see how it goes

All likes and reblogs are appreciated!

-

You’re thrown onto a bright stage, stumbling to a kneel with alloy-reinforced cuffs around your feet. The overhead lights beam at you, their orange rays starting to make you feel like a dish under food warmers waiting to be sold.

Though, it isn’t too far-fetched to say so. Among the pitch-black sea of darkness in front of you are shady bidders ready to pounce with their money.

Your arms, also restrained behind you with cuffs, start to feel sticky with sweat.

The auctioneer’s voice brims with enthusiasm as he describes you. Some terms and sentences go over your head, but you catch him throw out some characteristics that you are unapologetically proud of. Strong, agile, violent. The enthusiasm maintains even as he describes the injuries you inflicted on your current owner. Standing at the sidelines with a crutch and bandages on his face, you can smell his desperation in trying to get you off his hands. 

Given the gasps from the crowd, you’re certain no one will buy you. No one sane will throw their money for a beast that will bite them. But you don’t despair or feel even a pint of remorse. Throughout the wastelands of your birthplace and the planets you sought refuge in, you fought to ensure you did not have to bow down to others.

Besides, if nobody bids for you, you’ll automatically remain as property of this pathetic man. He and his bodyguards got nothing on you, and you can make your escape again. However, that would have to mean you’d have to make a quick escape. One much further out of the city before a particular group of men catches you again. It was dark the night they subdued you, so you didn’t manage to identify them. There is nothing of note other than the smell of nicotine, which is commonplace and useless information.

However, when the auctioneer begins, the paddles still rise from the darkness. Bidders shout their bids one after another. The scene leaves you bewildered. 

It’s a never-ending rally of shouts and increasing numbers until an assertive voice breaks through the buzz in the hall. When he announces his bid, silence befalls the auction hall. It is a price much higher than the previous by a large margin. If there is any shock, the auctioneer does not show it. He immediately responds, “[name], two thousand million dollars! Calling once!”

You don’t know if you’ll ever understand the workings of the underground world. It’s already difficult for you to comprehend how people are drawn towards danger.

“Calling twice!”

Whoever is throwing this much money to buy you must be a really mad dog.

“And sold!”

The knock of the hammer reverberates through the hall and the chatter resumes. The transfer of ownership makes a little uncertainty take root in your chest. You’re not sure of the capabilities of your new owner, and you hope he and his subordinates cannot match up with yours.

A man with hair of a mustard colour and bangs comes to get you. The alloy-reinforced restraints on your legs are released and you shake your feet to rid of the feeling of the metal eating into your skin. But he doesn’t give you much time before he probes you with the hilt of his sword. The moment he opens his mouth, you’re already set on making trouble for him. 

He drawls and speaks in between yawns, “Hey, hey, get going. I’d like to get to sleep as fast as I can.”

If you weren’t restrained, you’d have given him a good punch. He pokes you with his sword all the way to the car. Admittedly, his carrying of a sword makes you respect him a little. He’s got balls of steel from the way he carried it unapologetically in his belt (before he used it to be irritating). Most have already switched to guns or well-hidden daggers with the sword ban. 

With your hands still cuffed behind, he shoves you into the passenger seat and your face almost hits straight into the gear stick. You shoot him a glare that he doesn’t catch. With your hands behind you, you’re unable to lean back into your seat.

You gather all the propriety you can find within yourself and ask, “Can you release me? I’d like to sit back.”

He stretches over you for the seat belt and buckles it over your awkwardly bent forward body. “No.”

Without warning, he steps on the pedal and begins the drive down the dark city. In a foul mood and slouched against the seat belt pressing into your body, you scrutinise his attire. Long black coat with gold accents. It’s characteristic of a famous syndicate in the underground, but their name eludes your mind. S… S something. Or M… something? 

No matter, you’ll fight him and escape the moment you get out of the car. Even if he doesn’t release the restraints on your hands, you’ll make do with just your legs. Such a powerful organisation isn’t likely to have any business with you.

With the same lazy drawl as before, he says, “Alright, [name], welcome to the club. You’re to heed my every order, even if I tell you to die. In return, you get three meals a day.”

“That’s an awful deal. I’m always hungry, make it five.”

“Pampered much?”

“For my full prowess and to maintain my energetic self, I need that much.”

“Energetic? Oh, I’m guessing you’d be useful even in the sheets.”

What a crude asshole. “I’d detonate your dick.”

“Feisty bitch. You guys are always like that.”

You guys? Does this man have more than one slave? 

The car swerves sharply into a winding side road and you hiss at him. A three-storey Japanese house, surrounded by seemingly endless stretches of walls, comes into view along with smaller ones behind it. They appear well-maintained, but not flashy.

From the distance, you see the traditional Japanese wooden gates open as if they have been expecting the car. You observe the gate, trying to make an estimation on whether you could scale it. As much as possible, you’d like to avoid smashing through the gate and causing a commotion.

The headlights briefly pass the wooden plate nailed onto the gate frame as the car drives in. 

Shinsengumi. 

It hits you like a brick that this is the captain of the first division, Okita Sougo. A pint of anxiety takes root in your chest and for once, you’re unsure about your escape. You’ve fought and won many people, but those were not renowned fighters of the underworld. 

The Shinsengumi is a name that instils fear. They are disliked, but many cower under their gaze.

His subordinate opens the car door and you let him escort you into the building. Okita yawns behind you and you count on his fatigue to lead him to dreamland soon.

The nameless Shinsengumi member guides you to a shoddy, barren room with just a chair. He says something about the captain allocating this room to you. But a sense of danger grows imminent within you, causing most of his words to go over your head. Your legs itch to take off, but you suppress it as if you’re persuading an antsy child to be patient. The restraints need to be released, otherwise, the escape will be a sure failure for you.

The growing uneasiness in your chest warps your sense of time, making time seem to tick hurriedly. You’re not sure how much time has passed when the same member returns to release your cuffs. With no time to waste, you knock out the poor guy and break through the glass window. You hurl yourself over the windowsill. With the momentum of one foot when it touches the concrete, you launch towards the closed gate. 

You do not cover much distance when Okita appears beside you in a blur. You clench your fists and throw them towards him – his face in particular. 

Okita dodges your swing by leaning backwards and he uses the momentum to punch your flank with the side of his arm. You hit the ground on your back, but you compose yourself quick enough to kick him away and flip back up onto your feet.

Both of you exchange blows and swing fists at each other. You soon find that your body is starting to slow with a few days worth of exhaustion. As you punch him towards a tree, he manages to plant his feet on the bark while airborne and propels back towards you. You shift to dodge, but your foot slips. 

In the split second before his mean punch meets your face, you notice the gold of his coat catching the bright moonlight. A memory surfaces. In the pitch black of that night with barely any moonlight, there was a faint flash of gold.

You blackout. 

The next time you come to, you’re slouched over on a chair. The room is dark, and light barely reaches in from the slightly ajar door. Your nose aches and your hands are tied up once again. Raising your head, you meet a crimson-red gaze that’s between you and the door. 

Okita partly mirrors you, seated hunched over in his chair. But his elbows are propped on his knees and he rests his chin on the back of his hands. His eyes do not avert even as you shoot him a glare.

He rises from his seat and saunters over to you. You see the bruises and cuts you had given to him as your eyes adjust to the darkness. It quells your anger ever so slightly, even as he’s relishing looking down at you.

“I knew you’d try that. Energetic enough to fuck with me for a third time?”

“Die.”

You’d lunge at him at this moment, but you’re too exhausted. Sougo unsheathes his sword in a fraction of a second and he raises it above you. Your heart races. Maybe this is the end, but you keep your gaze steeled on him.

He brings down the sword and you hear it hit the floor with a loud thud. You do not feel pain where you expect it to flare. Looking down to assess your hands, a dent in the tatami mat below you catches your attention instead. The rope coiled around your wrists slides to the ground. Aside from the injuries from the tussle earlier, you’re unscathed from his sword.

“I can’t wait to wipe that defiant look off your face.”

The sheer absurdity you experienced from this man fires you up. You stare him back in the eye again. “Try me, assface.”

Even with the slight curve of his lips that he tries to suppress, the sadism brimming in his eyes betrays him. Sougo walks out of the room without a retort and closes the door. Following the sound of the lock, his footsteps fade away.

You slump back down into the chair. Basking in the darkness for a while, you let the last few hours sink in. When you stop trembling, you feel along the walls for the light switch and flick it. You wince from the sudden brightness and your eyes open slowly. 

It’s a clean and tidy room. No windows, presumably to prevent you from pulling an escape using it again. Near a small shelf, there’s a clean, folded futon with a pillow. Fresh clothes similar to the tattered ones you’re wearing sit atop it. Your loyal companion of an umbrella, which you thought you lost, rests closed on the floor beside the futon.

[giftofgaypoetry]

Small piece for the xmen toh au:

Hexside Academy for Gifted Youngsters was built in the skeleton of an enormous colonial mansion, the kind built by Englishmen when they were inexplicably struck with homesickness after moving to America so they could pull every built of wealth out of its soil, tearing riches from between roots and among bones. It’s a home for people with so much wealth they can scarcely comprehend it, the wealth one can only make by extracting it through human suffering, the wealth that possesses one to build homes with the purpose of status and symbol, not for living as humans but as gods among men.

It’s Georgian architecture, stretching out languidly with its wings and courtyards. 3 stories and a basement, with dozens of rooms to fit an impossibly large family. Wings, observatories, courtyards, pavilions. Oak floors, tile floors, marble floors. Stone walls, wooden walls, walls lathed in centuries old Chinese wallpaper. The main entrance into the enormous mezzanine, and a dizzying number of entrances for the army of servants that historically tended to it, and all sorts of doors leading out into gardens and the other buildings that have been built in proximity, ever expanding as its purpose changes from country house to academic institution.

Amity grew up in a house like this. A mansion, a plantation house on the river, a stain on the landscape of starved dirt and thick air. Edric had told her it was a real plantation house, that he’d found all the evidence in the library, and she had sighed resignedly because what else does she say to that. How does she think about that and not throw up at the dinner table in front of Mother, how does she think about what their house was and not rot her food on its plate with her lack of discipline.

The Blight Estate was a place of death and misery, a place where suffering was calculatedly inflicted to extract as much potential wealth and usefulness as possible. It had done so for 203 years. Every single day Amity had been trapped in that goddamn place of ghosts, she had lost her mind just a little bit more. Too shameful to leave, too weak and undisciplined to be allowed the privilege of the outside world. A stain on the Blight name. Never as useful as her siblings.

Getting out of that mansion and being trapped in another should’ve been a unique kind of hell, a maddening taste of freedom snuffed out cruelly as though she had not earned anything. As if the punishment for her birth-shame would continue. Forced to endure more isolation, but without the quiet and privacy and familiarity.

Where her house had rooms of emptiness and calculated discomfort, entire caverns of awkward conversation and garish decorations and rooms without purpose, not a single inch of space seems anything but downright homely and comforting in the academy.

The library is well stocked and constantly recycled. More than a place to present books for display, to signal an imaginary intelligence and prestige from owning enough of the things one needs an entire room, it is a place to read. There are kettles for tea, and armchairs so comfortable one could melt between its cushions forever. The windows are open to let in the rich sunlight, and the chatter of study is as soft as the wind.

The north-west corner drawing room with windows that stretch to the ceiling, that would’ve been decorated in pillaged artefacts and endless paintings of greyhounds, becomes a music room. Guitars along the walls, a grand piano she’s been itching to try, a full acoustic drum set, beanbags and arm chairs, Persian rugs. Places to sit by the window and watch Edric fumble with a bass guitar hopelessly while she reads some more.

The ninth grade common room is too loud for her tastes, too stifled with bodies for her to be anything but still with terror at the hypothetical brush of a hand against her own, but it’s a place designed for the happiness and social behaviour of teenagers, and that in of itself is such a novelty she’ll still go to watch the Banshees play crude card games, and sit with company while she studies.

Counsellor Hooty gave her instructions for the art room, one of many places she still hasn’t been in, even over the course of her weeks at the academy. He hadn’t said anything about what sorts of arts were taught in the classroom, and she had no idea how to read his avian face for a smile, but he’d recommended it highly. Amity did not consider herself an artistic person, but when Professor Darius had seconded the advice, she had figured that she could at least bring herself to visit the room when she had no other engagements.

The enormous oaken doors open near silently, into the east wing parlour connected to the smallest observatory. The floorboards are scuffed and paint-splattered to such a degree she’s sure her mother would go into immediate cardiac arrest upon seeing it. There’s a heavy smell of plastic glue and paint in the air, and projects of varying degrees of completion strung up all over the room. A bust of what appears to be electronic components, fairy lights and broken glass stands by the window, glittering etherally in the sunlight.

“- that the spine was working so hard to bring down to its food supply. Well, we don't have a lot of the cranial material. We have the braincase and little else. Uh, so we restore the rest of it after Dicraeosaurusand, now partially after Bajadasaurus, which was described last year.”

[absoluteaudacitywrites]

Lake Time Loop

A little while ago I had a plan with some other writers to write a fic where Henry gets stuck in a time loop at The Lake and has to hear Alex confess he's in love over and over again, night after night, while he tries to figure out how to get out of the situation. We each wrote a section.

Unfortunately the project fell apart due to one reason or another. The thing is, I'd written my whole section and I really like it! It's very angsty, which is out of the norm for me. So, I thought I'd share it here as a throw-away piece of writing that otherwise wouldn't see the light of day.

Enjoy! (Oh and tw: heavy alcohol consumption, vomiting described in detail, dark/self-harming thoughts from Henry)

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

Henry is losing his mind.

He has to be. He can’t actually be stuck in a time loop. He must be in a little padded room somewhere, imagining all this. Repressing his gay urges has finally sent him spare.

If he is imagining, or even worse, if he’s not, there seems to be no consequences here. In that case, why does he have to keep behaving in a manner befitting the crown? 

Maybe, Henry thinks, just maybe, if he gets drunk enough today he won’t have to comprehend the look in Alex’s eyes at the lake. He’ll simply get too sloshed to understand or care. It’s as good a plan as any, stuck as he is.

“Woah,” Alex says, as Henry pours a generous measure of brandy into his tea directly after breakfast. He’d sent a PPO off to a local town to buy him some supplies while everyone was still in bed. Buying brandy at seven in the morning; only in the USA. God bless America. “You okay there?”

“I feel like I’m getting a cold,” Henry lies, taking a large gulp of his beverage. It burns going down in exactly the way he was hoping it would. “This is a common home remedy in England.”

Alex raises an eyebrow at him, but Henry holds his gaze until he shrugs. “If you say so.”

Henry surreptitiously keeps up the cups of tea until lunch, switching to the sangria which has been made when the others start drinking with the meal. He has more than a buzz going already and he knows he is on his way to his goal of getting sloppy. He distantly wonders if the loop will re-set without him getting a hangover. 

After lunch everyone heads to the lake, a cooler of beers being carried down by Alex and Oscar, and Henry sits on the edge of the short dock with his feet in the water, drinking cold lager with the determination of a man possessed. He doesn’t swim. He can’t really feel his arms and legs very well anymore and he doesn’t want to drown. 

A morbid thought tells him that might be an effective end to his means. He drinks some more beer about it.

“Hey baby,” Alex says, swimming up and tugging on Henry’s leg. “You okay?”

“Yes,” Henry manages to slur. “I’m having a great time.”

Alex stares up at him, looking thoughtful and slightly concerned. “Okay,” he says eventually, and swims back to June and Nora. Henry can see them talking quietly, and catches the moment that June flicks a glance at him over her shoulder. He’s obviously worrying them, but he finds it hard to care - both because he’s very drunk and because he’s sure that all of this won’t matter tomorrow.

When the others get tired of swimming they all head back to the house, and Henry, having lost count of the number of drinks he’s had, finds that it is somewhat difficult to walk in a straight line. Almost immediately Alex is under his arm, gripping him around the waist and helping him walk the short distance to the house, where he dumps him in a chair on the porch. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, crouching down with his hands on his knees so he’s at Henry’s eye level. 

“Nothing,” Henry manages to mumble. 

“Henry, you’re completely hammered,” Alex says, and he sounds upset. “I know that’s not you.”

“No you don’t,” Henry slurs. “You don’t know me …. know me as well as you think.”

Alex’s eyes widen and he looks quite hurt, but it’s momentary and his face softens into sympathy. “I’m getting you some water,” he says, heading inside, and Henry wants to scream. Getting drunk wasn’t supposed to make Alex even more affectionate towards him. Why isn’t this working?

Slowly, on legs that won’t quite work, Henry stands. He still has half a bottle of brandy stashed in the room he’s sharing with Alex. If he can get that and down it, he hopes he’ll simply black out, removing any likelihood that Alex will confess.

When Henry walks into the house it’s clear he’s being talked about again. This time Nora, June and Alex are clustered around Oscar. They all look up as he enters, and concern is written across all their faces. Henry draws himself up to his full height and ignores them, staggering across the room and using furniture to keep himself upright, his sights set firmly on his goal.

Halfway across the room a strong hand clamps around his arm. “Son, where are you going?” Oscar asks, his expression deeply concerned. Alex is hovering just behind him. 

“‘m gonna lie down,” Henry manages to lie. Oscar gives him a searching look, but then loosens his hold.

“That might be a good idea,” he says. “But we should get some water in you first.”

“Don’t need it,” Henry says, turning towards the bedrooms again. This time Oscar lets him go, and through his haze Henry hears him telling Alex they’ll keep an eye on him during the afternoon. He makes it to the bedroom and quickly finds the brandy, lying down on the bottom bunk and hiding the bottle next to him under the sheets.

Alex comes in the room with a glass of water. “Will you please drink this?” he asks softly, holding out the glass, and Henry’s heart gives a lurch in his chest. Why is he doing this again? He’s obviously hurting Alex, who he has never wanted to hurt even for a moment. He forces himself to sit up and takes the glass, draining the water without looking at Alex and passing it back. 

Then, unable to look at the sad expression on Alex’s face, he turns and curls in on himself, hoping Alex will leave.

It hurts a lot when he does. Henry pulls the brandy out and drinks as much as he can in one breath, sick of the day and Alex’s hurt and this whole fucking loop he is stuck in. He pulls the bottle away from his mouth and pants for a moment, his hand slipping on the bottle and sloshing quite a bit of the brown liquid onto his chest, then finishes off the rest in a second pull.

The warmth of the brandy burns in his chest and Henry feels his stomach begin to roil against all the alcohol in his system, but as the spirit takes effect on him his vision begins to narrow to a point and his thoughts swim and then he feels nothing at all.

“Henry? Son, can you hear me? June, get a bowl. He’s breathing, I cleared his mouth out, he’s going to be okay, Alex. Mierda, why would he do this? Has he been under any sort of stress?”

Henry lets out a soft, involuntary groan. His face is sticky, especially around his mouth, and all he can taste is bile.

“Henry?! Henry, can you hear me?” It’s Alex’s voice, sounding strained and panicked. He feels hands on him, and then there’s some shuffling and they’re removed.

“Mijo, I know you’re worried, but you’re not helping. Just leave him for a moment, will you? Nora, can you -”

Henry hears Alex swearing and Nora cajoling and then there’s the sound of a door closing and their voices become more distant. He wants to stop them, to tell Alex to come back, and that he’s sorry and he knows he fucked up, but he can’t move. He tries to open his eyes but all his eyelids do is flutter. He groans again and feels the sensation of vomit surging up his throat.

Someone, Oscar he supposes, holds his head over the edge of the bed as he expunges the contents of his stomach. He vomits so hard it comes out his nose too, and by the time he finishes he’s letting out cracked sobs and his face is wet with sweat and tears. Oscar’s strong hands push him back onto the mattress and he feels a towel being wiped over his face. Slowly, he manages to squint his eyes open, and he finds Alex’s father on his knees next to the bottom bunk, looking at him with concern written across his features.

“Do you know where you are, Henry?” he asks.

“Lake,” Henry manages hoarsely.

“That’s right. What day is it?”

“S-Saturday?”

“Okay,” Oscar says. He watches Henry for a moment, a frown settling on his face. “I’m not going to ask why you purposely tried to drink yourself into a blackout,” he says in a low voice. “But I can tell you I am not impressed.” He sighs, looking Henry over. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my son is in love with you, and as his father I am now invested in making sure he’s not with someone who is going to make these kinds of selfish, self-destructive decisions.”

Henry shuts his eyes. Oscar keeps talking, but he doesn’t hear him. His plan has failed. He got drunk enough. He made himself sick. 

But he still had to hear that Alex loves him.

[yunxi-11085]

"The star of the void" part 2 - the voice

part 1 - meeting

part 2 - the voice

˚ · .↝ words : 1709

˚ · . pairs ¡ hsr men & women x gn! reader

˚ · . sypnosis ¡ "you wake up in the world of honkai star rail. you heard unknown voices in your head.

but 3 familiar people come to save you.

“

₊˚ପ⊹ tw ¡¿ : memory loss?

·˚ ༘ tags // @kimura-uzuri @yaesflorist @ukiyo-ikigai @khalinda-ev

@ send me an ask if you want to be tagged in my stories!!

find the way to your own story

you will soon find the people, who ▇▇▇▇▇▇

you jolt up with a headache, a sting of pain striking you and you hold your head. gripping your hair as to alleviate the pain.

what is that voice? who was speaking to you?

the sound echoed in your ears before you finally stop hearing it.

"ugh.." you blink tears out as the pain finally goes away. where... where am I? you stand up abruptly, and then your head stung in pain again.

you stumble and hold onto the wall for support. as you attempt to stabilize your head, you take a good look of your unknown surroundings.

and huh?

isn't this the space station in hsr?

you can see through a window the central area where the doomsday beast in the game appears in. and... the antimatter legion?

confused, you stare for a few minutes before finally moving your legs. your walk was unstable as you leapt onto a nearby wall for support.

you hoped to find something to explain in this unfamiliar researching room. the large screens flash numerous codes as if it were hacked.

you walk over to a table with documents and look cautiously.

'[▇▇▇▇▇▇ number #57▒18

track rec▒rd : unknown

cryptic cryp▒c crypti▒ crypt▒▒▒ ▒▒ ▒]'

the rest of the paper were glitched out, as if paper had a code as well. strange, documents aren't usually written like this aren't they?

your hand reached out to flip the paper, but a blooming purple flashing light came out the moment your fingers glazed a tiny bit of the paper.

the purple lights started moving towards you and you back up, but that didn't stop them from getting closer until it touched you.

flash!

"urgh!"

you fall down and you feel something crawling in you, all the way into your chest area. you gasp and hold your chest, you groan in pain as the pain enveloped your body and you pass out.

'hurry. our time is almost up'

--

"-yy!! there's an unconscious person here too!" you hear a bright voice near you, but your eyes felt heavy.

"-rch, you go save them this time"

"w-haaaaa??? I told you i don't know how to do CPR!!!"

"well someone's life is at stake here, unless you want to carry a body all the way to asta"

“uwaaa?? fine…..”

you can’t help but think, that those voices sound oh so strikingly similar to those characters.

footsteps of three walked closer to you but you couldn't open your eyes somehow.

you felt warm hands touching your shoulder, and you blink. huh? pink haired, black haired, and... gray haired?

why do they look exactly like they are in the game? are they in cosplay?

"they're awake!" mar— the pink haired said.

"hey, what's your name?" Dan... heng? asked, but you were silent. still trying to comprehend and understand this situation.

"or do you not remember anything?" you flinch.

that's a good question. why can't you remember anything? you remember your name, but why does everything else feel washed out? like as if someone wiped them. only to let you remember your own name, and the... game?

"my name... is..." you said slowly, squinting your eyes and you attempt to remember.

what about your family? your friends?

why are you here? how did you get here?

weren't you just doing— what?

what were you doin—

a little touch on your shoulder snaps you out of your thoughts, you look back at the black haired man and notice their concerned eyes.

"hey, it's okay if you don't remember. don't push yourself." he said slowly. you nod and the pink haired girl helps you up.

"my name is march 7th! this guy over here is dan heng, and he is caelus!" march proudly says and you freeze in place.

it's as if you really entered the world of your favorite game.

you open your mouth but close it when you realize you didn't have any words to say. you nod while march holds you up by your arms.

sounds started coming from dan heng's watch, he looks at it and says "we have to get going now. it appears I have to leave to take care of other matters. so I'll be leaving them to you march."

"mhm okay! don't worry about it!" march exclaims, waving dan heng goodbye.

"since we might be seeing some antimatter legions around here... we must find you both a weapon!"

march picks up a baseball bat out of nowhere and hands it to caelus, who holds onto it like a confused dog.

"hmm... as for you, we might need to ask himeko about this"

you walk with the two before noticing a monster lurking and walking in the next room. the two noticed as well, they nodded before getting into battle.

you stand... watching them.

oh it was so different seeing them in real time instead of in game

you saw the movements caelus made, the sound of his jacket slapping each other when he hit the monster with the bat, and the sound of when he broke his fingers after the impact.

you nearly rush in before march covers for him and shields him. you think it's better if you wait til the battle is over and then go and help him.

march was cute. like no joke really cute. you would've said the game gave no justice to her but they give enough justice so you let it slide. her face was cheeky and her outfit just fit her style.

the battle was over it seems when you notice the last monster falling down, and you immediately rush over to caelus.

he winces in pain and you tell him, "don't move"

you don't know how to bandage someone up you also notice. you rip off a piece of your jacket and wrap it on his fingers. march leans down and helps you tie it up.

"don't move your hands too much.. your bones are broken" you say, holding his bandaged hand and you look up at him.

you didn't realize how close you were when you could look into his eyes— those golden pupils, it looked fascinating—

you were too close to—

you let go of his hand and scramble back, nearly falling over when you stand up abruptly.

"um... let's go" you say, turning around with a red face.

the two follow you behind. one looking at you both questionably, and the other... observing you.

you reach the center where there is an elevator and you know it is broken, you watch as caelus attempted to unlock the elevator to no avail.

"they must've locked it up because of the invasion... now what do we do?" march said

"hey, I'm back." a familiar voice appeared behind you, you turned around to see dan heng.

"it appears the elevator has been locked, I'm sure arlan had the solution to that." he said.

the trio and you hurry to where arlan was and he hands you the key. though he doesn't recognize you or caelus, the fact that he gave you the key means that he trusts you.

you didn't know what to do with that trust. maybe it was because you were with the astral express or your interaction with them seemed like you were their newest member.

you hold your breath and unlock the elevator with the key. it goes to the highest floor and stops.

monsters are awaiting your arrival it seems, and the three— starts rushing over like no tomorrow.

you can't help but feel your heart tighten at the sight. you just really love the trio. the thought of family brings warmth in you.

you meet himeko soon after and you think, she looks really, really pretty. she smiles at you fondly and welcomes both you and caelus to the astral express. you smile back.

and then, huge warning signs appear as the conversation with asta continued. you stood in place before being dragged by himeko.

and then they face off the doomsday beast. even if the game wasn't as intense, you couldnt help the feeling of dread when you see the <em>big</em> and terrifying monster.

but you were thankful they could dodge some of the attacks.

and then— the blast fires at march. you want to run but you freeze in sight. your legs were wobbly and you see caelus shielding her and taking the blow

when the stellaron within him went out of control. you— collapse.

something hot is building in your chest and it hurts, it hurts really bad. dan heng catches you right before you fall to the ground.

d' don't let it ▒▒ ▒▒ ▒▒!!!!

the voice comes back again, albeit a little hallower.

you hear some shouts and see a new figure appear in front of caelus. you close your eyes in relief.

end note ¡ let's get some caelus cake goin???! he's observing because he literally just woke up and didn't know what his heart beating reallly fast meant lol

sorry if you wanted to partake in the battle and help out! i'm still thinking about whether the reader will take the path of abundance/harmony because then there'll be wholesome interactions between Natasha, bailu, and luocha... but I also want reader to be a DPS or attack to get some rlly good interactions where the character scolds them and bandages them up.... next chapter and more motivation to think I guess!!

next chapter depends on how many times I open my writing app.... so maybe in a few days.

feel free to type your suggestions or ideas in my ask box or in the replies/comments! I'd be happy to read them!

crossposted on AO3 ¡ here

[dragonnwriter]

Inviolable Bindings

Aemondxfem!OC and Aegonxfem!OC

All Chapters Here!

Chapter 39

Information regarding the dragonseeds continued to trickle in every few days. Each time word reached them that another dragon had been claimed by one of these bastards, Aemond would find himself struggling to manage his frustration and would call another meeting with Criston Cole. Viserra remained patient and joined him in support whether that was taking to the skies, sparring with him in the training yard, or even just being a quiet listening ear.

While Aemond spent his days plotting and planning with Cole, Viserra continued to visit the Queen’s chambers each morning. Little progress had been made in attempting to pull Helaena from her dark mind, though she still would not let it deter her. Even if she did not speak with the girl, she felt that it was not wasted time reading through the texts that might help them navigate the complexities of war.

Most days Aegon still spent the entirety of normal waking hours sedated by milk of the poppy. The maesters did not let him spend more than a few minutes in confused wakefulness before offering the cup back to his lips. After a significant amount of convincing, Alicent had finally allowed both Aemond and Viserra to see him, though visits remained short and completely supervised. Neither knew how Aegon’s mind fared underneath it all and as time continued to pass, Viserra found her worry growing.

Thankfully, Aemond had not brought up his desire to leave for Harrenhal again, but she knew that it most likely nagged at him each and every day. It had been two moons since Aegon returned to them battered and burned yet they still had not formulated a foolproof plan for the growing number of dragonriders on Dragonstone.

On an otherwise quiet morning, a raven came in with a letter detailing a large battle at sea in the Gullet. The castle immediately put itself on high alert. It had detailed that Velaryon ships sailing quietly from Dragonstone had run into several dozens of Essosi warships. It was to be assumed that the fleet requested from the Triarchy had finally arrived and upon chance, they ran into the other ships bearing the pretender queen’s sigil.

Both Aemond and Viserra patrolled the skies almost immediately, looking for any indication that their enemies might be planning to attack the city at the same time. It wasn’t until three days after that they received another raven with news that appeared to push things in their favor.

The Velaryon ships that were attacked by the Triarchy had been carrying the two youngest sons of Rhaenyra. While at first these ships seemed to have the advantage on the Essosi, Prince Jacaerys and his dragon were shot down and lost deep in the sea. This was followed by the destruction of each of the Velaryon warships. While one of Rhaenyra’s sons had been seen holding onto his dragon heading back in the direction of Dragonstone, there was no evidence that the other little prince had made it out alive.

Aemond held the letter in his hand, reading the words over and over again. Two more of Rhaenyra’s sons had been slain by their allies along with one of their grown dragons. While this did indeed benefit them in the war, there was no doubt that Rhaenyra’s next blow to the Greens would be nothing other than devastating.

Handing the letter over to Viserra, Aemond watched as she read it herself. It took her a moment to comprehend the significance of this information and she too read the words more than once. As her eyes finally rose from the letter to meet his one, she realized that there was something ignited within him that she could not decipher.

“What are you thinking?” She asked, putting the letter down and taking a step towards him.

“It is time. I will leave for Harrenhal in the next few days,” he began, watching as her lips instantly pursed in a straight line. “A raven will be sent to Daeron requesting that he meet me on the way. There is no doubt that he will make good time on dragonback and we should be able to reach the Riverlands in a fortnight on foot.”

“On foot?” She questioned, her eyebrows now furrowed.

“Cole and I will lead the army up north and we will kill my uncle and take control of the Riverlands.” Aemond looked sharply down to her, somewhat anticipating her to push against his plans. Instead, Viserra nodded, took in a deep breath, and brought her hands up to rest on his upper arms.

“I do not like the thought of being hundreds of miles from you and not knowing how the other is fairing in battle,” she admitted. “But I also do not see another way.”

He returned her smile and pulled her in by the waist. “Once the Riverlands are secured, I will return to King’s Landing and we will put an end to my half-sister’s false rule for good.”

Viserra only hoped it would be that easy, that eliminating Daemon would actually cause Rhaenyra to crumble. “I do not like it, but I will stay,” she reassured. “And keep the city under your rule.”

Aemond placed a quick kiss to the top of her head and left to relay the information to his Hand. She watched the closed doors for a few moments while letting everything sink in. In truth, all she could do was put blind faith that Aemond’s knowledge of his half-sister and uncle would not lead them astray. 

In hopes to clear her head, she let herself wander to the gardens. The landscapes and vibrant colors usually came as a good distraction, but in that moment it all seemed dull and lacking. It did not stop her from trying to enjoy it though, and she eventually found herself seated on the grass, letting the sun warm her face and chest.

The sound of hurried footsteps approaching pulled Viserra from the peacefulness that had taken quite some time to obtain. Flushed and wide eyed, Elia seemed relieved to finally find her and she stopped just feet from where she sat.

“M’lady, the King has been asking for you,” she panted, bowing slightly with the words.

It took longer than Viserra would admit to recognize what Elia had said. When she realized who she was actually speaking of, her heart almost leapt from her chest. The worry that Aegon would not ever wake from his constantly sedated state was now something she could put behind her. Without a second thought, she jumped to her feet and quickly made her way back into the castle.

Several different things raced through her mind as she quietly tried to anticipate what she would find when arriving at his bedside. As she climbed the Serpentine Steps two at a time, she found herself out of breath from both the physical exertion and the anticipation. She had not seen Aegon awake since she left him at Rook’s Rest with the unfulfilled promise that they would be in each other's company again within a few days. 

As she burst into the King’s chambers, Viserra was greeted by the sight of Alicent, standing with guarded concern as she looked at her. For a moment, she thought the woman might bar her entry as she had done many times before, but thankfully it did not happen.

“He has been awake for the last two hours this afternoon,” Alicent spoke. “And has refused much of his milk of the poppy.”

Viserra looked at her, not sure of how to respond. “And he has asked for me?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, though the underlying worry in Alicent’s voice did not go unnoticed.

Viserra was ushered into the bedchambers half expecting Aegon to be sleeping and lifeless. Instead, though still pale and visibly weakened, he was seated in bed, resting on a heap of pillows.

“Viserra,” he spoke, clearing his throat after her name came out somewhat raspy.

She quickly approached the bedside and sat next to him. “I was starting to wonder if you would ever wake,” she confessed.

Aegon smiled, grabbing her hand in his. “You would not get rid of me so easily.”

The quick flash of relief strewn across Viserra’s face dropped into a scowl. “It would have been easy to be rid of you in the state you have been in. However, many hands have worked tirelessly for your recovery.”

Though she was glad to see that his lighthearted and sarcastic nature had not been dimmed with his injuries, she did not appreciate the jab. As he continued to smile at her, she noticed the way that the healing burns prevented one side of his lips from moving as freely as the other.

“I will need to pay the whores double now with a face like this,” he laughed.

Viserra furrowed her eyebrows at him, giving his hand a squeeze. “Do not speak like that,” she responded. “You will continue to heal, these burns are still fresh.”

Aegon looked down at their hands and let out a sad chuckle. “I am sorry.”

“Whatever for?” She asked, confused at his self depreciation.

“I do not remember much, if any, of the battle that caused this,” he began, his voice lowered. “But I did not forget each moment we spent up until you departed back here to King’s Landing.”

Viserra pursed her lips but did not interject, letting him speak his thoughts freely.

“Mother says that it has been two whole moons since I was brought back. And that Aemond has been ruling in my place with you dutifully attending the council meetings at his side.” He did not look up as he spoke. “I suppose he is doing a fine job, and how could he not be with you there to stand with him?”

“Aegon,” she warned, slowly starting to realize where this conversation was heading.

“What? Is it not true?” He asked, bringing his eyes back up to hers.

Moving herself even closer to him, she leaned over, stopping only a few inches from his face. “Every person here has done what has been expected of them since their King arrived home nearly dead.” She paused, bringing her fingers to his face and gently running them over the almost healed burns. He did not flinch. “You and Aemond might not share the same weaknesses and strengths, but it does not mean he is without fault and can do this without you.”

“And you? Can you do this without me?” He asked, the hurt laced through each word.

“You have that little faith in me?” Viserra shook her head, pulling back and letting out a forced exhale.

Without a word, Aegon grabbed her arm, fingers digging into the fabric that covered her skin. Looking down and trying to understand his frustration, she noticed he was holding on to her so tight that his knuckles were white.

“I will not pretend like I understand what you are feeling, but it is neither Aemond or I who are your enemies,” she spoke, her voice now softer.

“You are right, you do not know how I am feeling,” he affirmed, letting the grip on her arm loosen. A long sigh came from his mouth and he finally relaxed back into the pillows with his eyes closed.

For a moment, Viserra watched quietly as he remained still. Shifting slightly on the bed, she attempted to pull her arm from his grasp but was met with him pulling her back. He opened his eyes, looking right through hers as if he were trying to tell her something.

There was no doubt that Aegon had weakened significantly in the weeks he had been abed. She could have easily taken her arm back but instead, she let him pull her close again. When he did not look away and instead held the intensity, she leaned in and gave him what she thought he was looking for.

The kiss started out gentle but quickly grew into one built by the repressed emotions boiling underneath. Aegon’s hand left her arm and moved to the back of her head, pulling her in as if he was terrified she might try and escape. Leaning onto him more she had almost forgotten that he was still healing from his injuries. But it wasn’t until he winced and let out a pained grunt that their lips consequently broke apart.

“Gods,” she said breathlessly. “I am sorry.” Her eyes frantically looked over him, afraid that she had been the cause of his pain.

“No,” he reassured her while reaching up and giving her arm a light squeeze. The glaze over his eyes did not disappear until he adjusted his position in bed with a grimace.

Viserra’s heart was still thumping in her chest as she sat there silently trying to reel in the explosion of emotions that had just escaped. Had she known he needed only a little bit of reassurance from the start, she might have started things off that way.

“Hand me my cup,” Aegon requested, reaching out to the table. “I have had very little since waking but I feel the pain beginning to ache in my bones.” Viserra did not hesitate to lean over and retrieve the cup from the table.

Watching him as he took a small sip, she couldn't help but notice the immediate relaxation that washed over his face.  However, they were abruptly interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat at the doors. Turning towards the source of the noise, she somehow was not surprised to find Aemond standing there, arms tucked behind his back.

“Brother,” Aegon called, causing Viserra to turn her attention back to him. His relaxed face now looked guarded.

Aemond walked towards them, not once looking at Viserra. “Mother said you had woken up enough this morning to refuse the anesthetic.” He eyed his brother, surprised that he actually looked quite good considering everything. Perhaps they had kept him overmedicated, but he did not doubt the Grand Maester’s reasoning for keeping him so sedated.

“I will leave you two alone,” she spoke, rising to her feet, but Aegon’s hand grabbed at the fabric of her dress and she looked back down to him.

“No need,” Aegon drawled while taking in a slow breath. It appeared that he was quickly losing the energy to continue their interaction. “I suppose you are enjoying ruling in my place,” he teased, giving Aemond a half smile. “It has always been a dream of yours, hasn’t it?”

Aemond’s face remained stoic, but the quick twitch of his eye hinted that the comment might have bothered him some. “I am merely fulfilling my duties, brother. Nothing more,” he gave his bedridden brother a small bow. “We are all awaiting the day that you are strong enough to sit back on the throne.”

Viserra observed the interaction closely, sensing the tension and deviation of the usual confidence from Aemond’s voice. She thought it quite possible that the guilt stemmed from Aegon’s waking and that it had meant he had less time as Prince Regent than he had originally thought.

Aegon winced and audibly groaned once more, taking in a sharp breath this time and clutching his side. Viserra’s eyebrows furrowed in concern as she reached out to offer him more from the cup. Looking over to Aemond, she noticed that his expression had softened as he observed his brother in pain.

“Drink the medicine and rest,” Aemong urged. “I will come by later in the afternoon if you are awake to give you more updates from the war front.” With another respectful bow, he turned and made his way back to the doors.

Left alone with Aegon once more, Viserra noticed the furrowing and slight sweat on his brow. Leaning down she left a soft kiss to his forehead and only lingered long enough to watch him slip back into a light slumber.

Eventually, she followed Aemond’s path out of the bedchamber. Alicent was still standing in the main room and wore the same expression on her face. “My son had been asking for you all morning,” she revealed, the maternal protectiveness evident in her voice. “I still worry for his recovery. We must prevent him from overexerting himself.”

Viserra understood the woman’s concern more than she realized. “I assure you, it will not be me who pushes him too far.” Her words were sincere even though it was difficult to not take offense to the dowager queen’s statement. “Just as you, I desire nothing more than for Aegon to fully recover and regain his strength.”

For a brief moment, Viserra wondered if Alicent still questioned her motives. Her suspicious demeanor and the protective nature over her children were often hidden behind a composed exterior.

Viserra continued making her way back to her own quarters, the most recent conversation lingering in her mind. As the chamber doors closed behind her, she finally allowed herself a moment to breathe and let her guard down.

They were vulnerable. And would be even more so when Aemond left for Harenhall. She did not have any doubts in her dragon or her skill, but even then, they would be no match to several dragons and their riders if they showed up to King’s Landing. Aegon had not even left his bed and Helaena and the children were easy targets. The discussions in both the council chambers and privately between her and Aemond always revolved around their next offensive move. But what if they found themselves cornered?

With confirmation of the dragonseeds involvement in the Gullet, she realized that the notion of defeat might truly be a real possibility. She did not fear death in battle and she knew that Aemond’s ego would not even entertain the idea. But it was the thought of the children and Helaena’s fate that made her worry.

The sunlight filtered through the window, illuminating the books stacked on the desk. There would be no place safe here in Westeros for any of them if they fled. If only she could reach out to her father.  Sitting down, she pulled out a piece of parchment paper from a box and carefully thought about how she might navigate this.

The letter would need to be informative yet leave out any information that could jeopardize their position. Her father, with his resources and influence in Volantis, would be able to offer a safe haven to anyone who arrived in his city with her blessing. It was crucial that her words be clear yet coded in a manner that only he would understand.

Lo gēlenka ōghar māzigon naejot aōha dōros, gūrogon zirȳ isse se mīsagon zirȳ kostōba. Lo gaoman daor mirre mazverdagon ziry lenton, gīmigon bona eman glaestan hen ñuha ābrar naejot se lēdāje.  Kirimvose, kepa. Syt bisa se syt mirre.

If silver hair arrives at your door, take them in and protect them fiercely. If I do not ever make it home, know that I have lived out my purpose. Thank you, father. For this and for everything.

Sealing the letter carefully, Viserra breathed a sigh of relief. Now she would need to find a way to not only get it back to Essos, but directly into her father’s hands. Running through many possibilities in her head, the only one that truly seemed foolproof also made her uneasy.

It was known that the Master of Whisperers had quite the extensive networking across the Seven Kingdoms and she had observed that he never seemed surprised when they were presented with new information in the Small Council meetings. Perhaps it would be in her benefit to establish some form of alliance with the wretched man, and though her dealings with him had been limited, it would mean she needed to find a way to work alongside him. The words her father spoke before she departed Pentos rang clear in her head. Trust no one. She would continue to heed his advice, but she did not need to completely trust the man to use him to her advantage. There was no doubt that if anyone could navigate the fine coordination that it took to get a letter across the Narrow Sea, it would be him.