#but i remember kit being a good boi for a second

[charleecat-bat]

 me @ surge and kit from IDW

[aayakashii]

could you feed us lyca simps?

I hope you don't mind the little slice of life fluff I ended up writing for this request, I just think he's too cute for his own good (๑•́ ᎔ ก̀๑) and thanks for the request!!

neapolitan

Warnings: none. Just tooth rotting fluff and slice of life. Lyca knowing nothing about the world, while MC holds his hand to introduce him to the fun things of life.

“You know you don't have to follow me right now, right? I'm just going to the store to restock my first aid kit…” you say, sighing in defeat, as you side-eye the tall boy prancing right beside you, almost attached to your hip.

Lyca puffs his chest, a small pout appearing under his sharp fangs.

“No, I have to! I don't trust that shop man. He is weird… He looks at you weird!”

Well… You couldn't quite deny that fact.

“But don't you have homework from Professor Moby?”

“Who is that again? You know I don't remember their names” Lyca asks, scrunching his brows and scratching his head, as if he was searching his brain for the right face to attach to the name.

“Professor squirmy” you suppress a smile as you use Lyca's nickname for the eldritch teacher.

“Oh! I have already done all my homework from his class, though?”

“Really?” you look at him with widened eyes “That's very responsible of you, Lyca. That's great!” you smile, giving him two thumbs up.

You do wonder how he managed to finish it all so quickly, since he had difficulty reading harder kanjis, but you just chalk it up to Subaru helping him out without your knowledge.

He huffs, cheeks just a little bit rosy.

“Of course! That's nothing for someone like me. I'm gonna be an exemp… exemp… eggs-emm-puh-larry… member of human society!” Lyca says, slapping his own chest with a loud thud.

“An exemplary member of human society, right?” you repeat his words, more fluently than him, so he can hear how it's usually pronounced.

“That's what I said.” he mumbles and pushes the door to Darkwick's local store open, pointing to the inside of the dimly lit shop “You first.”

You widen your eyes once again, and chuckle.

“Wait, when did you learn to be so gentlemanly?” you say, as you walk through the door with him right after you.

“The blonde gigolo has been teaching me some things. He says being a gen-tle-man would make people respect me more.”

You nod at his words right as the door closes loudly behind him, the chime bell slamming against the door frame.

Okay, well. Maybe he still needs a bit of practice.

You wince at the loud sound, but after just a few seconds, you immediately relax, feeling the cool air inside the store hit your body. The fragrant scent of pastries being displayed inside a small shelf and the gentleness of the low lights also lull you into a sense of tranquility.

It seems like the effect is the same on Lyca, because you see the way his shoulders slump a little bit and how his grumpy face gives way to an eased expression.

You decide to browse through the shelves for a bit, absentmindedly, before getting your supplies. Lyca stood close, his nose sniffing every little thing you pointed out.

After a lot of explaining about products (No, Lyca, you cannot eat tide pods, those are for washing clothes. Yes, Lyca, you can actually eat hard candy, they aren't made for biting though. No, Lyca, just because tide pods and hard candy look similar, doesn't mean they're the same thing), you grab all your needed supplies and make your way to the cashier.

Thinking hard about how to keep Lyca from growling at the shopkeeper, you barely notice how the werewolf walks towards a small freezer a few steps to the side of the cash register. You finish paying when you hear his voice calling at you.

“Hey! Hey! What's this?” he points to the inside of the freezer and you walk to his side, his hands instinctively grabbing your bags so he could carry them for you.

“Those are ice cream pots.” you look at the multi colored labels that advertised a small range of different flavors. “Have you ever eaten ice cream, Lyca?”

“What's that?” he looks inquisitively at the small containers.

“It's a type of frozen sweet. It has lots of flavors and it's usually eaten when it's hot outside.”

He hums, still staring at the pots.

“Do you like sweets, Lyca?”

“Hmm, not really…”

“Oh, I see...”

“But! It's, um. It's hot outside, right?” he replies quickly, looking at you expectantly.

You smile to yourself, thinking about how his tail would probably be wagging if it was out right now.

“That's true, it's very hot outside. I think ice cream sounds great right now, what do you think?”

“I- I agree! Of course.” he huffs, as if he wasn't almost hopping with joy at the idea.

You chuckle and open the freezer, grabbing a small pot for the both of you. After paying for the frozen treat and grabbing two spoons, you two go out into the merciless heat of Darkwick's campus.

“Okay, so.” you sit under a huge tree overlooking a lake, hiding from the sun rays under the cool shade, and grab the ice cream pot.

Lyca sits right next to you, back straight as a plank, paying full attention to you and the mysterious treat you bought.

“I bought this one because it has three of the most classic flavors, and since you never ate ice cream, I figured you should taste the most common ones first. It's called neapolitan.” you explain, opening the lid and giving him a spoon “It's vanilla, strawberry and chocolate”

His eyes sparkle, looking at the frozen sweet. Your eyes widen as you see his wolf ears and tail pop out instinctively, but you choose not to mention it.

“Oohh! It looks good! Which one should I try first?” he asks, tail sweeping the grass under him.

“You can try whichever you want. Go crazy!”

You immediately regret your words as he shoves his spoon deep into the ice cream, grabbing more than one flavor, and eating a huge spoonful in one go.

“Ugh!! My head!!” he yells after a little while, clawing at his own forehead.

“Lyca! You can't eat cold things so quickly, you'll get brain freeze” you scold him, rolling your eyes.

“Well, tell me that sooner!” he groans, still holding his head, eyes shut tight.

“You're supposed to know that instinctively!”

He grunts, shaking his head as the sharp pain disappears slowly.

“Grab just one flavor at a time for now, so you can see which one you like more. Then you can mix everything. Like this” you say as you scoop a bit of strawberry ice cream into your spoon and eat it.

He mimics your action, scooping a bit of vanilla ice cream first.

Lyca's face falls as he smacks his lips repeatedly, tasting the ice cream.

“It's not that big of a deal.” he says, visibly disappointed.

“That's okay, now try the pink one.”

He does as you say and immediately scrunches his face.

“Uwah! That's awful! I don't want to eat it!”

You sigh, thinking about how Lyca seems more like a werecat than a werewolf at times.

“That's fine, it's just your personal taste. Now try the brown one. It's chocolate.”

Lyca hesitates, not really trusting your words after the previous experiences, but scoops a bit of chocolate ice cream either way. As soon as he eats the treat, his ears and tail perk up.

“Ohhh!!! This one is good!!” He yells, tail wagging a thousand miles per hour and eyes sparkling as he scoops a huge amount of chocolate ice cream again.

“Careful, or you're gonna get brain freeze again!” You scold him, but immediately give up, sighing and smiling at the sight of him happily smearing chocolate onto his face, like a big baby.

“I like the brown one mixed with the white-ish yellow-ish one! The pink one is gross though!” He says grabbing the ice cream with his hands, spoon immediately forgotten.

“Ah, Lyca! You're not supposed to eat it with your hands! You'll get all dirty…” you fret, afraid he'll get his uniform stained once again.

“But it's better this way, because I can feel how cold it is with my hands. You humans are so weird with all your rules…” he grumbles.

You sigh, as he pouts and licks his hands clean, grumpiness fully back.

“You have to learn these rules to become human though? But…” you trail off and he looks at you as you rummage through your pockets, fishing out a handkerchief.

You hold his cheek, wiping his face clean, ignoring the little blush that tinted his face as you got closer.

“But as long as it's just us, you can eat however you want. Just don't do it in public. And don't tell Rui I said this! He thinks I spoil you way too much. Deal?”

Lyca looks away, clearing his throat that suddenly got parched, despite all the ice cream he had just eaten.

“Hmpft. D-deal.”

[hearta54]

He's A Distraction (Central Cee x Reader)

Summary: You're a dedicated student and going to Cambridge and become a doctor is your stars and heavens. To make that happen you have to move schools, a boy was never meant to be part of the picture. But Cench looks so good in it...

Word Count: 2 472

Notes: Sorry this is a bit long, I would love if you guys would send requests.

You scroll fixatedly on your laptop, scanning the screen in intense concentration and stopping each time something caught your attention. Reading the Cambridge Medicine webpage was an addiction; in the past you had tried to dissuade yourself from accepting this, but how could you not when it always stared blankly back at you? Addictive but productive, each time you re-read the sentences you had engraved into your memory you grew closer to your dream. And when you closed your eyes at night, you saw yourself in lavender scrubs and a pearly white lab coat; living your dream of being a Cambridge Alumni doctor.

Three A*s needed for entry motivated you to be an excellent student. You didn't mean to behave exaltedly but your current school was inadequate in innumerable ways. Today in biology, there hadn't been enough dissection kits, so the class had taken notes robotically and brushed over the practical. Defeated, you remembered how you had trudged home dubious; how could a school implore success in its students and not have the right resources? A memory of sitting in an examination room at Queen Victoria's Sixth Form Academy unnerved you, yes, you had sat the scholarship examination. It had been strenuous and the competition in the room had been palpable, even so, you didn't feel as if you could compete successfully. Falling asleep, you were plagued by these worrisome thoughts even in your dreams.

Obnoxiously the sound of your alarm erupted immersing the room and awakening you. Each morning when you woke up, a void would open gaping at you, existing ostentatiously: It was a persisting sense of loneliness at first; an innocuous reminder to cherish time with your parents. But this was difficult when they both left for work as the sun just began to emerge teasingly over the horizon. Your mother worked as a university professor, such a nominal salary for an intelligent woman, and your dad worked as a nurse; anyone could tell you nurses were underappreciated, numbers didn't have to. A smart knock was being emitted from the hallway, who was at the door?

A postman adorned in fluorescents held a letter for you to take, when you hesitated a second too delayed, he dropped it, walking swiftly to his flagged motorbike and zooming down the road. A Queen Victoria's Academy insignia? You felt so inauspicious as you leaned on the door prying the seal delicately open. Covering your face with your hand you peaked at the verdict through the intricate gaps between your fingers. "We would like to congratulate your success on the recent Academic Scholarship examination and invite you to accept a scholarship place with us." No words can grasp your joy it's transcending.

Yawning tiredly, you stretched placing your feet into your fluffy slippers, the night had gone and went without a wink of reprieve - you were consumed with nerves for the day ahead: Your first day at Queen Victoria's Sixth Form Academy. Opening the door, you walked across the creaking timber to make breakfast alone as you did every morning. You were befuddled to see your mother occupied in the kitchen handling an assortment of kitchenware ,readying a breakfast spread; usually you would just eat cereal; before you were pancakes, fresh fruit niftily cut, orange juice and array of salivating dishes.

"Mum why are you not at work?"

"I wanted to drive you for your first day, I can't begin to express how proud dad and I are," she said beaming excitedly.

You sat at the kitchen visualizing your mother's small, slightly dated and mediocre car driving alongside the avant-garde and luxurious cars of your new peers. Your stomach knotted half ominously and half guiltily. She seemed so happy to drive you and had sacrificed work to drive you, your inner monologue whispered insisting to take the bus would leave your mother forlorn.

"I'm glad you're taking me; I didn't really want to take the bus on my first day anyways."

Lies.

The academy's tree-lined boulevard was now in sight, driving alongside it now; planting your face against the misty window, eager to catch a glimpse. Your mother's car was now aligned with the curb which signaled a convenient space to leave; grudgingly you opened the door slowly as if peeking into a foreign world - in a way you were. You breathed in a long breath of courage as you slung your bag across your shoulders.

"Bye mum, thanks for the ride," you said, genuinely grateful.

"My pleasure darling, I love you, see you after school." Your mother grinned, pride cascading her face and carved smile lines. Guilt ebbed slowly as you watched your mother drive away. As her car dissipated to a speck in the distance a humble maroon car pulled to the curb, your mother had dropped you off with a car of a similar stature. You felt an unspoken sense of camaraderie. I'm glad I have someone to share the embarrassment with.

A boy emerged who appeared to be in the upper-sixth form - your year. He didn't seem ashamed of his car or even the slightest bit alienated; instead, he was confident, you could read if from his aura: it preceded him. Staring now, you saw his dark hair which was styled into jaw length box braids. His cutting cheek bones were iridescent, catching the sunlight, and you marveled at the softness of his plum bottom lip...

"I love you mum, thanks for the ride," he spoke to his mother with a genuine smile.

"I couldn't say no after you begged for a ride, could I? Have a good first day, Oakley."

What! He had asked for a ride. The guilt came gushing back, you weren't like him, yes you could relate about your car which was vain and face level. But he appreciated his mother wholly and wasn't attempting a façade to fit in with the elitism around. You felt a searing pang of shame. Frozen in thought you only broke out of this state when you felt dark coffee eyes meeting your gaze. The dwindling blare of the lesson bell dismissed you from the intense, awkward situation. Walking towards the office to meet the enrollment officer you chastised yourself sternly: This was the year of academic success entailing A*s, boys could tear down everything you had worked so hard for in a painful heartbeat.

The enrollment officer had distributed timetables to the small group of scholarship students; some of them gave a condescending air: Almost as if the fact testing had terminated slipped their minds, but most were nice and proffered kind but shy smiles, clipped at the edges with perceptible nerves. You navigated the halls wearily searching for your chemistry lab, the school was grandiose but tastefully understated. The look of old money attracted your gaze, it was a world away from where you had come. Walking the winding stairs, you see your chemistry class meters away from the landing 'room 299.'

Having arrived ahead of time allowed you to peruse the chemistry lab, it was a spectacle. Advanced modern equipment, granite bench tops, the most powerful microscopes... It left you speechless. You were broken from your trance by your classmates trickling in slowly and the booming voice of your new chemistry teacher.

"I am Dr. Olsen, I have a doctorate of chemistry from Oxford itself, trust you are in more than good hands," he paused to chuckle at his own joke but carried on when the students unreciprocated his mirth.

"This is the only chemistry class in the upper sixth form, that should allude to the arduous nature of the course. Therefore, to maximise your concentration I have taken it upon myself to devise a seating plan."

Dr. Olsen trailed off when the class began to groan resentfully.

"You can thank me when you receive your A-level results at the end of sixth form. Right then, in the back row, Y/N and Oakley Caesar-Su, Veronica Windward and Yasser Malik ..."

Oakley, You had been seated next to the boy from earlier this morning. You knew you shouldn't be smiling to yourself, chemistry was an imperative A-level. You weaved yourself to the back row and sat next to him.

"Hi Oakley," your voice had manifested much more timidly than you had expected.

" Yeah hey y/n, call me Cench, only my mum and tired old teachers like this one call me Oakley."

You giggled unexpectedly, he grinned back his gaze lingering. As Dr. Olsen droned on about Titration you took down notes studiously, beside you Cench was doing the same; writing down notes swiftly. You couldn't help but notice his handwriting was neat and prettily round, looking at his notes you dropped your pen. From your stool you reached down to retrieve it, on the way back up you bumped heads with Cench who had thoughtfully wanted to help.

"Oh my days, I'm sorry y/n, you good?" He was asking searching your eyes for signs of hurt.

You went to assure him you were okay when you got cut off by no other than Dr. Olsen...

"You two in the back Oakley and y/n quiet please."

"I am sorry Dr. Olsen I was just _"

"I don't want a justification take notes like everyone else, or get out," he said belittlingly.

Your cheeks got hotter as the class snapped their necks rubbernecking to witness your embarrassment, you looked at your notes mortified.

"Look, Dr. Olsen, You don't have to chat to her that way, she bumped her head and I was seeing if she was okay, yeah." Cench's jaw was locked making his cheek bones even more enunciated.

" Don't talk back Mr. Caesar-Su, detention after school." With an angered demeanor he resumed his lesson. You fought away guilt as you continued taking notes, if only I had gripped my pen tighter.

Trailing the halls advancing towards the exit, you're clouded with gratitude tinged with empathy for Cench, you hadn't meant to get him in trouble. Nor had you meant to tarnish his reputation in front of the strictest teacher. In your periphery you see Cench and your heart soars.

"Hi, Cench, I'm so sorry about earlier, I didn't think you'd get in trouble for trying to help."

"Don't worry about it y/n, that prick shouldn't have -"

"Right, students before we go into the room, these are the rules of after-school detention..." A teacher drawled these words with an expression of boredom.

You gave Cench an apologetic look over your shoulder before you opened the door, you were met by a smile and a shrug of the shoulders from Cench. The whole way home your mind is scattered with intrusive thoughts of him, you don't want them there but you don't want to fight them away either.

Cench's POV:

Detention dragged on just as I thought, thoughts of y/n appeased this listlessness because thinking of her had made it bearable. As we had worked on our assignments in silence I had chosen to continue my English literature essay. I could say I had not made much progress because the silence which filled the room was unsettling, but really it was because it was y/n who occupied my mind. Y/n with her guileless smile, her sharp and dazzling intellect, the clocked tick some more and I spent the time like this: Thinking up an interminable list of why I like y/n. Really and truly I had only met her today, but something about her...

Wrapping a towel around my waist and drying my wet braids, I hear a ping from my phone. 'You have received an email from..." It's a notification from the enrollments officer. Is this about today, I know I went overboard but I wasn't gonna let that prick talk to y/n like that.

I check what she has to say and she's saying I have to pick an extra-curricular to fulfil my scholarship expectations. That's calm, I'll join the Charitable Cause Club, I heard y/n is in it.

Y/N's POV:

At your desk you're riddled with inconsolable worry. In two days will be the chemistry exam which will make thirty percent of your semester grade. Staring at the notes in front of you which feel insurmountable you begin studying. It is well after midnight when you finally turn off your lamp and resign to sleep.

Cench's POV:

Standing around the classroom I see y/n, her eyebrows are nearly touching in what looks like worry while she reads her chemistry notes. I never thought she would panic during exam season, I think she's the smartest in our whole class. Watching her worry like eats away at me I really don't like it.

Lying awake on top of my covers despite the cold. My mind turns to y/n for the infinite time and I stop randomly at the Starbucks order she has in the morning sometimes. A regular matcha latte with two pumps of vanilla syrup and a strawberry icing doughnut embedded with fresh pieces of strawberry. Trust man's not simping... it's deeper than that.

Y/N's POV:

At 7am on a Friday morning, the library is empty. The comforting silence interrupted sporadically by the tinkering of the librarian. Today, is the day of the chemistry exam and no matter how much you study you don't feel ready for the exam. You feel warmth on your head, the feeling of someone watching you so you glance up straight into coffee eyes. It's Cench leaning on a bookcase your favourite Starbucks order in hand. Your heart skips several beats.

"Hi y/n, your such a neek you know, studying at this time." Cench says this as his eyes flick across your face, enthralled.

"I don't know, you can never be prepared enough," you retort, trying to fight a smile from showing on your lips but failing.

"I don't know about that, you'll do great, your as smart as you are cute. Which makes you very smart."

You feel your cheeks getting hotter and you stare blankly at your notebook.

Never taking his eyes off you Cench puts the drink and a paper bag down on the table.

"I got you a little something, good luck, yeah."

You watch him as he walks away, with his bag slung over one shoulder. Suddenly you are filled with the confidence he has in you.

Taking a few sips of your matcha leaves you refreshed, reaching into the paper bag your heart squeezes when you see a strawberry covered doughnut. How did he know. Looking inside the bag for napkins you see a strip of paper, unfolding the paper you read the message.

It says: You should go out with man. Scrolled on the bottom is a phone number.

You gasp earning a reprimanding look from the librarian. Your mind wanders visualising what your date with him will be like.

...

THE END

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Crimson Fangs Sing Me Lullabies

PAIRING: David 'Hesh' Walker x F!Reader

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

WORD COUNT: 18.7k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

T…there was just too much blood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Small brown eyes are already locked onto you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You could smell its damn breath.

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

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

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

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

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

You realize quickly that the barking has entirely stopped. 

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

Someone who was probably going to kill you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hesh doesn’t know what to think. 

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

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

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

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

When did this happen? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hesh sends a quick glance and smiles. 

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

Elias Walker was sure to be intrigued by this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes purposefully never stray to the canine. 

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

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

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

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

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

But you really didn’t like being near Riley. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Riley halts with a huff. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that damn dog. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you…he wanted to help you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You only turn back when your name is brought up. 

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

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

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

Hesh shares a stiff glance with Logan. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hesh grunts softly, still smiling. 

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

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

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

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

Federation…You speak slowly, thoughtful of your words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the Wall. 

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

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

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

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

The brothers share a look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about me?” He asks, cheekily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, not really.”

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

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

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

Stop that.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not too bad yourself, Ma’am.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sentence falls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

David blinks his green eyes at you, face creasing. 

“Pattern?” 

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

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

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

Delicate stitches. 

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes crinkle, and the man swallows.

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

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

Laughs bounce off the street. 

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

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

The barracks building comes into view. 

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

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

The brunette sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He trails off when he sees your face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sniffling, you melt even more into him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feeling better.”

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whoa, first name—that’s illegal.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hell, what would you have been like, even?

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

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

You didn’t mind in the slightest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone’s at the fucking bar!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pain shoots down your chest with ruthless efficiency. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Riley. Christ, Riley. 

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

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

It carried on just the same. 

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

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

Hesh.  

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

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

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

Riley huffs, feet shifting. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the shock was short-lived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other feet pound the ground near the entrance.

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

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

His heart breaks.

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

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

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

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

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

He’s good.

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

“Nurse!”

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh, shaking your head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was he…?

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

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

“If I hadn’t gotten there on time…” 

“Hesh.”

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

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

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

His loyalty.

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

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

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

“You’re lucky you’re perfect, David.”

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

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

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

They leave them be.

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[tornado1992]

Sonic is fighting Eggman on one of his evil lairs, nothing new. Tails helped him wreck some badniks but Sonic said he wanted to annoy Eggman by himself for a little bit, so the little fox wanders around the base, maybe he can collect some data to outpace Eggman before his next scheme, the control room is in the same place almost every time so he confidently enters the room after six seconds of hacking through the lock, a semi solid hologram of a girl with crimson eyes turns to him as he steps inside.

Sage, right, he remembers her, he suddenly also remembers that the “Chaos Energy Use Effects On Non Organic Beings” conference he wanted to see was airing live just at that time, but that was only because could see the program starting and being projected on the multiple screens of the room behind Sage. He keeps looking at them for a whole 10 seconds, then remembers where he is, and as he quickly returns his attention to the A.I. girl while he positions himself to fight, he notices she hasn’t displayed any security measures against him, he also noticed that while he was looking at the screens she only looked at him without stopping, not until now, as he can see how she turns her sight back to the biggest screen of the room without saying anything. He doesn’t say anything either.

He opted to watch the same screen as Sage, getting closer to her, apparently she didn’t mind him being here, if the fact that she didn’t stopped him when he sat on the floor just beside her said anything. He doesn’t remember how long was it since he sat down with her, he doesn’t remember when the yelling and fighting from the lair’s entrance stopped, but that’s good to him, at least now they can hear clearly the presenter’s q&a section.

The fight between hedgehog and madman stopped by the scientist request, as apparently he promised his daughter he would keep quiet that evening so she could enjoy her favorite talk show, a science one of course. The speedster agreed without much convincing, as he also remembered his little brother wanted to go home as early as they could to watch some investigator’s interview thingy.

They walked at a fast pace through the base looking for the fox kit so the old Egghead could kick them out of his house as soon as possible, the control room was the obvious answer for both of them if they wanted to find a curious boy on an evil lair, they didn’t expect to find said boy sitting on the ground smiling and talking energetically with with the translucent hologram A. I. Eggman called his daughter.

Sonic was no scientist, but he knew when someone was talking science, just as he knew how happy his little brother got anytime someone could keep up with him over physics, engineering, mechanics or anything of sorts kind of conversation, but the girl in front of Tails was speaking non-stop, loudly and expertly over some complicated calculations, and the kid’s twin tails wouldn’t stop wagging as he listened. Sonic grinned, he didn’t understand what they were really talking about, but the scene in front of his eyes screamed chemistry.

Even if Eggman could understand what they were talking about, he paid no attention to their voices, nor the motion of the fox’s tails, or how they both turned repeatedly to the screen behind them and then back to each other; focusing only on how his daughter’s eyes glimmered when she listened to the fox’s long answer to her comment, and the smile that they both offered each other when the screens turned off when the show finished. He never saw such smile on his daughter’s face before.

[nanistar]

i saw ur nightheart posts and i noticed u hate him quite a lot and im curious for the reasons why! i hope it doesnt sound rude! its a genuine question out of curiousity not an attempt for you to justify ur opinion, personally im aloof when it comes to nightheart i think hes just an edgelord tbh

nah you're not rude dw i get it. tbh i don't hate HIM as a character, i mean he's kinda annoying but whatever. instead i hate everything about him as a written extension of the authors and their views. nightheart isn't real, and doesn't have opinions but they authors do and they speak thru him to a young and volatile audience that might not know better. (which is also why i don't buy the "unreliable narrator" thing)

they twist the female characters around him to fit their narrative of "poor misunderstood sadboy" surrounded by "cruel mean women". squirrelflight, sparkpelt and even finchlight already had personalities, squirrelflight especially is known for bending rules for what she views as "the right thing", so why would she turn around and scream at him for wanting to change his name? why would finchlight, in one book, support his name change and stick up for him, only for in the next book to completely turn around and call him disrespectful and selfish. they needed to create more drama for him. before his warrior ceremony, he pulls off dangerous stunts trying to show off during his test, and it ends up blowing up in his face and fails, and he doesn't see this as HIS failing, he blames squirrelflight and his mentor for "expecting more of him because he's related to firestar" which??? and for that plot point to be given to him instead of his mother sparkpelt who is multiple times described as the spitting image of firestar? but she's like, totally fine with it. she's never given anything to do ever until she becomes a mother, (except disagree with alderheart like once and be the "rude misunderstanding woman" for his story too.)

and speaking of mothers... sparkpelt lost her mate as she gave birth, two heavily traumatizing things happening simultaneously. she had post-partum depression for a while, which is a serious and debilitating illness that KILLS people. yet she was still able to feed the kits, she didn't abandon them. they had plenty of attention from their family and from the other nursery cats. they were never once neglected. she was only out of commission for about a month before squirrelflight helped her back on her feet but that doesn't matter, because for the narrative, (and by the fandom) she is treated like a horrible abusive mother who neglected her kids on purpose. which. first of all crookedstar couldn't even LOOK at his daughter for the first week of her life and he is heralded as nothing but a loving father. second, nightheart goes on and on about how she left him and how she is hardly his mother because (lilyheart? i dont remember) one of the other queens helped raise them for the first month. the erins tie the worth of their female characters to how good of a mother they are, and any deviations from the nuclear family with a working husband and a housewife are automatically bad in their eyes,( yet they killed off ferncloud because she was "too annoying" for being a loving nursery mom.) (also think about how anti-adoption they are. the second the po3 secret was out, suddenly brambleclaw and squilf were never their parents despite literally raising them) they are horribly misogynistic, and their female characters are just pawns for either manpain or to be baby machines. this doesn't even begin to touch on how boy crazy the female protags have been lately, bristlefrost was interesting at first but eventually just turned into a wife for rootspring and then fridged for manpain, and sunbeam suddenly deciding shes in love with nightheart even though he stalked her and creeped her out???

adding on to this point, during ashfur's takeover, sparkpelt is EXILED from thunderclan (after being mauled by dogs, and by who she believes to be her father btw) she BEGS imposterstar to let her stay because of her family but he refuses. finchpaw chooses to go with her mother but flamepaw stays behind. then in his POV parts, he goes on and on about how she walked out on him!

again, nightheart the character: not real. he's a puppet for the authors to speak their misogynistic rhetoric. i would LOVE if he was just kinda a whiny emo dirtbag, or an actual unreliable narrator and whenever he complained everyone around him rolled their eyes and was like "ok nightheart" . remember that scene in meet the robinsons where bowler hat guy is telling his tragic backstory and he's talking about ppl at school and his narration says "they alll HATED me" while everyone in the scene was like "hi goob cool binder!" or "hey wanna come hang out with me later?" THAT'S (hilarious) but also what an unreliable narrator is. if that was nightheart it would be so funny. but instead, he HAS to be right, he HAS to be mistreated by all these mean horrible women. sorry for ranting, i promise im not mad at you.

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

A Quick Look at Logos

I wanted to write this down to get my thoughts on paper because, yes, Wish'adel is insane but she's the Chalter of Flingers she's got crazy numbers but Logos is a lot more interesting because what he does is more unique and honestly I think he fulfilled my prophecy a while back: they're inevitably going to power creep Eyja, and I think they did it.

First, module and talent. Logos has the same Delta module as Ebenholz, meaning he does Necrosis damage, and it improves his first talent. His first talent gives him a decent chance to attack another random target when attacking for less damage (importantly, this can be on the same target) with some slight crowd control and if they're under necrosis burst, it deals additional Elemental damage.

This talent is pretty good but not exactly stellar in most situations, and amazing in others. If you're fighting a group of enemies, chances are this will just results in some decent spread damage, but against one enemy this is big fat free DPS increase that makes Logos a lot scarier.

His second talent is a small flat RES reduction and a small flat Arts damage increase, which helps Logos a lot. Logos will always deal okay damage against most enemies.

Logos' Skill 1 is crazy. If you've ever used the Besieger Relic in IS4 and watched Typhon show off why she's IS4's incredibly special girl, this is Logos being Hypergryph's incredibly special boy. The instakill threshold for a maxed out Logos is 2,565 HP. That's pretty respectable on its own and puts a wide swath of enemies both in "instantly dies when entering attack range" and "will die upon taking any reasonable amount of damage", but remember, that's without buffs. If you use Skadi the Corrupting Heart's and Warfarin's S2 on Logos, that HP threshold jumps to 4,155.

Since the remaining HP is deal as damage to another enemy, it is VERY easy for large groups to suddenly have massive chain reactions where enemies instantly die, deal damage to another enemy, and that enemy also instantly dies. This skill is great, it's one of the most efficient skills at clearing out large groups of trash.

Logos' Skill 2 is deceptively powerful and his strongest boss killer kill on his kit. Due to the scaling damage increase and the insane attack speed triggering his first talent repeatedly, this skill ends up having a really high DPS that's all extremely compatible with attack buffs and Inspiration. It also gives Logos 90 RES, which essentially gives him 16,000 HP against Arts damage, and has good skill cycling time. I wanna see Logos and Mandragora trade beams.

Oh yeah this is also great for piling on Necrosis damage btw.

I want to say this is the kind of flashy S3 that won't really see use over his other skills, but it's really hard to argue with a skill that, at base, gives him 3,420 ATK and lets him hit 3 enemies at once. The primary gimmick of this skill is stopping and absorbing enemy projectiles, and I think this does probably have more uses than the funny showcases against Talulah, but this is just a good skill for having an on-demand mini Volcano.

There's a pretty reasonable chance this might be Logos's best skill in IS too, just because a skill that reads "quadruple your ATK" goes insane with literally any additional stage ATK buffs. Survivor Contract in IS3 already let's you do insane shit, and I genuinely wonder if getting to 6 digits worth of ATK is possible with Logos.

There's something to be said that Eyja's S2 is still really good, and I don't necessarily want to disagree. But I think what Logos brings to the table is both very powerful and very unique, and I think players are going to find that they edge much more into bringing Logos into squads than they do Eyja.

I mean you can also use them both, the cops can't fucking stop you.

[happi-tree]

i hate accidents (except when we went from friends to this)

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, I don’t know what came over me, you’re just so hurt and I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do and -”

Link cuts himself off as he glances up from Taylor’s still-glazed expression to his forehead. Before his eyes, the gash stitches itself closed, the open wound fading to a pink scar that pales to white before disappearing entirely.

Lincoln remembers hearing the words “kiss it better” throughout his entire childhood. He remembers the way his dads would patch up his scraped knees with ointment and a bandage and top it all off with a tiny kiss before treating him to a hard candy from their first aid kit for being such a good boy.

Never once had Link thought that the phrase could be literal. Or that his newfound powers could make it literal.

Or: Link discovers a rather unorthodox way of using Lay On Hands thanks to one Taylor Swift, and for some reason, he can’t seem to stop finding excuses to perfect his new skills. Fortunately, Taylor is more than happy to help.

once / twice / thrice, pt. 1 / thrice, pt. 2

twice (‘cause it’s gonna be alright)

The second time it happens, it’s not an accident. 

Taylor invited Link to his house on the pretense of doing homework together (who knew saving the world meant having so many late assignments?) and maybe watching some anime later. 

It had taken Link some convincing at first, but Taylor thinks he’s finally got him hooked on Blue Lock: Keyed Up!!! (which is good, considering it’s the only soccer anime that Taylor’s watched). 

Unfortunately, though, homework comes first. Which sucks, because there are about a million and one better things that a protagonist like him could be doing, but he doesn’t want to worry his mom about his grades slipping any further.

Plus, Taylor missed an additional afternoon’s worth of classes yesterday for a long-overdue orthodontist appointment (his jaw aches at the reminder), so he has extra extra make-up work. Ugh. 

At least Link’s passable at science. Normally, Scary could make up some pretty good answers for all of them for their English work, but she’s out recording some stuff for Erica’s podcast. Normal has cheer practice, so Taylor doesn’t really have much hope for his pile of Spanish worksheets, but at the very least, he and Link are making progress. 

Very slow progress. 

Taylor accidentally clenches his jaw a little too hard, and the ache in his teeth intensifies from there-but-tolerable to fucking-hell-it-feels-like-someone-is-wrenching-my-upper-jaw-in-two-holy-shit.

He makes a quiet, whimpering sort of noise, and Link looks up from his work immediately, eyebrows all scrunched together and lips downturned in concern. It would be cute if Taylor could focus on anything other than the agony plaguing his mouth.

“You okay, dude?” he asks, shifting closer on Taylor’s king-size mattress.

“Nnnnnnn,” Taylor moans, shaking his head ever so slightly and flopping back against the pillows dramatically (but carefully, so as not to accidentally make the pain worse somehow). “Teeth hurt.”

“Oh, right, you got your braces adjusted yesterday,” Link gently moves their notebooks and laptops to the side, where they won’t get crushed. 

Taylor’s eyes squeeze shut as he tries to do anything but focus on the ache. “Mmm,” he confirms. “And I think maybe my fangs might be growing in? Hard to tell, but I keep accidentally cutting my tongue on my canines, so I think they’re getting sharper.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Link says, and the sincerity in his voice brings a smile to Taylor’s face, which he cuts off with a wince because fuck, ow, that hurt.

“Would be cooler if my entire mouth didn’t hurt like hell, though,” Taylor grumbles. 

He opens his eyes to find Link hovering over him, looking worried and… hesitant?

“Jeez, Link, I’m not dying or anything. The torment is endless and the agony neverending, but I will persevere! Ah, fuck,” Taylor mutters, pressing a hand to his cheek, which only seems to make matters worse.

Link’s still looking at him like that, though, so he makes grabby hands to beckon him closer.

“Cuddles would maybe help, though, if you’re just gonna sit there,” he offers.

“I can work with that,” Link says, laughing a little under his breath and leaning back on the pillows beside him. 

He opens up his arms and Taylor wedges himself between them, tucking his head under Link’s chin and burying the top portion of his face into his chest, right below his collarbones. He inhales, trying to focus on the smell of laundry detergent and fresh-cut grass and sports deodorant and sweat and something uniquely Link rather than the pain in his jaw, and it works a little.

Link’s arms come around to encircle him, and while Taylor can feel stifled by skin-to-skin contact (he already has enough trouble regulating his own body heat without throwing someone else’s into the mix), the way Link holds him feels… nice. Protective. Link begins to trace tiny, meaningless circles into his back with his thumbs through the fabric of Taylor’s shirt, and the sensation grounds him. 

Taylor quietly realizes that he hasn’t felt this safe in a long time. 

His mouth still hurts like a bitch, though.

As if on cue, another pulse of pain floods his mouth, and Taylor instinctively clenches his jaw against the feeling, which in hindsight was pretty stupid because it makes the ache intensify tenfold. Taylor lets out a whine into Link’s chest, clutching helplessly at his best friend’s shirt. 

He fantasizes somewhat deliriously about taking his teeth and chucking them out of his face where they can’t hurt him.

“That seems like it must be pretty painful,” Link says sadly.

“Nnnnnnnngh,” Taylor replies because yeah, no shit, Sherlock-kun.

“You know,” Link starts out, tone still soft but much more considering, more nervous. Taylor can feel the vibration of Link’s voice against the top of his head, right where it’s pressed against his taller friend’s throat. “I think I can fix that, if you want.”

Taylor pulls away a bit, and Link loosens his hold to allow for some space.

“Well, why didn’t you say so earlier?” Taylor asks. “I know I look totally awesome and composed on the outside, but I am fucking perishing inside. Yes, please, whatever your idea is, I will literally do anything. What were you thinking of, though?”

“Well,” Link says, voice pitching high, “I was thinking, I could, uh. Kiss it better? Like I did last week, if you remember that?” He looks briefly down at Taylor, as he says this, scanning his face for… something. “Oh my god, it would be so embarrassing if you didn’t remember that. Never mind, this is so stupid, sorry, forget I said anything.”

Except Taylor doesn’t really hear that last part because he’s too busy reliving the feeling of Link’s chapped lips pressed against his temple, callused hands cradling the back of his head, big brown eyes that look like black holes in the darkness of sun-off threatening to swallow Taylor completely. 

Does Taylor remember last week? That’s like asking someone if they remember that the sky is red. Taylor remembers last week annoyingly well, and he keeps remembering it, and the scene plays and replays as the hellfire within his ribcage flares and the heat rises and he looks up at Link who’s still working himself into some anxiety-ridden ramble and -

Cool it, cool it, part of his mind whispers to him. 

Link offered to kiss me, an irritatingly large amount of his brain shrieks back at him, uncool and uncharacteristically nervous and taking up more mental real estate by the second. Boy hugging me boy touching me boy kissing me?

You just need to calm down, the more rational part of his brain assuages. You’re Taylor Swift, you’ve got this.

I’m Taylor Swift, I’ve got this. Taylor mentally chants, strongarming the fire in his chest and turning the flame down to something a bit more bearable. I’ve got this. I’m popular, I’m icy cool, and anyone would be lucky to kiss me. I’ve got this.

Brain successfully rebooted, Taylor nudges at Link’s shoulder, stopping his friend’s mutterings in their tracks.

“As long as you haven’t talked yourself out of it, I’m, like, totally down if you’re still offering. You severely underestimate how desperate I am for pain relief.”

“Oh,” Link says, eyebrows drawn up in surprise. Then, “Really?”

“Yeah, oh,” Taylor echoes back. “Really. The only thing is… don’t you usually have to touch whatever’s hurt for it to work? And like, it’s my teeth, so…”

“Yeah, and?” Link prompts, like he isn’t quite seeing any problem with that and.

Oh.

Oh, Link means kissing kissing. Like, on the mouth. And to get at Taylor’s teeth… that’s like making-out-kissing. Oh, god. Oh my god, okay. This is fine. Sure! Great.

“Oh,” Taylor says aloud. Then, “Okay!”

“Are you sure? About this?” Link questions, searching Taylor’s expression even as he places a slightly-clammy hand to Taylor’s cheek, even as Taylor’s face feels like it lights on fire in response. The clear concern in the upturn of his brows and the gleam in his dark eyes has Taylor humming in assent before he realizes what he’s doing and placing his hand atop Link’s larger one, holding him there as Taylor’s gaze is drawn to his slightly parted lips.

“For the love of god, Link, just kiss me already.”

“Okay,” Lincoln says, quiet and slightly unsteady. And he closes the gap.

It’s clear that this is Link’s first kiss, and Taylor’s pretty sure Link can tell that it’s the first time he’s kissed someone, too (well, someone that isn’t his body pillows).

Link’s lips feel softer against Taylor’s than they had against his forehead. He’s tentative and shy and exceedingly gentle, and Taylor’s unsure if that’s out of the fear of causing him undue pain or if it’s just who Link is, but he appreciates it either way.

 Link’s thumb strokes delicately across Taylor’s cheek, almost reverently, like he’s afraid that Taylor will break apart in his arms if he doesn’t treat him with care. Link’s other hand comes to rest at the side of his neck, threading through the hair that’s escaped Taylor’s topknot, and the feeling of it paired with the light press of Link’s lips against his own draws another humming sound from his throat.

Taylor tries his best to reciprocate, mouth pliant against Link’s, free hand fisting in the soft, slippery fabric of his best friend’s shirt and tugging gently as if to bring him in even closer. His other hand moves from atop Link’s to cradle the back of his head and run his fingers through his close-cropped hair.

Link makes a low, soft sort of noise that will no doubt be replaying for weeks on end in Taylor’s head. God, he needs to hear that sound again.

Sadly, though, they’ve run out of air, and Lincoln pulls away only to lean back in and carefully rest his forehead against Taylor’s.

Taylor’s eyelids blink open (oh, he had closed them, when had that happened?) and he comes face-to-face with Link, brown eyes deep and dark, half-lidded and half-dazed, staring directly at him with open affection. His hand still rests on Taylor’s cheek, and Taylor can feel the stark temperature difference there, anxiety-chilled and demonically-overheated, as something flutters hard in his chest.

“Uh, wow,” Link says, quiet and very breathless, and God, who gave him the right to be so beautiful and so adorable at the same time?

Taylor draws his lip in between his teeth and is greeted with a sharp stab of pain.

“Ow, fuck, shit,” Taylor hisses, scooching back to put more distance between the two of them. “Guess that didn’t work, but thanks for trying, Link. You out of spell slots or something?”

With Link’s complexion, it can be difficult to tell when his friend is flushed or flustered, but his wide eyes and cringing expression definitely come across as embarrassed.

“No,” he replies, voice a few octaves higher than normal. “I, uh, forgot? To do the spell.”

At Taylor’s quirked eyebrow, Link elaborates, “I just wanted to make sure I didn’t accidentally hurt you more, and then I got so wrapped up in that that I guess I forgot, and then you did that thing with your hand in my hair, and -” he cuts himself off with a whine, covering his eyes with a hand and dramatically rolling over, the picture of mortification. “Kill me now.”

Taylor laughs, loud and sudden and sharp despite the pain, and Lincoln curls a little further into himself. 

“I can just, uh - I made it weird, I can just go, I guess?” Link says in that reedy, nervous way of his, voice cracking toward the end as he sits up, moves to stand -

“Dude,” Taylor clambers across the mattress after him, grabs his wrist. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“I-“ Link gestures with his thumb toward the door. “Home? I mean, I screwed up, and you laughed, and now you probably think I’m so stupid and-“

“Hold up, handsome,” where did that pet name come from - “I wasn’t laughing at you- I mean! I was,” Taylor watches as Link’s expression droops further “- but not to make fun of you! It’s just…” Come on, just say it, you’ve never had trouble speaking your mind before - “endearing.”

Link looks more confused and anxious than anything, but that’s better than sad and anxious, so Taylor takes that as a win. 

“Plus, you’re not getting away from me that easy, Li-Wilson,” He adds, tugging his friend a little closer. Link doesn’t resist it.

Taylor allows a smile to pull at his lips, only flinching a little bit at the pain he now expects. “You can try again, you know,” he offers, looking up at Link through his lashes. 

“I can?” His friend asks, skin flushed darker across his cheeks. “I didn’t make it too awkward?”

“Nope!” Taylor responds, popping the “p.” 

“Nothing awkward about a good old-fashioned makeout session with your best friend!”

“Best friend,” Link echoes, “Right…”

“C’mon,” Taylor goads, crooking a finger toward him as he smirks. “I don’t bite.”

Taylor’s gaze lowers from Link’s face and rests at the side of his friend’s neck, taking note of the sparse freckles there. His teeth feel a little heavier in his mouth.

“Not unless you want me to,” he murmurs. 

“What?” Link asks, sounding strangled. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Taylor evades.

“If you’re really sure -“

“I am,” Taylor confirms, moving to sit half-gracelessly in his friend’s lap, hands steadying his weight on Link’s strong shoulders. “Now, less tally-talky, more smoochy-smoochy!”

“So demanding,” Link teases, even as he threads his fingers through his hair again. Taylor can hear the smile in his voice without having to look - which is good, because if he did, he’s pretty sure he’d give into the impulse to kiss the curve of his lips without preamble.

“You bet.” Taylor’s voice comes out much breathier than he expects as he meets Link’s eyes. “Don’t forget the spell this time!”

“I won’t! Probably.” 

Just like before, Link leans in again, and a slight smile pulls at Taylor’s lips as he meets him halfway. 

The sensation of Link’s lips against his own is a little less foreign now, a little less startling. Taylor lets himself melt into it, and just before he closes his eyes he can see the adorable little furrow of concentration between Link’s brows that he gets whenever he’s casting something. 

Kissing his best friend tastes like vanilla chapstick and Taylor’s favorite soda. Link had snagged a bottle of lychee Ramune out of his hands earlier, saying something about how carbonation was bad for braces and offering his homemade sports drink instead (which hadn’t tasted too great but wasn’t quite as bad as Taylor had expected). Taylor finds that he doesn’t really mind, now - not when the flavor is even more addictive this way.

Link’s hands come up to cradle the sides of Taylor’s face like some sort of fairytale prince, firm and gentle and insistent all at once. The soft pressure of his friend’s fingertips ghosts along the jut of his jawline, and it’s almost worshipful, like Link sees Taylor as someone to be adored. 

The tenderness of it all sends a thrill down Taylor’s spine, and then the chill spreads, unfurling itself through every nerve. 

Taylor has been on the receiving end of Link’s magic before, but he’s rarely lucid enough to appreciate it, to bask in the comforting coolness his friend’s Lay On Hands brings. It’s less like running an open cut under cold water and more like a fresh breeze in the middle of a stagnant summer afternoon, he thinks, something blissful and relieving that reminds him of safety, just like the boy he’s kissing. He falls forward into the embrace - both the spell and Link’s affection - as his hands tangle themselves in the back of Link’s athletic shirt, chasing the feeling. Link’s magic is a deeply soothing sensation, a balm to Taylor’s flushed cheeks and fire-bright nerves and burning heart, and he can feel himself melt in Link’s hold, his thoughts reducing to little more than a warm haze against his lips.

Link pulls away after what probably amounted to only a few moments, and Taylor leans after him on instinct. His eyes flutter open just in time to see Link gazing down at him fondly through his lashes, the last dregs of his magic sparking across his irises in anvil-sharp flashes of bronze before fizzling out entirely. His lips are slightly kiss-bruised, and it sends a jolt of satisfaction through Taylor’s stomach as he realizes that he did that.

“Did it work this time?” Link asks him, still cradling Taylor’s face in his hands, thumbs still grazing lightly across his cheeks.

It takes a few seconds for Taylor to register the question, then a few more as he prods at the back of his teeth with his tongue, clenches his jaw experimentally.

“Looks like it!” He confirms happily, though his joy sours a bit as Link’s hands leave his face to lean back on his arms, mourning the loss of contact.

“You’re a genius, Link,” Taylor praises, smiling and then smiling wider when he realizes that he feels no pain whatsoever. “Think you could do that again whenever my joints are acting up?”

He doesn’t really mean it - of course, a bigger part of him than he’d like to admit does, but his tone was supposed to come off as teasing - but Link’s eyes go wide and his cheeks darken further, and maybe Taylor wouldn’t mind at all if his friend takes that one hundred percent seriously.

“I- I mean, if you want t- If it’d help?” He fumbles, face flushing further as he stutters. It’s pretty commonplace to see Link a bit flustered, but it’s different when Taylor knows that he’s the reason for it. It’s pretty cute, in his opinion. 

“It’d do more than help. Chronic pain sucks ass, but you’d be, like, my personal angel,” Taylor says, looking up at Link. 

You already are, his mind adds for him. 

“Sure, then. Anytime. Uh, that’s what friends are for, right?” Link asks, those big brown eyes of his searching Taylor’s face for something.

He said “anytime”, is Taylor’s only coherent thought, one that runs giddy circles in his brain. I kissed Lincoln Li-Wilson. Twice. I just kissed my best friend twice. He said he’d kiss me again. God, I want to kiss him again. 

“Mm,” Taylor half-responds, still reeling from the way Link’s hands carded through his hair and smoothed over his cheeks and the way their lips slotted together. 

“Oh,” Taylor hears Link say distantly. “Okay, that’s, um. Okay.”

“Mm,” Taylor hums again, still in the process of rebooting what’s left of his brain.

A hand waves in front of Taylor’s face. “Taylor? You okay there, buddy? Did I do the spell wrong somehow? Please tell me I didn’t break you.”

You can break me anytime, Taylor thinks, mind conjuring images he definitely should not be having this close to the subject of his fantasies.

Taylor shakes his head in attempt to clear them. “All good, my man! Just, uh, thinking.” He desperately hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels.

“Wanna get back to homework, then?” Link says, gesturing to the pile of notebooks. “I think one of our make-up quizzes is due tonight.”

“Oh, shit, I forgot about that. We should probably get back to studying, huh.” He scoots away from Link to grab a notebook and his laptop, and for once in his life he misses the body heat of having a person next to him.

“Okay,” Link says, patting the empty space next to him and propping himself up against Taylor’s headboard.Taylor complies, settling himself into place at his side and handing him a pen (ballpoint, blue ink, Link’s favorite kind). He finds his own (a click pen, black gel ink) after a few moments of feeling around on the comforter.

“We’re still on chapter seven, right?” He asks, chewing on the end of his pen as he attempts to decipher the chicken scratch that is his own handwriting. 

“Unfortunately,” Link sighs, slinging his left arm around Taylor’s shoulders. 

As Taylor leans into Link’s side, he thinks that even though make-up work is bound to be hell, there are much less fortunate things than this. He smiles to himself, and it doesn’t hurt one bit.

[poke-me-with-a-stick]

Chapter 16 of 'Artificial Wingman!'

For the full story, click Here!

Enjoy!

---

Harley dabbs at one of the small cuts on the kid's face as her girlfriend stares at her. Truth be told, it wasn't one of the craziest stories she had ever shared, not even top ten on the list, but it was odd enough. It wasn't every day your girlfriend stumbles into your house, bruised and bloody, carrying a teenager. But a teenager was hardly something to bat an eye at compared to some of the other stuff Harley has dragged home. One of the first living beings though. Most other still alive people she drags in wind up in one of Ivy's greenhouses. Dead bodies make excellent fertilizer.

"Okay." Ivy sighed, dropping her head into her hands. "I'm going to pretend that you didn't just tell me you kidnapped an already kidnapped kid that you've only met once." Standing, she made her way into the kitchen. "What do you want for dinner?" She called over her shoulder. 

"Eh, how about pizza?" Harley yelled back, throwing away the brownish red paper towel and grabbing one of the themed bandaids from the open first aid kit. A Robin themed one, she noted as she peeled the paper back and stuck it over the small cut. The teen didn't so much as twitch as she worked, completely passed out. 

"Pizza? Really?" Came the reply. "We had pizza two days ago." Shuffling noises reached her as Ivy came back, holding a small pile of takeout menus. Bud and Lou followed close on her heels, splitting from her as soon as they spotted Harley. Bounding over, they sniffed at her and the boy. 'Danny,' she remembered suddenly. 'Well, it's nice to have a name for the face.' 

"Alright. How about…" She glanced up from where she had moved to the teen's wrists, cutting through the ropes with a pair of scissors. "Chinese food."

Ivy scrunched her nose slightly at that. "I don't know, didn't you really piss off that one lady at our usual go-to spot?" Harley thought about it for a minute. 

"Yeah." She conceded. "But they deserved it!" The owner's son had no right to flirt with her like that! Especially not with Ivy standing right next to her the entire time.

"Her son flirting with you isn't necessarily a good reason to set Bud and Lou loose in the restaurant." Ivy pointed out.

"I disagree," she wiped antibacterial cream over the forming rashes, frowning sympathetically at the agitated skin. That's gonna hurt later. "But okay, so no Chinese. What about Batburger?" 

Ivy shook her head. "No, the one near here is closed because of Joker's gas. So are the other three that we use as backups." Harley frowned. 

"Tacos?"

"Last night's dinner."

"Denny's?" 

"Not after the Bane incident."

"Fried Chicken?" Ivy glared at her. "Okay, that one's obvious. Umm… Pizza?" Ivy sighed.

"Pizza soun's good." A male voice commented.

(Pizza sounds good.)

Both of their eyes snapped down to the teen, who was now awake. Or, more awake than he was a second ago. His eyes were glazed over, and he didn't look all that present mentally. Yet… "I cou'd go f'r pizza. 's long as it don't eat me f'rst." His words were slurred, a bit off kilter. Like he wasn't meaning to talk. 

(I could go for pizza. As long as it doesn't eat me first.)

Harley shot Ivy a look. Her girlfriend sighed. "I'll give Tony's a call." She relented. 

"Yay!" Harley cheered, high-fiving the dazed teen. He gave her a long, slow blink before wiggling his fingers. 

"I f'lt that." He stated, letting his hand fall back onto his stomach. "I couldn' earl'er."

(I felt that. I couldn't earlier.)

"Yeah, sounds like you got hit with the good stuff." Harley commented. He blinked again, his eyes drifting over the room before landing on her. Another long blink. 

"Hey, I know you." He told her, his words more clear this time. Like he was focused on saying them properly. She smirked at him.

"You were definitely hit by somethin'." She patted his head before turning and cutting his feet loose. 'Huh, he's missing a shoe.' 

"Flower shop lady." He let his eyes fall closed for a long moment, so long she thought he had passed back out. That was disproved when he opened them again. "Harley." The name was whispered, like he was telling himself. The teen gave himself a little nod, his bangs falling over his face with the action. 

Harley laughed at him, leaning over to push the locks out of his face before going back to his ankles. Thankfully, the worst of his injuries were slight bruises and a bit of rope burn. 

Pinning the last bandage in place, the woman picks the teen's feet off her lap and stands, stretching. "How ya feelin', Danny?" She asks, packing the first aid supplies away. 

"Feel?" He murmurs. "I feel… Fuzzy. Numb. Hungry? Yeah, 'm hungry." He turns his head to the side, catching sight of Bud, who was staring at him curiously. "Dog?" The teen questions, reaching his hand out to pet the hyena. 

Bud allows it. More than allows it, actually. Harley stares at the usually aggressive animal in slight surprise as he shoves his head into the teenager's hand, his tail thumping loudly against the furniture. Lou slips up next to him, nudging Danny's other hand impatiently. "Two dogs?" He lifted his other hand to pet Lou, his fingers clumsily sliding over their fur. " 'm in heav'n." The boy slurred. 

Harley laughed at him, leaning over and scratching Lou behind the ear. "They aren't dogs, Danny boy." She told him. 

He glanced over at her, blinking again. 'Kinda like Selina's cats,' She couldn't help but compare. "Dogs." He told her, looking away again when Bud's tongue swiped across his face, making the teen sputter in surprise. Harley rolled her eyes. "Since ya like the 'dogs' so much, I suppose you will be okay with 'em for a bit?" The boy didn't even acknowledge her as she left the room, his attention solely on Bud and Lou. Harley shook her head as she rounded the corner of the hallway, stepping into her's and Ivy's bedroom. She found Ivy leaning against the wall beside their bedroom window, staring out it as she spoke on the phone. "-yeah. That'll be good. Thanks." With a beep, she hung up, turning when she heard Harley approach. "Pizza should be here in about twenty minutes." She said, leaning from the wall to Harley's shoulder. 

"Great. I get the feelin' that Danny'll be pretty hungry." Harley pushed a strand of brilliant red hair behind Ivy's ear. 

Ivy glanced at her. "Is the kid alright?" She asked.

"Yeah, seems pretty out of it. Like he's high or somethin'. But he's alright. I left him with Bud and Lou." Her girlfriend raised an eyebrow at the nonchalantly statement, but said nothing, turning back to stare out the window. Harley followed her gaze, basking in a rare moment of calm.

The moment was broken by the doorbell ringing. "Huh." Ivy looked at her phone. "Weird. It hasn't been twenty minutes." She stood straight and headed towards the door. Harley followed not too far behind her, snagging her bat as she passed it. After the experience she had just had, she wasn't taking any chances. 

She watched from the shadows of the hallway as Ivy opened the door. "You're not pizza." Ivy glared at whoever was on the other side of the door. 

"No, I'm not. Sorry to disappoint." A young female voice responded, a bit of sass in her tone. "I'm looking for my little brother. Have you seen a teenager, around 15, 16'ish in age, about five three, with black hair and blue eyes?" Ivy shot a look at Harley, tilting her head towards the kid and raising her eyebrow in question. 

Harley shook her head and shrugged, before an idea struck her. Ask for a name, she mouthed at the redhead. Ivy nodded and turned back towards the stranger. "Does your brother have a name?"

The woman was silent for a moment, her shoe audibly scuffing against the steps. "Danny." She answered eventually. "His name is Danny. Have you seen him?" 

Ivy glanced back at Harley. The woman nodded, lowering her bat but keeping it in a tight grip. "Yeah. He's here." Ivy told the stranger, opening the door wider and waving her in. The first glimpse of the stranger that Harley caught was her bright ginger hair, held back from her face by a teal headband, leaving matching teal eyes visible as she glanced around the living room. Her shoulders were tense as she looked around, probably looking for hidden dangers and mapping out escape routes. Or maybe Harley had been spending too much time around the bats. 

The tension bled from the young woman's shoulders as her eyes fell on her brother, who was still busy petting the hyenas. A sigh of relief escaped her as she hurried over, dropping to her knees beside the couch. "Danny?" She whispered gently, placing a hand on the teen's shoulder.

The teen looked up, his eyes widening as he saw who had called his name. "Jazz!" He called out loudly, startling everyone in the room as he lunged to envelope the woman in a loose hug. The redhead, Jazz, let put an "oof!" sound in surprise, but returned the gesture, keeping the young man from falling off the couch. "Wh't 'r you doin' here?" He asked, blinking blearily at her. 

She laughed, pushing his hair back in a sisterly gesture. "What, you really didn't expect me to come after you?" Carefully, she pushed him back down onto the couch, gently pulling his arms from around her shoulders. "But never mind me, what happened to you?"

Danny fell quiet for a minute, clearly thinking hard. "Weeeell," the word was drawn out and slightly slurred. "Th' love potion w'rked, but this r'lly pretty guy f'll out of th sky an' land'd in it. He f'll in love w'th me, and kin'a br'ke tha p'rtal gun b'fore ki'nappin' me. An' f'r tha past week, I've b'n runnin' aroun' m'kin' a new potion. Don't r'lly know if it w'rk'd though, 'cause th're was a crowd, an' I lost R'bin, an' then th're w's this dude in a cl'wn m'sk, an' this weird gas, an' ev'rythin' went fuzzy. Th'n there was th's moldy eggplant g'y, he had a r'lly gross la'gh. But I bit 'em, an' he thr'w me, and I ate some rope. Th'n I was here, with tha nice dogs, and th're's gonna be pi'zza!" The teen rambled about his experiences, his words barely understandable to the two women watching the interaction in a mixture of confusion and interest. 

(Weeeell, the love potion worked, but this really pretty guy fell out of the sky and landed in it. He fell in love with me, and kinda broke the portal gun before kidnapping me. And for the past week, I've been running around making a new potion. Don't really know if it worked though, 'cause there was a crowd, and I lost Robin, and then there was this dude in a clown mask, and this weird gas, and everything went fuzzy. Then there was this moldy eggplant guy, he had a really gross laugh. But I bit him and he threw me, and I ate some rope. Then I was here, with the nice dogs, and there's gonna be pizza!)

Jazz, however, seemed to understand him just fine. She nodded along as he excitedly told his tale, expertly dodging stray hands as her brother animatedly talked. When he was finally finished, she patted his knee. "Well, it sounds like quite the adventure." 

"Uh-huh." The teen agreed, his attention straying back to the hyenas. His sister made no move to stop him as he reached out to pet Lou again. 

"Alright, you rest up, m'kay? I'm here now." The teen's eyes flickered to her as she stood up, but his attention was claimed by Bud's wet nose pushing into his cheek. Jazz walked towards the two women, who had retreated to the kitchen in hopes of not looking too nosey. Well, Ivy had retreated, Harley had been dragged out of the living room. Still, both of them looked up when she stopped a few feet away. "Thank you for looking after my brother. He tends to be a danger magnet when left alone." Her hand drifted up to her neck, rubbing her nape as she spoke. 

"It's not a problem! Danny's welcome here anytime!" Harley crowed from her seat on the counter, her legs swinging as she shoved her hand into a bag of chocolate chips she had procured from the cabinet. Jazz smiled at her gratefully.

"Oh!" The girl perked up suddenly. "I haven't introduced myself, have I? My name is Jasmine, but most people call me Jazz." She held her hand out to Ivy, who just so happened to be closest. 

"Ivy. It's nice to meet you, Jasmine." Ivy shook the girl's hand.

Harley tossed her treat to the side, hopping off the counter. "Harley Quinn, nice ta meetcha!" She took Jazz's hand in hers, shaking firmly, before letting go at the sound of the doorbell again. "Ooh! That must be the pizza!" Before either of them could react, the woman was off. Ivy sighed at her girlfriend's antics, following after her girlfriend a bit slower, keeping pace with Jazz. 

"Is she always like that?" The woman asked curiously.

Ivy snorted. "You have no idea."

---

(I know that there are some writing and/or grammar mistakes, but it's okay because I tried my best!)

For all the lovely people who follow along with this story, as well as the amazing person who made the prompt for this story!

@halfblackwolfdemon @manapeer @xxwintrynightzxx @im-totally-not-an-alien-2 @blu-lilac @academicpurposes @secretdestinywerewolf @passivedecept @naluforever3 @postit-nope @spiteismymiddlename @2t-productions @plague-daisy @feet-achy @bubblecookies16 @thesapphiredragon13 @justwannabecat @magicalcollecter @adeniumdream @amuseofminds @lupagrim @readerkayden @dr-syko-pharm-4 @ladythugs @angelheartgamer @markthespot68 @kyrianclawraith @michikoy-yuki @servasvictoria02 @your-emo-nightmare @vala-dreams @scarlett-green-rose @t1dwarrior-of-earth @charlie-the-frogie @akikoyuii @mysticalcomputerdetective @roseuniverse999 @im-totally-not-an-alien @thefearfullone @weird-droplet-309 @jaytriesstuff @raventao @jacquelynwinchester @dragongoblet @tlise21 @longlivethefallen @the-archer-goddess @temple-of-jalebi @adepresseddwightsblogofjunk @plainly-colorful @the-legalHe-shipper @49saltpeppershakers @igotafewbadideas @tumbling-darkling @sparklygardenbouquet @sarcastic-yami @blueneko9314 @starscreamlover @liedboutmurder @do3y @roze-realm @some-mildly-happy-human @yinari-uchiha @azuera @chaoticmistake @altairsarts @kawaiikenna @heartsong18 @thetoyboxs @tricksovertreats @mnemovoid @lim4b3ans @horribly-lost-and-gay @keimiwolf @dryeraseslime @joey394

[clonewarslover55]

I’m sad that there’s nothing about Commander Monk too :(

May we please fix that? Maybe some SFW/NSFW headcanons :)

Hell yeah we can fix that!!! I was super excited to do this!! 

This got me out of my writing funk!! I'm back babyyy

Commander Monnk relationship headcanons SFW and NSFW

(There are some general head canons as well, I had way too much fun with his character. I mention Kit Fisto a lot in here as well)

Notes: We don’t see much of Monnk so I had to make up a good portion of his character myself. Which I had too much fun doing, so this is kinda long

Also there is no official regiment name(Like the 501st or 212th) for Kist Fisto, Commander Monnk and their boys?!?!?!?!? So I think I should fix that eventually....

Gif incase you guys don't remember how smoking fucking hot he is

SFW

This man probably loves literally any body of water 

He loves swimming and all that jazz 

But you def meet him at coruscant drinking and relaxing with some of his fellow scuba boys 

He isn’t strictly a scuba trooper 

He is Kit Fisto’s 24/7 second in command, so he does work on land too

So he looks like your typical “I deal with a crazy Jedi every day and don’t get enough sleep.” clone commander  

He is probably watching a few of his friends dance around and flirt poorly 

As he leans against the bar with a drink in his hand 

He looks kinda tired and unamused by the bar scene 

But don’t underestimate him 

This man is definitely a flirt 

And damn is he good!! 

He has learned from the best 

The best? Kit Fisto 

Kit has taught him how to charm the pants off of anybody 

Does it work? 

Maybe

But Monnk isn’t the one to not text you after a date or night of fun 

You get a good morning and things keep going from there 

Most of your dates are, of course, at your place 

Monnk shows up with flowers and snacks 

If you make dinner he would love to help! 

He doesn’t know jack shit about cooking 

All he can do is make a mean cup of coffee and some instant cup noodles 

But he wants to learn and learn fast! 

Monnk can be trusted in the kitchen too, he won’t burn down your home

As your relationship grows over time, Monnk’s cooking improves 

Soon he begins to cook for you! And he's good at it!

He brags to his brothers and definitely brings some leftovers to them 

Maybe he cooks for them, maybe he tells them to learn for themselves 

It’s both 

Like all clones, Monnk is touched starved 

This man just wants some cuddles 

And for someone who isn’t a fellow clone to braid his hair 

Monnk definitely has long hair

And melts when you run your fingers through it 

Tracing your fingers along his stubble? He is goo in your hands 

Just touch him, he needs it 

He tries to look all cool and badass (He thinks he is too)

With his matching tattoo sleeves (definitely matches his armor markings and colorings)

And his cool hair and five o’clock shadow 

And that tired look in his eyes

But he is just a big ol’ teddy bear who wants love 

And you are here to provide it 

Monnk is a big time cuddler 

He loves being your weighted blanket 

Just holding you and touching you makes his heart content 

This does mean that he is a slight fan of PDA 

He isn’t extreme with it or too possessive 

Just a tiny bit 

He loves holding your hand, fiddling with your fingers

Monnk doesn’t mess around when it comes to falling in love 

He falls HARD for you (The feeling is of course mutual) 

And is soon making himself right at home in your Coruscant apartment 

You definitely buy him some cozy pajamas and sweatpants 

So he can lounge around in comfort 

In turn he brings you back presents from his missions 

It is often a beautiful rock or a pretty seashell 

Working as a scuba trooper means he has many opportunities to find you cool things 

And boy does he! You have a lot of cool things from his adventures 

Mostly seashells, but one time he brings you home a big ass tooth 

Monnk has a tiny tiny hint of surfer bro in him 

A TINY BIT 

He is flirtatious and very charming 

But sweet! 

He definitely picked up a bit of Kit Fisto’s personality 

So he has great humor and keeps you on your toes 

In every way ;)

Sometimes when he comes home, he’ll just haul you up into his arms and give you a spin 

Monnk loves doing anything he can to keep things interesting and fresh

Everytime he comes home after a mission you get a different kind of greeting 

But he always, ALWAYS, gives you a big kiss 

This man is obsessed with your lips and giving them smooches 

Which you don’t mind because this man is an excellent kisser 

But something he is better at is being a good friend and listener 

He will always be your shoulder to cry on 

He always listens to what you have to say 

Monnk loves every story you have 

He has some good ones himself! 

You two can spend hours just talking to one another 

Enjoying each others company is the perfect date for Monnk 

That and bubble baths 

He loves water, and is in it often, so baths are a good time for him 

He’ll try to be romantic 

And boy howdy is he!! 

He’ll try to set up cute dates and outings with you 

He demands one, sometimes two, date nights per leave 

Monnk gets leave often, not as much as the 501st of course 

Kit is needed on Triple Zero(Coruscant) often 

Monnk tries his hardest to spend every moment with you 

If he can’t he will make up for it 

Monnk thinks you are absolutely beautiful/handsome and lets you know! 

He is always telling you how much he adores and loves you 

And how magnificent you are 

He always has some compliments to give you

He’ll notice the smallest things too

New haircut? He loves it!! New jewelry! He loves it, especially since it's on you!

Being in war leads to PTSD, and of course most, if not all, of the clones have it to a degree 

Including Monnk 

His comes in nightmares, so he doesn’t sleep well or often 

Until he meets you 

The first night he sleeps in your bed he sleeps like the dead  

He sleeps so much better at your side

Holding you in his arms or being held in yours just helps! 

This doesn’t mean that the nightmares stay away completely 

He still has them from time to time 

But with you there to help? They’re never as bad as they used to be 

Monnk absolutely loves you, and he tells you daily 

He has to make sure you remember after all ;)

 

NSFW 

I feel like Kit Fisto makes sure his men know how to properly fuck 

He has a slideshow or something 

So Monnk knows what he is doing down there 

He has a good memory and is a fast learner 

So he quickly learns what makes you tick 

And he never forgets 

Monnk is very attuned at what you like 

Monnk wants nothing more than to pleasure you 

He’ll make sure to always do what you like

Kinky or not! 

Monnk is down for anything

Not at anytime though, he isn’t really down for public sex 

He doesn’t want to get caught or in trouble 

Unless it is on a beach, one of his fantasies is taking you to a nice quiet beach somewhere and just railing you 

Maybe even having another round in the ocean afterwards  

Being a scuba trooper means he has a good set of lungs 

So when he is giving you oral he doesn’t need to take a single breather 

He is down there and giving you the works! 

Monnk loves your taste, and he makes sure you know it by his pleasant noises 

His scruff always tickles you a bit, but it just adds to to the sensation 

Monnk is VERY patient, especially when it comes(pun intended) to you 

He can spend hours just teasing you

Bringing you to the very edge, just to not let you cum

He loves teasing you some, but he isn’t too extreme 

But he never leaves you hanging! He always makes sure you cum 

No matter what, you’re going to cum. Even if it is just a quickie! 

Always making sure you cum is his one rule 

Is this a rule that Kit Fisto gave him? Definitely, and Monnk is a good rule follower 

Which makes things fun when he isn’t topping 

If you two ever play any “games” where he has to listen to you and follow orders? Oh he will 

Monnk will do anything for you, he loves you so much! He’ll try anything once

Monnk will also cum where ever you want him too, he’ll do it pretty much anywhere 

Inside you, painting you in it, whatever you want 

All clones have a bit of a breeding kink, but his isn’t too bad 

So he doesn’t HAVE to cum inside you, but he does enjoy it 

Painting you in it also does something to him

He just enjoys marking you, no matter if it is with cum or with love bites 

He loves kissing you during sex, his mouth hardly leaves your body 

He just can’t help himself! You’re just so kissable 

Monnk is a romantic, so he loves some soft intimate nights 

Fucking you slowly, hitting every spot so perfectly 

But he isn’t always soft and romantic 

Sometimes he fucks like a beast 

He loves taking you roughly until you’re both spent and out of breath 

Monnk enjoys when he has time with you, so he has time to properly worship your body 

Monnk thinks you are the most beautiful person in the galaxy 

And he lets you know! 

Through words, praises, and actions 

He loves praising you during sex, he is always throwing compliments and soft phrases your way 

He likes praise in return, but he prefers touch 

Run your nails down his spine, make him shiver

Bury your hands into his hair, it’ll drive him nuts 

Any sort of touching, rough or soft, drives monnk wild 

Monnk enjoys quickies, but he doesn’t like them as much because he can’t do much aftercare, if any at all 

He also doesn't like it because he doesn’t have the amount of time to properly worship your body 

He is great at aftercare, he makes you feel so loved and cared for 

He’ll clean you up and sometimes even draw up a warm bath 

Bathtub sex almost always happens though 

He loves some good ol’ sex in some water 

But it all depends on what you guys did and how tired you are 

Because sometimes Monnk will leave you both so spent that you want to sleep immediately 

He’ll give the softest kisses afterwards 

After you guys cool down and relax in the afterglow, he is down for pillow talk 

He actually loves pillow talk 

But by the end of the night, he makes sure you fall asleep safe and sound in his arms

[thelampisaflashlight]

Tell Me About It

[Set after Sleep. Out here referencing one of the lines from Big Boy because of how Mountain sleeps.]

Below the cut.

It’s another seemingly endless late night, but instead of agonizing in his bed alone, Swiss finds himself tucked under one of the many blankets in Dew’s nest, squished between the aforementioned fire ghoul’s side and Mountain’s broad back.

The sounds of Mountain’s deep snores and Dew’s even breathing provides a soothing white noise that is steadily causing Swiss’ eye lids to grow heavier, but, even still, sleep eludes him.

It’s silly really, but being sandwiched between the two slumbering ghouls has his mind racing... just not in the way one might assume.

No, it’s nothing scandalous, a touch embarrassing perhaps, but...

He feels safe.

The shelter and security that comes with being set in the middle of the nest like this, cradled in the warmth of two sleeping bodies like this...

It reminds Swiss of when he was a kit and he would wiggle his way into bed with his parents, wedging himself into whatever little pocket of space he could find...

So as he finds himself growing drowsier, Swiss continues to stubbornly fight the urge to sleep... because he doesn’t want to miss, well... this.

It’s not long, though, before he can feel familiar eyes on him.

Or one eye, rather, as Dew keeps the one closest to his pillow pinched shut while the other wearily observes the restless multi ghoul beside him.

“...Can’t sleep?” Dew mumbles, cheek smashed against the cushion below, his left hand reaching out to pat Swiss’ chest lazily, “...You need more blankets? I have more...”

Swiss shakes his head, but speaks when he realizes Dew has closed his eyes again.

“I just... I was remembering something from when I was a kit.” he hums, rolling onto his side so his back is up against Mountain’s, stealing his warmth, “...Hey, Dew?”

“Hm?” Dew raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement, though his eyes remain closed, “Yeah?”

“Did you ever climb into bed with your parents as a kit?” Swiss asks, “I used to do it all the time...”

Dew snuggles into his pillow some more and yawns before speaking, “Nah.”

“No?”

“Mn... My father was from the ninth, and my mother was from the second, so take that as you will...” Dew says, opening his eyes at last to look at Swiss’ expression, sighing when he sees a frown flicker across his face, “Is it really that surprising that I didn’t get held much as a kid?”

Swiss opens his mouth to speak, but closes it just as quickly realizing, perhaps, it might not be a good idea to say what he thinks on the matter.

“But that sounds nice though...” Dew hums softly, “And if... if this...”

He gestures at the three of them and his nest.

“If this makes you feel anywhere near as safe as back then, then I’m glad.”

“...You’re surprisingly kind when you’re half awake.” Swiss chuckles and Dew gives a halfhearted hiss in his general direction, worming his way back into his previous sleeping position, “...Thanks.”

“Sure, sure... You’re wel-” 

A loud, rumbling cough followed by a loud snore cuts Dew off, causing both ghouls to turn and look at the still slumbering Mountain.

“I’ve been meaning to ask... How do you sleep with him in the same room?” Swiss questions, feeling another rumble vibrate through his body, “...Someone tell Rain he’s being replaced as the bass player because damn.”

Dew snorts.

“If he can put up with me pulling a Blair Witch in the corner when I sleepwalk at night, I can deal with his snoring... besides, he resets after a little while...” He pauses, “It’s when he’s completely silent that I get worried to be honest... Fuckin’ thought he died once, and as soon as I got close enough to check and see if he was breathing, he almost made me deaf by grunting directly in my ear...”

“Noted... Stand clear of mouth.”

[flowery-laser-blasts]

My headcanon (mini fanfic) for Motor Ed convincing Dr Drakken to pierce their ears as teens: warning mentions of blood and alcohol.

For his 16th birthday, Eddie wanted earrings because all the cool rock stars, punkers, and metal artists had them. He asked his mother for one, but she heavily objected to it.

So after gathering all the supplies. Eddie and Drew locked themselves in Eddie's bedroom and then--

At his birthday party (family only), Eddie took Drew aside and convinced him to help him pierce his own ears. Eddie showed his cousin a sterling silver earring from the piercing shop downtown; he tried going by himself at first, but once he found out that pay was upfront and he couldn't just pierce-'n-dash like he would at diners with his meals, he stole one of the earrings when a new client came in and occupied the shop owner's attention.

Eddie said that he found his mother's sewing kit and told Drew that it would be easy piece-y lemon squeezy:

They just needed some ice cubes and towels.

"Oh and booze!" According to Eddie, "Doesn't matter if it's a liquor or a wine, all booze contains alcohol and alcohol disinfects!"

"I don't think that that's how it goes Eddie--"

"Shuddup, Drew I heard the piercer talk about alcohol!"

Drew thought hard, being the one who actually paid attention in class he pointed out: "What about Vodka? It's the closest we can get to pure alcohol. Unless you want sticky sweet earlobes from the wine..."

"Vodka, huh, mom's got a bottle in the cabinet!

See!? This is why I need you for this! You're like my own- uhhh, what's that dude from that book called again? Ya' know, the one with the monster that is made of body parts?"

"Are you talking about the scientist? Victor Frankenstein from Mary Shelley's 'Frankenstein'?" Drew smirked proudly, Eddie beamed remembering the name again,

"No, no, no, no-- you're like that assistant-dude Igor! 'Specially with that brow man, you're like my own freaky sidekick!"

Drew's newfound pride shattered to the ground and he grumbled as he went off to find the supplies.

A loud scream alerted the mothers of the boys.

They managed to break open the lock and saw a bloody mess.

Drew looked very pale and Eddie was sobbing and holding his bloodied ear while rocking on the ground.

The thing is, both idiots thought it was a good idea to take a few swigs of Ed's mother's most expensive wine as liquid courage before doing this. Then Drew started to get second thoughts:

"Is this really a good idea?"

"Yes, it is! Let's just do it!"

Both of them went back and forth for at least half an hour until they solved their discourse by doing rock paper scissors, in which they sipped more wine in between each take. Drew eventually lost so he would be pierced first. Drew just wouldn't sit still, so in the end -after wasting another twenty minutes- Eddie gave up, it was him after all who wanted the earring.

"Look Drew, just hurry up before our moms notice that we're not at the party!" he said as he rubbed the vodka onto his earlobe with a towel.

"Alright then, here goes nothing..." With a trembling hand, Drew took the leather needle -that unfortunately had a bit of a dull tip because it's been used often- and roughly pushed it through Eddie's earlobe

Eddie muffled his groans in a towel he bit on. Drew took out the needle and blood started coming out.

"Oh shit-- Oh fuck, oh SHIT!!"

"W-What's wrong cou-AAAAAUAA! AAAAAGH!!"

In a panic frenzy, Drew tried forcing the earring into the lobe to plug it up and prevent it from bleeding more. However, the metal rod of the earring was bigger than the needlehole itself, so forcing it through caused the wound to burn and bleed harder, the alcohol didn't help either.

And there they were, two drunken dimwits crying their eyes out as their mothers screamed at them while the neighbor called 911.

Eddie went with his mom to the hospital for a tetanus shot, just in case, and both he and Drew got grounded for up to 2 months.

Eddie tried wearing the earring for a while outside his mother's vision but putting it in and taking it out hurt more than it was worth it. So eventually he stopped wearing it and his lobe grew shut again.

To this day, Motor Ed still has a very faint scar on his lobe.

[asterifish]

Watching the stars... / Minchan

Synopsis: Minho and Chan have been close friends since they were little. Minho often complained or rambled a lot, and Chan loved to listen to him. As they grew older, Chan got feelings for Minho. He wanted Minho to stay with him forever, but didn't know how to tell him.

Type: One-shot (Words: 689)

Genre: Fluff, slight angst

TW!!: Mentions of abuse, self harm, and suicide

“Chan, are you sure this is a good idea?” Minho asked, clinging to Chan’s arm tightly. It was late at night and the two had been sneaking around the royal castle. It was a cool night, and the wind was blowing through Minho’s hair, making him seem more beautiful. They were currently on the roof, observing the night sky.

“Of course I do, Min! Just trust me, okay? C’mon let's sit down.” Chan responded, a wide smile on his face. After helping the younger sit down, Chan sat and scooted close. “Anything you want to talk about? I noticed you've been spacing out a lot.” Chan nudged Minho’s shoulder, earning a grunt from the other.

“Not really…. I’ve just been thinking about the future. Mom’s been nagging me about getting a job or going to college but I just,” Minho paused and sighed, “I don't know what I want to do, Chan.” leaning back, Minho let the cold air wash over his face.

After thinking about what Minho had said, Chan nudged him with a chuckle. “You could be my bodyguard! You certainly qualify for it, and honestly you wouldn't have to do much.”

That was the first hint.

A few months later, it was Minho’s birthday. Chan had gotten matching earrings for them. The roof had become their hangout spot, but when Chan got up the the roof, Minho wasn’t there. “Min? Are you hiding from me?” Chan called, looking around. When he didn't find his friend, he immediately jumped off the roof and ran straight for Minho’s house.

As he got closer to his friend's house, Chan could hear yelling and banging. Kicking down the front door, Chan was met with a terrible sight. Minho was on the floor, blood coming from his forehead and a few scratches on his arms. “Min! Holy.. are you okay?”

Running over to his friend, he blocked a hit from Minho’s father as he picked up the younger boy and ran out of the house. He didn’t stop running until they’d reached the castle. Putting Minho down, Chan knelt next to him. “What happened in there?”

Minho winced as he tried to sit up, but pushed Chan’s hand away. “I’m fine.” Chan blinked slowly at Minho and sighed. “No you’re not, Min! Your father was beating you!?” Ignoring Minho’s protests, Chan picked up his friend again and carried him to his bedroom. While he got his first aid kit, he asked Minho to tell him everything.

After a few moments of silence, Minho spoke. “He hits us all the time. Me and my mother. It… started a few years ago. He;d come home one day, furious. He’d picked up the first thing he could get his hands on and threw it at my mother. I….” Minho stopped and stifled a sob as Chan hugged him.

“Take your time Min, and remember you don’t have to tell me, okay?” Chan reassured the younger. Scooting closer, Chan pulled Minho into him. Burying his face into Chan’s chest, Minho tried to take deep breaths to calm down.

This was the second hint, more subtle than the last.

Summertime was always a busy time for the kingdom. Minho finally took up the position of Chan’s bodyguard, and he got to experience so many cool things. Chan loved spoiling the younger whenever he could. “Here Min! Come look at this!” Chan called, ushering Minho over. In his hands, Chan had a bright moon decoration. Minho took it, being careful as to not break it. “It’s…. pretty!” he whispered.

Watching Minho’s reaction, Chan smiled and took the decoration out of Minho’s hands. With the seller’s permission, Chan clipped it to Minho’s halo before stepping back to admire it. The shopkeeper handed Minho a mirror so he could see it for himself. “It fits you well, sir!” The shopkeeper smiled. Looking over at Chan, Minho couldnt help but smile. His friend was smiling brightly, and minho couldnt help but feel like Chan was admiring him. Looking into his eyes, and then looking away when he caught Minho looking at him.

This, was the third and final hint.

Hello! Author here. I just wanted to say that this will be a mini series of four. I'll be using the beautiful creations that @solastalgiart has made. Please support them as well! In all honesty, this didn't high how I thought it would, so I might re-do it a bit later.

[vagabond-umlaut]

Just wanted to say a huge congrats to you again, dear Kit! 💛💕 You are such a lovely person I am so glad to call my friend! 🌻 Dropping by for your celebration AU! I think we both know by now how much I adore Gojo! (You and I both lol! He truly is the nation's sweetheart!)

He is (surprisingly) exceptionally kind to his s/o! He loves playful bullying but is just a baby when he's on the receiving end. His love language is physical touch and he can be a bit handsy, but just the right amount. He loves kissing his s/o's hands. He knows the cure for his s/o's bad day is a sweet treat— but he always buys one for himself too even though he's having a relatively good day himself. 😆 (I thought I'd say s/o because this is how I see him but I think a lot of us would love to hear about this too lol not just me!)

I hope you're having a lovely day where you are! Thank you so much for being such a sweetheart! Always know that you deserve all of the support! 💛

omggg mari my darlinggg 🥹🥹🥹 tyyy for being so sweet & lovely!!! i adore u sm as one of my dear friends and u r srsly one of the sweetest persons i hv evr known 😌😌 and ur characterisation of gojo is simply SO YUMMY— i think i fell a bit more in love w him, thanks to ur beautiful writing, my love 🥰🥰🤗 @songsofadelaide

AU for mari x satoru: high school AU where you and satoru sit next to each other in nearly every class you share, and you two aren't exactly friends per se... but not just acquaintances... the two of you are somewhere between the two. and everything is nice and well and sweet and stable in your life, amidst the lectures, the homework, time spent with your friends and the dorky boy beside you— when all of a sudden, one lovely morning, you find your locker having a really really expensive gift— something you vaguely remember making an off-handed compliment the week, or maybe the month before, in class— wait a second... haven't you seen this handwriting on the attached note... somewhere before, huh?

share w me facts you love abt your selfship and i'll assign you & your fave(s) an AU (closed now)

[landwriter]

Ten Books To Know Me

Rules: 10 (non-ancient) books for people to get to know you better, or that you just really like.

Tagged by @softest-punk, thank you for utterly derailing my afternoon into nostalgia <3 My problem is less not picking ancient books and more not picking exclusively Canadian and English children’s lit published between 1995 and 1999. (Still the first three picks all the same though because it is like, the opus within which my psyche is almost wholly contained.) This got long but I'm going to be very brave and not apologize about that at all. I love talking about books, and these are some of the books I love the most. In chronological order of arrival into my heart.

Some of the Kinder Planets - Tim Wynne-Jones This book has been a part of my life for so long I cannot remember when, exactly, I first read it - only that it was taken from my gran’s shelf; Tim had sent her a copy with a lovely inscription. It’s a short story collection which remains today (and forever) my favourite format. Ted Chiang’s Exhalation, Karin Tidbeck’s Jagannath, Karen Russell’s Orange World, Margaret Atwood’s Stone Mattress are all fabulous examples, stacked before me at my desk, but Some of the Kinder Planets itself lives (alongside my two most precious childhood stuffies) at my mum’s house, the safest place of all. The stories are kids being kids in the way you want to read as a kid yourself: clever and wondering and scared and brave. Special mention also to his Zoom trilogy, beautifully illustrated in black and white by Eric Beddows.

Skellig - David Almond Another book likely pilfered from my granny’s library. There’s a little magic in Some of the Kinder Planets, but here is ALL the magical realism, and it changed me. This book has a sickly bird-or-man-or-angel in a garage being nursed to health by a boy with an ill baby sister in hospital that he can’t help at all; the indelible image of surviving off bluebottles and then getting snuck Chinese takeaway and brown ale; nature and weird kids and William Blake poems. I will weep if I continue thinking about it.

[Not Any Book But Just A Lot Of Books] - Kit Pearson, Diana Wynne-Jones, Kenneth Oppel, Philip Pullman, Madeleine L’Engle, etc. Listen, I know this is an INSANE cop-out but if you know the authors you know more or less exactly what I mean. These are the books that made me more tender than I already was, made me believe in Good, and Kindness, and Love, in a totally immutable way I thankfully do not ever want to change, because I don’t think I could.

Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett My first introduction to Neil Gaiman, Terry Pratchett, and footnotes. Also one of the first books I did not simply pick up because it was Lying Around. I bought it because my older cousin listed it as one of her favourite books on Facebook, and she was (and is) impossibly, horribly cool. I was maybe 13 or 14 and wanted to be cool too. I’ve since read a smattering of Gaiman but I’ve yet to read Terry Pratchett on his own. I’d like to! I know I’d love it.

The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul - Douglas Adams Loaned to me by my best friend before we were best friends. It is, apparently, the second novel in the Dirk Gently series, and I remember nothing of it except a very good bit about a couch getting stuck in a stairwell; nonetheless it’s listed here because this is clearly actually a thinly disguised chronology of sentimentality, and also because Douglas Adams is a wonder and delight to read and I don’t need to fully remember the book to know that in my bones. I’m not sure if it’s fair but I’ll also blame Douglas Adams for my inability to be brief and to resist using semi-colons. Could’ve been someone else. But it was definitely someone English.

Sailing to Byzantium - W.B. Yeats This is not a book, but it was in my English Literature textbook in high school, so it counts. If it wasn’t, I would still count it. Why a sixteen year old girl connected with a poem that begins “That is no country for old men.” is irrelevant, as is every stanza but the third, which contains the fateful, ruinous lines: “Consume my heart away; sick with desire / And fastened to a dying animal / It knows not what it is;” I remember when I read it, and I remember the chill feeling of Yeats’ spectral hand reaching all the way from his grave in County Sligo, across the whole Atlantic and the enormous landmass called Canada, to reach into my chest and cruelly grab my own heart, and I remember thinking How, and Exactly. The first thing I read that named the strangeness I felt inside of me. The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost of all my teenage angst. Written on my bones to this day, if I’m being honest.

Hamlet - Shakespeare We got off on the wrong foot, after I was personally victimized by the line ‘Brevity is the soul of wit’, but I do love Shakespeare. I credit this to having an excellent teacher for it, and reading it aloud in a cohort of tryhards and musicians and theatre kids. A case of familiarity breeds...appreciation, actually. We did a lot of Shakespeare, but we were asked to learn 20 lines of Hamlet specifically, and rewrite them, marked down for every error. Forty lines for bonus marks. There was much grousing and it seemed like a cruel, outdated task of rote memorization, but writing this a decade later, I am belatedly realizing this was a sneaky way to get a bunch of kids to recite a soliloquy so much that they couldn’t help but find the life in it, the rhythm and meter to make it stick in our minds. And now look! I love it! I am writing fanfic in iambic pentameter! Wherefore art my fucking restraint!! I learned my lines so hideously well that when I pulled up the scene just now (2.2, from “Yet I, a dull and muddy-mettled rascal peak”), I a) noticed and b) was offended by, minute differences from the version I memorized, which I then searched out and knew the moment I found. Incredible?!  

Still Life With Woodpecker - Tom Robbins The most recent time I’ve read a work of fiction and been rearranged by it, at the tender age of 21. here I am, I wrote, in my journal, after a very good sob, happier and more rudderless than ever. This man writes with totally unfettered joy and unhinged sincerity, two things I am hopelessly into, but also with a deep distaste for institutions and conformity that I desperately needed back then: lost, returned from a year of magical realism and the sort of adulthood growth spurt that makes you feel dizzy, home and yet horribly missing the home I’d made for myself elsewhere, all my nearly-fulfilled ambitions towards security and prestigious government postings feeling sort of hollow and reeking in my hands. It comforted me that I wasn't wrong as much as it spilled my own guts into my hands, and while I went on for another year seeing things through, it planted a seed that quickly grew proper roots and pushed me right off the ledge of respectability. And it’s a love story, of course.

It’s his prose that sits glowing on the horizon to me when I try to write richly: a distant shore of orgiastic language (from which you can surely hear the wind-carried cries of people fucking day and night), towards which I, still shy and prudish, ever point my prow.

How to Be Happy - Eleanor Davis A comic collection. Sharp and wonderful and alive. Another Best Friend gift (bless those around us with impeccable taste), of which every single panel is MARVELOUS. I meant to share one of my favourites here but apparently it has! Gotten up and left!! I will buy another copy in hopes of coaxing it back out of wherever it’s hiding.

Down to Earth - Monty Don This did not rearrange anything. But it does give me a good hug about it, so to speak. A month-by-month gardening guide which is chock-full of brilliant, sensible advice, and also so cheerfully comforting in a highly specific English way that I actually feel like I’m drinking a cuppa whenever I read a page or two of it. It makes me think of my grandmother. And so we’ve come full circle, eh?

I hope some of you are now nodding thoughtfully and thinking, well, Chrissakes, that explains it. Very sorry, hope this helps, etc. Passing on the tag to @fancy-rock-dove, @chubsthehamster, @broomsticks, @wordsinhaled, @btwimkindagay, @hardly-an-escape, @xx-vergil-xx, @that-banhus, and anyone else who wants to expose themselves on main and chat about their fave books

[impostorsshow]

I just saw your Kagerou Daze story post and I love it but like at the same time what’s the deal with the lady(?) in the corner just… Chiling

First of all there was someone on a ladder behind Walt and I don't think most people decide to draw someone for him but I wanted to

Second of all, Prince [the lady] was one of the most important characters in my old story. I used to have the old notes about the entire thing that had some personality descriptions on my old laptop, but I don't have the files anymore. I do have my old notebook where I drew some of them, but all I have on Prince, and most characters aside from my own memory is this page

And also, most of these characters were girls since I am trans, so Prince was unique by being a boy, so i genderswapped him into a her to keep that uniqueness. The entire page is transcribed with some extra info in the alt description

Kagerou Daze story used to go by copyverse and I only realized when i searched through this book for information for the ask. A few things is that Jessica and Latte?? Holy shit I didn't know her name was latte I've been searching for that name for forever, latte has been referred to as Flora for all of my posts, but they were apart of this multiverse thing mostly as a cameo, like when a Mario trophy shows up in solid snake or whatever - if you wanna know about any of these other fuckers listed I have at least a few paragraphs of information on all of them but anyway Prince

I don't know where the idea came from, but creating a royal au isn't exactly anything super creative. I think Prince had a sister so ig it would be a brother now, and the royal families hair is bleached blonde to make them appear more regal. She was supposed to be a bit stuck up and with way too big of an ego, but a good heart and was one of the main good guys when the climax of the story went down. She ruled over a seaside town, with the castle resting on a cliff that overlooked the ports of the town on the beach. I also think horseback riding was one of her hobbies, but I can't remember tooooo much else?? She had an extreme distaste for most of the characters and only really got along with Ori, the resident of Pastverse and Kit-Kat, and despite being on neutral terms with Red decided to side against them due to the way he treated those under him.

Prince is also one of the few people who actually had parents, and said parents show up frequently. Uh, in hindsight with me having extreme familial issues uh. It lines up that most of these universes have dead parents and highschoolers [originally middle schoolers since I was in 8th grade] living on their own. I think the last two universes on the list in the picture has parents, and Kit-Kat was heavily based off of the animated version of Sabrina the Teenage Witch so her parents were alive, she just never saw them like at all also I decided to put on that show cause i finally remembered what the name of it was and it is actually still entertaining to watch

I'm fully distracted now so this is all your getting from this post have a good day

Edit, Sabrina actually lives with her lesbian parents the only memory I had of this show was the movie Sabrina; Friends Forever