#cycle accident claims

[sunsetwestlgca]

Cycling Safety and Legal Protocols: Post-Bike Crash Procedures

In the aftermath of an accident, taking care of matters alone is not advisable. Seeking a medical checkup for effective recovery is crucial, as internal injuries may not be immediately apparent. Riders bear the responsibility of ensuring safe cycling practices to avoid becoming the cause of a collision.”

[ru1njured]

A motor injury claim would be a compensation claim for any motor accident (resulting in your injuries) that wasn’t your fault. Motor vehicles can include cars, vans, motorcycles, buses, taxis, lorries, mopeds, bicycles or other vehicles. The premise would be that the driver of another vehicle caused an accident that harmed you.

[nothorses]

I think one of the ways that tranandrophobia seems to distinguish itself from the other forms of oppression it is connected to is in the way it attempts to convince you it is indistinguishable and that transmascs are always just collateral damage to everyone else's "real" problems.

One example is the very blatent tirf claim that transphobia on its own isn't real, that it is all misdirected transmisogyny, and that transmascs only experience oppression due to our association with transfemmes.

But there is also the insistence that anti abortion laws and similar things are targeted at cis women and therefore are "women's issues" - transmascs shouldn't complain about being excluded because it "isn't about us". Same with homophobia and butchphobia. Even the terf talking point that they are just protecting "little cis girls" from making irreversible mistakes pretends that actual the transmascs being harmed is just an accident and not the goal.

Trying to talk about transandrophobia is a constant stream of "It's just transphobia. It's just misogyny. No, you can't call your experiences misogyny because that isn't about you. You can't call yourself a lesbian or a butch or compare your oppression to lesbophobia. It isn't about you. Yes, terfs hurt you, but you aren't their main target. This isn't about you. Yes, you need abortions and experience medical misogyny, but you can't talk about it because this isn't about you. You were sexually assaulted because of misdirecred misogyny. Don't make it about you. You've never contributed to the history of gay men, or lesbians, or the trans community. It isn't about you. Those cross dressers weren't trans. Stop trying to make women's history about you. You can't reclaim cunt or faggot or dyke because those words aren't about you. I don't care how many times you've been called a tranny. That word isn't about you. Why must you make everything about you?"

Because sure, transmascs exist, and we might be impacted by everyone else's oppression, but it is always thought of as a theoretical consequence of what is really going on, if it is thought of at all. Transmascs are not considered to be oppressed in our own right.

This idea gives the lawmakers plausible deniability, allies an excuse to ignore us, and feeds into transmasc erasure. If we are never the actual target to begin with, then clearly, we can't be uniquely targeted. The law makers don't need to be held accountable for their transandrophobia because it isn't like they are trying to hurt transmascs, right? We need to let the real victims speak, the ones being targeted on purpose.

Nobody ever sees the way it all piles up, and even if they do, they think "well it's just an accident, right? If we fix the main problem, then this fringe issue will go away on its own" without ever considering that transandrophobia isn't as rare, fringe, or accidental as society wants it to appear and that actual effort needs to be put into dismantling it.

It isn't that they actually believe that transandrophobia isn't real. It's that they just don't believe it is about transmascs. Because even if we are the common denominator, we are still just collateral damage and could not possibly have anything of value to say. Because as collateral damage, our issues are never our own and thus never need to be discussed on our own terms.

100%. And I think this is exactly what this sort of cycle of erasure depends on.

We are erased, our problems are erased, and our oppression is erased, which means it's easy for people to ignore us, our problems, and our oppression. There's so little evidence, so few people talking about it, and they never really see or hear anyone name us in this violence, so surely, it isn't about us at all! It must be about the people they know about already, the problems they know about, and the ones who are always readily named in these conversations.

If we're speaking up, there's no reason to believe us; if anything, we come under scrutiny for trying to talk about these issues nobody else can see. We must be crazy, hysterical, whiny and overdramatic, or perhaps malicious. We're stealing attention, stealing space, and stealing help. We might be victims, but we are incidental and unworthy victims.

And ignoring us, our problems, and our oppression means we continue to be erased. Which makes it easier to ignore us, and erase us, and easier to perpetuate violence against us. And so on.

It's understandable, in a way, for people to ignore us; most people don't know about any of this in the first place, and when they do, they're not inclined to take any of it seriously. Even if they do see convincing evidence that our problems are real and worth talking about, it's easy for that to be a one-off that they eventually forget about. Everyone else is talking about everything else, so we sort of fade away.

It's not their fault; they're not trying to ignore us. They just haven't learned to recognize violence against us, and they just don't seek us out, and can they really be blamed for that? Can they really be blamed for the violence that continues because they and others don't see or try to stop it? We're so hard to find in the first place. You know, because we've been so thoroughly erased.

There are a lot of people who've been fighting this for a long time, and even more we don't-- and probably won't-- ever know about, who've been fighting for even longer. I think it's getting better; the organized backlash against us is, imo, a sign that our reach is getting stronger and wider. But it's a hard cycle to break.

[reredram]

Finally got some spare time to pull out an idea to life that was tumbling around my mind for 10 months

(Reposts are greatly appreciated!)

Basically I've heard Terrible Things by AXIE(wish I could attach it here but tumblr being a bitch again), and got a thought about Saint that killed Sliver on accident and actually regrets it, not being able to fix it and he gets stuck in never ending, repeating cycle, when each time InSaint tries to ascend himself in desperate attempt to end the suffering, he comes back to the moment where he stands above corpse of his creator.

InSaint attepmted to ask help from other iterators, both all of them and separate, but each time it ended up as a manhunt, where iterators spent all their last resources to kill this green beast. Nothing worked, so he grew insane hatered towards iterator kind, proceeding to ascend them all out of spite few dosen times.

As he understands that this won't help to return Sliver of Straw, he dwells down into The Void, reaching out Rubicon, but even this place is soaked with hatred towards him, as every entity is hostile to him. As he tries to use acention to protect himself, he slowly turns into monstrouos echo, and only escape is to ascend himself, returning back at where he started.

Trivia!

Voice claim and whole vibe of his is Terrible Things by AXIE, he's so Springtrap lmao

He has carnivorous teeth and claws, but his body is still not used to meat, that he sometimes forced to consume. Usually after this, when he wakes up he feels starved, since meat didn't digested right

He can use ascention powers freely on surface, but usualy abstains to do so, counting it as a curse, not a salvation. In Void though, he can use it only 5 times before he turns into an Echo

Due constant messing with the cycle, his timeline is fucked. Cycles are shorter(slightly bigger than Rivulet's), snowstorms are harsher, and due his constant killing rampage of InSaint, wildlife evolved to be extremely dangerous

His tail is broken in 2 places, and healed up being crooked. Ouch

And, as a bonus, amv-like shots of one particular moment from Terrible Things. I've planed to do it, I have it all scripted from start to end, endlessly rotating in my head while I'm listening this song on repeat, but I don't have enough concentration to do such big project.

[athena-xiii]

Current Agatha All Along Theories based on the events of episodes 1-5, my sparse comic knowledge, funko pop leaks, and my wack ass speculations.

So first I wanna get my theories about Teen out of the way. Obviously that boy is Wiccan, but despite the mention of Mephisto, I think that they’re straying from the comics here. So based on the “near death in Westview” headline behind Joe Locke’s credit, the confirmed casting of Rebecca and Jeff Kaplan, and Agnes’ mention of seeing a car crash in the first episode; I believe that in the same day that Wanda released the Hex, there was a car accident in Westview that resulted in the death of 13-year-old Billy Kaplan. Billy Maximoff’s soul latched onto this now vacant body before Death had a chance to do her thing.

Now, speaking of Death with a capital D, let’s talk about Rio. It’s no secret that Rio is very likely Lady Death, but I’d like to propose the idea that she is also the marvel character gaea. Gaea is derived from the Greek goddess Gaia (aka Mother Earth) and is attributed as a sort of goddess of life. First of all, Rio has said herself that she is “The Green Witch” and fully healed the cut on Agatha’s hand by licking it? But most interestingly is the name Rio Vidal. Rio and Vidal mean river and life/vitality respectively in Spanish— which Rio speaks often. I think that Rio will be named as Lady death but her domain will extend to the whole cycle. A body decomposes and becomes one with the earth, thus giving life to the plants.

Anyways back to Teen. That’s right, I’ve got more. This time let’s talk about the sigil. So the fact that the sigil is described as clumsy, Agatha stating that the sigil works on the caster, and Teen’s sharp behaviour changes both before breaking Agatha out of the Hex and in episode 5 lead me to believe that Teen placed the sigil on himself. I think that Billy, knowing he needed Agatha’s help to open the witches’ road, broke Agatha free of her spell. After all, it’s like Wanda said, “If I need you, I’ll know where to find you.”

He then placed a sigil on himself to hide his true identity of Billy Maximoff from even himself. Billy chats happily about his life in eastview and about his parents throughout the show, and I believe that these are the memories of Billy Kaplan. Billy mentions going to a concert with his mom in episode 2, but is unsurprised by the comment “you’re so much like your mother” in episode 5. I believe this is because there are 2 mothers: Rebecca and Wanda. His sigil is broken sometime in episode 5 which causes Agatha to realize who he is and for him to have the powers he claimed that he wanted to gain on the road.

Because Billy isn’t looking for power on the road. I think he’s trying to get his brother back. Tommy Maximoff didn’t have a convenient body to hop into. His twin, the person who his mom told him would always be there, has been separated from him and he— like his mother was— is missing his other half.

Anyway, that’s all I got for now. I have no clue what’s goin on with Lilia and her premonitions

[rainybyday]

This is mostly based on these three ideas I had circling in my little head please send help. 

Warring States Period - First Idea

Kaguya won in this timeline and only Team Seven survived, both past and present (Sakura, Naruto, Sai, Sasuke, Tenzo, Kakashi, and Obito (all in a total of seven :D)), and so they went into a new timeline as they used their last bit of Chakra to destroy their timeline so Kaguya will never escape and take over other dimensions 

Relationships 

ObKk because I somehow am in a toxic yaoi shipper cycle, god help

Sasuke and Sakura will stay together because I have a massive pin collection with amazing pins of these two so it made me biased

Naruto and Sai are without any partners since their timeline got fucked

Pray

Ok so let me go over some little details I like to have

Uchihas love so fucken deeply its not even funny so when their loved ones are threatened, all hell breaks loose,

Hatakes are a feral clan and while they are seen as “domestic” in modern times not so much in the Warring States, there are two reactions. One (stupid) people will try to fight them to scare them off (ha) or are scared to high heaven and back away from them

Hatakes have fangs and have habits like touching and calling their close ones pack and mate and pup if considered pack 

Yes all of his students are his pups and Tenzo is affectionately called a sapling once he realizes that is a THING for Senju’s to say to their young

Tenzo secretly loves it

But before he never said it out loud since, you know, trauma

Hatakes are territorial of their pack so if anyone messes with their pack when they can’t handle it you are going to wake up with your throat being ripped apart from Hatake teeth

Having a Hatake and Uchiha couple might be a pair made in shinobi heaven if I think in that sense

Fear them

Kakashi gives head pats like it is free candy

Everyone decided to have the Hatake clan symbol on them to place a barrier between them and other warring clans because no one likes to mess with Hatakes (only dumb people do, aka, the political greedy people)

Oh wait I found my plot!

Sakura is still considered a civilian during this time, with no family name or any of that sort since, back then, a civilian was too poor to have a last name, so she, alongside Sai, are now Hatake. 

Since Hatake’s have a pack mentality they do have the occasion of adopting outside their clan and giving their last name, however, there have been very few cases in which a clan outsider is adopted into the Hatake. Usually, this is issued to the clan head of that clan and things will get sorted out. But, because Sasuke, Naruto, and Tenzo are time travelers, no one knows of them nor are they official in the clan registry they don’t do that. 

 Bastard children if you will, and while it's possible for both Naruto and Tenzo that is going to be difficult to tell with Sasuke and Obito

So they decided not to use their last names in such situations unless officially asked if they were of [instert clan here] and just said they are by blood

After all, last names are a claim so they are careful to say they are a Uchiha, Uzumaki, or Senju

Do they claim them?

I mean no?????

Let's say no

They are blood-related but do not claim name, claim blood, not name. If named they are shipped to the clan’s compound and goodbye pack member. 

NOT ON KAKASHI’S WATCH

Ok so, timeline!

I’m gonna make it about maybe a year or more before the death of Inzuma

Just because I can and because tension is still there

But not THE tension if you know what I mean

I want Tobirama to feel like something is wrong with the Chakra signatures floating around but I want Hashirama to know first what the actual problem is with the forest warning him about a pack he should not cross

Why the forest?

Because they feel another person with the forest within them

Aka Tenzo

Case and point

They find Sasuke first by accident

It was a patrol of Senju who found him and immediately didn’t know what to do but they had to capture the thing because obviously it was a Uchiha

They corner him and they are about to catch him when the trees start to move

At first, they think it's their clan head who came to trap him 

But no

The branches are capturing THEM and leaving the Uchiha alone

So now they are confused

Confused they see a man with short chestnut hair come out from nowhere, take the Uchiha into his arms, and warns them that they shouldn't mess with a Hatake cub

And

Disappears

They promptly freak the fuck out

I'll add more later and edit more of my other two ideas cus I can. Nice to do a break on the dcxdp fandom not gonna lie.

Part 2 | Part 3

[hadesrise]

𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎’𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓.

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘. nsfw content, werewolf!reader, bottom!miguel, heat cycle, breeding, knotting, marking, free use kink, monster sex, belly bulge, squirting, slight bloated belly

𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊. based on this and this wonderful thirst from a wonderful author.

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED DNI !!

Miguel O’Hara, who wants to be used by you for your own pleasure, wants you to ruin him, make his cunt take your big fuckin’ cock, breed him, mark him yours. He knows the risk of full moons, how it affects your werewolf genes and makes you feral, a stark contrast to the way you usually are. He knows how it can make you lose your mind, being fully consumed by the animalistic urge to just fuck and knot something, anything.

He knows and yet, he still chooses to unlock the door of the chamber in the Spider Society Base made specifically for you to deal with the heat cycle alone and away from anyone in order to prevent any accidents, claiming he has the responsibility of taking care of your every needs; the only one, that is.

Miguel O’Hara, who instantly drools at the sight of you growling and snarling, glowing yellow eyes tainted in lust and the urge to breed, snout baring sharp teeth that itches to bite and mark something, like an absolute feral animal. His wet, quivering hole clenches around nothing, heat pooling in the depths of his stomach as the want to be wrecked and knotted by you increasingly grew. You could fuckin’ smell it, the scent of his desperation and want, his prepped, lubbed up hole ready to be used. It causes you to let out a deep, hungry growl as you waste no time to manhandle him onto the bed.

Miguel O’Hara, who’s bent over in a mating press, his own claws scratching the mattress as each of your rough and heavy thrusts rips out screams from his throat and destroys his fuckin’ cunt, your big inhuman sized cock practically rearranging his guts and creating a bulge in his fit stomach. Hole utterly used and abused, Miguel couldn’t do anything but sob as you force him to take your cock, mercilessly pulling orgasm after orgasm, not stopping even after he’s violently shaking from overstimulation.

“Fuck! Wai— aghhh! T-too much—! Too mu— ohhh!” He would struggle against you, sobbing uncontrollably because it felt so fuckin’ good it hurts, only for his wrists to be pinned down by your clawed hand as you drill into him more, ripping another scream out of him as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, sparks appearing in his vision. Drools and tears dripping down his face, his own cum covering his body, everything felt messy and filthy.

You let out a low snarl, the human mind completely shut down with your animalistic urges instead taking the lead. You could feel it, sense it, smell it — how much he loves this, being treated like a sex toy, like a female animal in heat, insides begging to be your cum dump, to be bred and knotted until his belly’s swollen. The knowledge causes you to bite down hard on his shoulder with a possessive growl, no doubt leaving a huge mark as the metallic taste of blood touches your tongue. The pain immediately makes Miguel toss his head back on the pillow, eyes wide, screaming and body convulsing, cum weakly shooting out of his cock from how much he came.

Miguel O’Hara, whose tongue hangs out from his mouth at the pure ecstacy, mind completely fucked dumb by you, vision unfocused as whines, moans, and screams erupts from his sore throat. He feels your big cock convulsing inside him and he trembles in anticipation and excitement despite not being in his right mind, abused hole tightening more around you, as if to beg for your cum.

Miguel O’Hara, who babbles incoherent words and stupidly begs for your knot like a whore, throwing away every bit of sanity and pride and dignity he had left. Desperate for your cum like a bitch in heat, even though you’re the one in heat right now. He sobs and begs for you to breed him, fill him up to the brim, get him pregnant. Let him be your personal breeder.

Miguel O’Hara, who moans erotically and loudly at the feeling of your knot stretching his hole and your huge load of cum gushing into him, thoroughly filling his womb as his cock squirts on his stomach that was still bulging. Eyes rolled back into his skull, tongue out, and trembling violently, unable to come down from the intense climax. You were still cumming, Miguel could feel his belly start to bloat from its amount, whines leaving his lips. A werewolf’s cum is twice the amount of humans, as expected.

He hears a soft growl rumble from your throat before you started purring, licking his shoulder and neck affectionately as your cock finally stopped shooting ropes of white semen, and he moans softly, your loose grip on his wrists allowing him to tug them off so he could touch your soft fur.

Miguel O’Hara, whose lips are stretched upwards to form a dumb smile on his face as he rubs his thoroughly bred belly, whimpering happily at your knot still not retracting.

And just like that, he limps out of the chamber with your cum still inside him only to come back the next day begging for you to knot and breed him again.

Miguel O’Hara, who knows he certainly won’t be able to walk for days if he continued this, yet can’t bring it in himself to stop.

After all, a good and generous leader takes care of his member’s every need, right?

© ᴀ��ʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴅᴇsʀɪsᴇ. sᴛᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ, ᴘʟᴀɢɪᴀʀɪᴢɪɴɢ, ᴏʀ ᴜsɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ғᴏʀ ᴍᴏɴᴇᴛᴀʀʏ ɢᴀɪɴ ɪs sᴛʀɪᴄᴛʟʏ ᴘʀᴏʜɪʙɪᴛᴇᴅ. ᴀsᴋ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪɴɢ.

[pinegreenapples]

Radiostatic Fic Recs

Do you like radiostatic? Are you looking for something good to read? Here are some of my personal favorites that I think everyone should read! As a reminder, if you don't like something listed, just don't read it! And don't bother the author or me! Staying in your lane is free! 😊

Part 2 here!

Finished works

Read 'Em and Weep

Vox and Alastor are on the cusp of a relationship but Alastor worries that he isn't enough for Vox. Val interferes. Now a series!

Get Your Thrill Just to Get At Me

Alastor experiences a rut for the first time and Vox refuses to waste good dick on a panic attack.

Hold Me Like A Grudge

This one's ABO and pretty much just smut. Suppressants fail all over the city! Guess we gotta fuck!

Put Your Fingers Back to the Keys

Alastor gets publicly summoned by Lilith and Vox searches for him.

Escape Was Just a Nod and a Casual Wave

This one's a really cool predator/prey fic where Vox chases Alastor.

Keep You Like an Oath

Alastor sneaks into V Tower and discovers Vox's video logs. It causes a revelation.

Lucidity's Fog

Vox has one final sex dream of him and Alastor together.

How to Commission a Radio Demon Body Pillow (and other assorted things)

This one is based off a tumblr ask thread about Vox having an insane amount of Alastor paraphernalia. It's funny, but it is one-sided.

Would You Download a Demon?

Alastor tells Vox and Rosie that he sold his soul. Vox does something so stupid, it's smart.

Classic and Better

Oooohhhhoooo, this bad boy is what made me start writing again. The characterization of them is so good and I love it so much. Alastor tempts Vox back into his folds and Vox follows blindly.

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Alastor lays claim to Vox by biting him. This one is short and sweet. Now a series!

Couple's Therapy

This one was funny and sadly too short. Modern day Alastor and Vox decide to go to therapy as a joke and it actually makes them realize a thing or two.

Bambi

I love this piece. It's cute! Vox and Alastor have two different versions of Bambi-their clashing interpretations lead to an adorable misunderstanding.

Joking Matters

Vox and Alastor got married to consolidate their power and have kept their relationship a secret since.

Obligations

Vox trades for Alastor's soul but it isn't at all like how he wanted. They both cope in their own ways.

Meant to Be Yours

This one's one-sided. Vox gets rejected and takes it really badly. An excellent piece exploring his side.

Bargains

This one is also so so so good. Alastor has a rut cycle and the only person who knows is Vox. However, Alastor hates that he has a rut and takes it out on Vox. Vox just wants to know what Alastor actually wants.

Spite

This one is delicious. It's based off the first episode where Alastor says he pulled a few strings to get the commercial to air. Vox demands that he act in a porno for blackmail.

Just a Slave to Your Instincts

Vox researches deer instincts and uses it very effectively against Alastor.

That One Tuesday

Similar premise to Classic and Better but it involves more of the Hazbin cast and the main plotline of trying to redeem sinners.

Vox and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Afterlife

This one is light on the relationship but funny. Basically, every rut Alastor goes fucking nuts and takes it out on Vox. However, no one believes him and they think he's going crazy.

666: Live on Air!

An excellent series that does a good job exploring the push and pull between these two and what a relationship between them would look like with all their hang ups and miscommunications.

Seeking Solace

This story plays with Dom/Sub designations and Vox is a sub who hasn't dropped in too long. He calls Alastor to help.

Radio Made the Video Star

An excellent series exploring the arc of Alastor and Vox's first meeting, their subsequent fallout, and their re-connection as they are forced to work on a project together.

Thawing Out

Vox is in an abusive relationship with Valentino. Alastor finds him one night by accident when he's mulling over his relationship. For the first time, Alastor notices that something else might be going on at Vee Tower and he has these awful feelings about it that he can't seem to shake.

The Pitch

Vox swaggers into Alastor's radio tower to find out more about his newest pet project, he ends up limping out. Wink wonk!

Hypnosis, Live in your Bedroom!

This is inspired by the 666 hypnosis fic and it is quite good! It’s another smut piece of Alastor and Vox exploring his hypnosis.

Other Place

This piece is really sentimental. It made me cry and think about death. Basically, Alastor visits Vox on the anniversary of his mother's death and they talk through his many emotions.

This Wasn't on the Agenda

One-sided but funny! Vox and Alastor start a hissy fit in an overlord meeting about their brief sexual history together.

Staticradio Woodland Fun

This one's cutesy! Vox and Alastor are both mythical creatures experiencing rut and so they spend it with each other.

Feeling from Grace

Angel Dust comes to Alastor with some concerns about Vox’s wellbeing. Alastor manages to fuck it up, as he does all things regarding Vox and feelings.

Music on T.V. and Sex on the Radio!?

This one’s funny and sexy. After their little fight on air, Vox tracks Alastor down in his tower to have some good old fashioned fun.

Stay

Alastor can’t seem to let Vox go, even when Vox decides he can’t keep playing this game anymore.

Like Old Times

Alastor pays Vox a visit in his office after their musical spat to say hello.

Deer in the Backlights

This piece is nice in the way that it explores Vox finally getting closure from his obsession with Alastor. Val and Velvette set up a meeting for Vox and Alastor to finally fuck and get rid of their weird psychosexual tension. Vox wonders if this was really what he wanted all along.

198

This one is pure smut and it’s so delightful. Vox manages to mind break Alastor and turn him into his own personal sex toy. I also highly recommend anything by childishsadism, they write very compelling work!

Undisclosed Desires

Alastor and Vox get into another fight and Alastor finds he likes it a lot more than he thought he would.

To Be Yours

This is my own work! Alastor hears Vox open their personal frequency for the first time in years. Curious, he goes to find out why exactly Vox has chosen to break the silence.

Safe with Me

This one's good! It's a modern AU where Vox is a CEO and Alastor is a serial killer and podcaster. After separating as childhood friends, Vox and Alastor meet once again and find love with one another. Now a series!

Bluest Monday

This one is so well written and the romance between them is absolutely heart wrenching. Alastor fears losing Vox to modernity, so he finally accepts Vox’s courting in an attempt to keep the other at his side. This decision has unintended consequences neither could foresee. Now a series!

Addicted

Addicted is really good. Vox finds out he's been drugged by Val for decades and as a result has long term amnesia. He runs away and tries to reckon with a past he can't even remember.

Hypnotic

This one is a rape fic. Vox hypnotizes Alastor against his will and forces him to recount his first sexual encounter as he has sex with him.

Unfinished works

Prey of the Video Star

This one is really really good! After the battle, Vox takes Alastor back to Vee tower, determined to finally make the other his. Alastor, weakened, struggles the best that he can even as the noose tightens around his neck.

Equilibrium

Vox saves Alastor and accidentally creates a soulbond between them. This sets in motion a landslide of unexpected events between them.

The Answer is Yes

Okay, this one is extremely well written. It's a fascinating exploration of Vox and Alastor's relationship through a vignette style. It blends all sorts of memories with modern day and it's really cool. I like it a lot.

Hell’s Televisionary

This one is a really interesting take on Vox and his first few years in Hell. I’m really enjoying it! Vox is new to Hell and looking to make a name for himself. He’s also looking to reconnect with the elusive redhead that helped him when he first fell.

Rival Frequencies

Vox goes after Alastor after the extermination and patches him up. He discovers that maybe his feelings haven’t waned, and he tries to rekindle a friendship with Alastor again.

Tune On In!

This one is based off of an art post where Vox and Alastor got platonically married and details their life together.

Unraveling Emotions

Falling in love makes a sinner’s heart human again and their second death permanent. Vox has never stopped loving Alastor. Alastor makes a mistake and Vox nearly pays the price.

For my friends who liked my post, I hope this finds you!

@rae-does-stuff, @drakepad-luv-2000, @motherarts, @freakshowmemories, @bratpfanne-of-doom, @superpersonpatroleclipse , @nocakesformissedith , @coins-that-never-land , @matrixbearer2024, @dancingafterdark ,@pedi-bug , @starlightthenightwing , @unnecessarilysalty

[sunsetwestlgca]

Cycling Safety and Legal Protocols: Post-Bike Crash Procedures

Every road user has an equal right to travel safely. In California, where road accidents involving bicyclists have led to 100 fatalities and over 10,000 injuries, understanding the appropriate steps after a bike crash is essential. This article aims to elucidate key points that can guide individuals in taking the necessary actions. Before delving into post-bike crash considerations, it is imperative to familiarize oneself with fundamental laws to prevent avoidable accidents and penalties.

[i-am-trying-my-best-okay]

I love Sofia and I want her to get everything ever; but I feel like with leaving Gia alive, she might accidently have created a cycle, and if she were to break it, then she'd lose everything.

Sofia killed Gia's parents, and I assume intends to lie about it, claim the gas leak was some sort of unfortunate accident. And while Gia might accept this now, as she's too young to know otherwise, as years go by and Gia gets older, she might start to look back and question things; why did Sofia lead them out to the Greenhouse the exact night there was that gas leak? Why'd it happen that exact night Gia had to leave the room when Sofia wanted to confront the family about something? She might begin to wonder, and this has a striking resemblance to how Sofia began to wonder and remember things from her mother's supposed suicide. Just as Sofia began to question her father's involvement in her mother's death, Gia might begin to question Sofia's involvement in her parent's deaths.

And that kind of questioning would be dangerous for Sofia; it could cause the power she'd gained to crumble apart if the truth were to come out. So if she can't put a stop to Gia's suspicious, she has a choice to make; will she allow her power to come to ruin, or will she be forced to silence Gia, just as her father had silenced her.

[ru1njured]

[sepublic]

In lieu of my latest reblog about people taking compelling characters and projecting their writing onto some other (usually white) dude, I want to bring up a post I had drafted all the way back from April, but never posted because at the time I still had enough patience not to. But now is different. I do think this analysis is a bit outdated because it doesn’t consider the mediocre white dude angle of Belos that I find paramount, but it’s good enough for my repurposed point.

-

            I find it funny when some people complain that the narrative was unfair to Belos despite his “trauma” and circumstances, like there aren’t multiple characters out there who parallel his issues, and get sympathy AND a redemption, in all but one case! Belos is narratively condemned not for what he has in common with others, but for what sets him apart, particularly his stubborn ego. Cases in point;

         “Belos deserved to have sympathy for having an unhealthy attachment to his more confident sibling that was mixed with resentment over being abandoned for someone else, culminating in guilt over hurting them and regretting it!”

         Lilith exists. She’s motivated by a massive inferiority complex with Eda, Gwen favors her. She’s clearly salty about Eda going off to have fun with Raine, and claims to Luz that she’s Eda’s ‘real’ family. She cursed her sister and felt enormous guilt over it… But in the end, Lilith IS given sympathy by the narrative, and the chance to redeem herself. And she takes just that.

         A lot of the people claiming Belos deserved better theorize that stabbing Caleb was an accident, and you know what? So was the permanence of Eda’s curse, Lilith expected it to only last a day and certainly not transform her sister. But Lilith still owned up. And she learned to make other friends while respecting Eda’s boundaries.

         “Belos was an orphan raised in a culture that encouraged genocide and a hatred of wild magic!”

         Caleb exists, he went through the exact same childhood as Philip, but still chose to change. And while they weren’t orphans at the time, Hunter and the Collector were also raised on genocide, taught to find wild/Titan magic apprehensive. But they loved it instead.

         “But Belos actually lost his brother, his loved one died!”

         So did Hunter’s! And he was shown to be snappy and aggressive, pouring himself into a mission to cope! But he still owned up, apologized to Willow for rebuking her. He lost Flapjack, and instead of making replicas of his lost loved one to keep to himself, discarding anyone that wasn’t close enough, Hunter made a diverse array of palismen for other kids, to give them the loving relationship he lost! Even his own palisman was clearly carved to be different from Flapjack, reminiscent but still their own thing.

         Then there’s Darius, who lost his mentor the previous Golden Guard; His own ‘Caleb’, so to speak! And he was also unpleasant about it, he took his grief out on Hunter, who had nothing to do with this! The canon audio diaries even confirm the apprehension has been going for a while… But Darius realized he was wrong to have projected onto Hunter, made up for this by practically adopting the kid and giving this kid the happy ending his mentor didn’t have; Passing the cycle of kindness the Golden Guard started. And his own grief is pointed out to the audience by Hunter himself.

         “They should’ve shown how having a hero complex and a desire to live out a fantasy can corrupt anyone!”

         Luz and the Collector. Luz herself makes these comparisons for Belos, and there were times where she hurt her friends trying to live out her fantasy, and/or planned to leave them under the impression she was doing the ‘right thing’. Luz makes a legitimate consideration that she could’ve been Belos, if she refused to listen to others and change. But Luz owned up! As did the Collector, whose escapism and wish to play the role of the ‘hero’, in this case Luz, causes them to do some pretty terrible things. But they still change after being called out, and are still given sympathy over the loneliness and trauma that fueled their escapism, as was Luz.

"Philip struggled with getting over a different type of fantasy, one that relied upon him conquering and hurting others!"

As did King! And King got over that, he quickly learned that other people would always be more important than his fantasies, even if the 'sacrifices' were a lot more minor. King started off the same, the difference is that he still grew up and that's why we judge his antics as so much more light-hearted.

         “Well that’s not fair, Philip’s examples were more extreme!”

         How about Eda’s curse? Belos never brings up his other sources of trauma as an excuse for his actions, but you know what he does invoke? His curse, claiming to Hunter and Luz that it forced him to act certain ways. But we see Eda, who got a rawer deal with her curse; She didn’t bring it upon herself, as Belos did. She legitimately loses control when it takes over. She scarred and disabled her father because of it, and you know what?

         Eda never uses her curse as an excuse. She never lets that justify what she’s done to people, and she even befriends the creature at the source of her curse, the Owl Beast. The curse she deals with is objectively worse, objectively more unfair, than Belos’. But it’s only Belos who actually cites his curse as an excuse, and the palismen at the source of it? He kills them.

         “Belos’ cursed form is treated as ugly and evil!”

         The palismen amalgam in his mind looked almost exactly the same, to the point where Hunter, who had seen Belos’ cursed form in person before, thought they were identical. But in the end, the palismen amalgam, despite resembling Belos’ cursed form, is a sympathetic and tragic victim who is murdered. Luz and Hunter mistaking him for Belos is justified, but it’s also still regrettable that they are judged by appearances.

         “It hurts people to sacrifice their morals for the greater good, you know!”

         Raine did that, they felt compelled to drag Darius and Eberwolf (one of whom was a childhood friend) into a murder-suicide, because as far as they knew, they were already going to be caught and executed, so may as well take their oppressors down with them! And they aren’t called out for it, because they couldn’t have known about Darius’ actual intentions…

         Because in the end, sometimes you have to punch a fascist, and sometimes you have to oppose a friend or loved one because they took the fascists’ side. It’s why Lilith is expected to change for Eda, not the other way around. Raine is not the aggressor here, it’s all from the principle of self-defense for themselves and the isles as a whole.

         And in the end, it’s because Raine is approaching from a place of actual good intent and moral concern that there are lines they still refuse to cross; As soon as they learn about Luz and King, they sabotage their own plans because they refuse to orphan these kids they just found out about for the ‘greater good’. When one of those very kids, Luz, makes Raine promise to keep Eda safe, you can see the conflict between their morals and their obligations in their eyes as Eda accepts the Bard sigil, and ultimately Raine powers through the draining spell to save Eda’s life, simply because Luz asked them to.

         I’ve talked since their debut of how Raine has some similarities to Belos, in particular how they both work their whole lives to infiltrate a group from within to topple it, even as they publicly support it as a celebrated leader. They both had to lie and work under the radar, and make effective rhetoric; They each wear their own masks. Raine has to constantly lie to and rebuke Eda about being brainwashed, and we can see the moral agony it gives them!

         But Raine is opposed to a legitimate threat, whereas Belos is completely making one up; Raine has to work under the micro-management of tyrants with control over them, Philip has been free from his colony for centuries, and even after finding out Gravesfield gave up on its witch hunting mission in the present, still traps himself of his own will. Belos feels no guilt for any of his ‘necessary evil’.

         Raine had actual morals unlike Belos that they did sacrifice, for an actual greater good, and they actually hurt over these choices. They dedicated their whole life to stop a dark and twisted parallel, which makes their inclusion in the finale as the only person outside of the core trio to help against Belos all the more deserved; They even help deliver the killing blows. And Raine is rewarded for all of their effort, allowed to see it come to fruition and rest happily afterwards, because they really were sincere, and actually did make sacrifices, something Belos preaches but never follows. Most importantly, Raine knew they couldn’t justify everything even for their morally-justified mission.

         “Belos was still legitimately wronged by Caleb for nothing, he didn’t deserve to be abandoned!”

         Even if we believe Caleb did ‘abandon’ Philip or whatever; The Collector was legitimately wronged by the Titan, imprisoned and isolated for millennia despite being innocent. But while he justifiably calls the Titan a bully, he never takes this out on King, or any other Titan for that matter, remembering the rest with love. Nor is the Collector expected to forgive the Titan; The Titan accepts she made the wrong call. After all, imprisoning the Collector left them in a vulnerable state to be exploited by Belos, and give him the draining spell…

         The Titan and Caleb’s mistakes were very much that, but the Collector matured for others, without needing an apology from the dead person who wronged him. And based on what we see of Belos’ memories, Caleb probably DID get to deliver that apology when he was alive, and Philip still insisted on being bitter!

         “His only childhood friend just ditched him for someone else!”

         That’s what happened to Willow, and that’s how she understood it for most of her life; Amity leaving her behind because she was too weak, and kids like Boscha and Skara were more popular, stronger, etc. But not only does the show say her rage against Amity is totally warranted and that the onus is on Amity to apologize, even if she didn’t choose to leave Willow (keep in mind she still saw Willow as a weak person to protect without input, as we later see in Labyrinth Runners)…

         Willow is still kind. She still opts to be compassionate to Gus, and to Luz, and in general a nurturing person despite her abandonment. And when Willow is given the chance to take revenge on Boscha by stealing her glory in Grudgby, she doesn’t kick the girl while she’s down to do so; But Willow is also allowed to still hold anger towards Boscha, as we see in Season 3. And assuming Caleb wasn’t malicious about leaving Philip behind, we clearly see how he welcomes his brother back and wants things to get better, just as Amity does; He had his own side of the story. And Willow doesn’t kill Amity despite being primed to very easily do so…

"But imagine finding out they CHOSE to leave you, when you thought they didn't!"

Camila?!?! In fact, Camila was THE precedent for this, and people went and applied her tragic scene to Philip to make HIM into some angsty sadboi! And last I checked, Camila didn't exactly murder Luz... Plus, Philip had infinitely more time to see Caleb and Evelyn interact, and thus figure out that Caleb wasn't being kidnapped or brainwashed; Compare that to Camila who is just dunked into that situation out of nowhere, and is barely even adjusting to Vee's existence on top of finding out Luz was someplace else the entire time, and dealing with Jacob.

"A lot of family members at least start off as well-intentioned when hurting loved ones, they could've shown that!"

Bold of you to assume that Belos' selfish entitlement towards Caleb is the same as Camila or Gwen's legitimate concerns for their daughters; They did unconditionally love and they were misguided. But when shown they were causing pain, they actually shifted gears instead of focusing on how they were fight because they knew better. And what they were doing WAS still harmful, even though they DID care.

         “Belos was probably a weirdo himself, and suffered from internalized hatred for his deviancy!”

         Lilith dyed her hair to fit in with the coven, and be taken seriously. Amity suppressed herself to be a stoic perfectionist, constantly trying to justify her own existence as she says; She had to work to be good at magic while others like Gus, Emira, and Edric were naturally talented, and was made to hate those who weren’t successful as witches. Hunter too loathed his own lack of bile magic!

         Most tellingly, Camila herself was taught to hide her weirdness, grew up thinking she was successful for doing that, and even tried to impose the same on Luz because of that misconception! But Camila realized what was done to her was wrong, and the same applied to her daughter; Accepting Luz’s weirdness meant accepting her own.

         “Even if he still chose to double down in villainy, Belos could’ve at least been given a moment where he was sympathetic, where his sadness was shown, before nevertheless deciding his fate!”

         Kikimora had an entire episode where she agonized over her obligations to a mother that seemed low key abusive, given her threat to disown her. We see her hesitate, cry, and be legitimately disappointed when she’s rewarded for staying with Belos by ‘getting to live’, a reward that doesn’t even last by the Day of Unity! Even after Kikimora makes her choice to betray Luz and Amity, we still get a final scene of her looking uncertain and even regretful of her decision, before she commits. Kikimora isn’t redeemed but is still humanized, despite being less human than Belos, so to speak.

         She’s even a dark parallel to Lilith, having jealousy towards the Golden Guard, an emotionally abusive mother, and an inferiority complex towards other members of the coven despite working directly with Belos! And she is given many chances to escape Belos, a few months where she is legitimately free from him, and chooses to remain in her ways because Kikimora’s difference with Lilith isn’t that life was more unfair to her, it’s that she refused to change.

         Now this is a bit out there, but there’s also the other Coven Heads! Mason, Vitimir, Hettie, and Osran! The show was shortened, so who knows what they could’ve provided for the story… Mason, Hettie, and Osran especially, since they’re not included amongst the coven head loyalists who still cling to power, even after Belos’ death. The show could’ve easily set up sympathetic moments to indicate a possibility of change, paying off in the epilogue; But because of Disney, you can’t blame the writers for not delivering everything they could’ve.

         “How about a character who was just… an asshole, no outside reason given?”

         Boscha, who was popular and privileged. While she does allude to some pressures that motivate her, as far as we know, there wasn’t really anyone or anything that made her be so cruel towards those she perceives as lesser. But despite this, Willow doesn’t see any point in trying to take Boscha’s spotlight as a Grudgby captain, when offered by her teammates; She doesn’t kick Boscha when she’s down. And Boscha is ultimately still recognized as unhappy with the loss of her friends, so even if she does do egregious things during the Collector’s reign, Amity offers Boscha the chance to become better and improve, as she did. And she takes it!

         “Well, none of these characters had to grapple with having done things nearly as bad as Belos!”

         And why do you think that is? Why are Belos’ sins so monumental in comparison, how did they get so bad? Because he kept refusing to change, kept refusing each opportunity, and got worse because of that. His first confirmed murder was Caleb, who right beforehand embraced his brother during what appeared to be a manifestation of the curse. But Philip still chose to commit his first sin despite receiving such unconditional sympathy, because he wanted control, not happiness. He didn’t start off as a genocidal dictator, he worked his way up to that over centuries.

         “They make it seem like Belos was born evil!”

         Our earliest chronological appearances of Philip are as a happy, carefree child who plays games with the brother he loves and looks up to; That isn’t the portrayal of someone ‘born’ evil. This is the portrayal of someone who became that way, over time, because he refused to concede anything to anyone, and wore away what decency he had across centuries, until we see the Emperor that Belos is when the show starts.

         An evil dictator who ravaged an entire world for hundreds of years came from an innocent little kid, and Luz becomes self-aware of how this can apply to her, even as she’s reminded that she also ISN’T like Belos because of this critical reflection and willingness to listen. Belos, on the other hand, consciously cultivated an echo chamber for centuries, killing any Grimwalker he felt disagreed with him, despite their unconditional love and support. He deliberately shut himself off from the isles and ignored the kindness of others.

         Bump reminds Faust that it’s disingenuous to project malice onto children who often simply don’t know any better, and just need to be given a chance to be taught and educated. But kids also have to take initiative to mature when they get older, hence why we hold adults more responsible; The established logic is that Belos wasn’t an evil child, he was simply a child who never grew up and that’s where his evil came from, rather than being some pre-existing source.

         To be honest, I think the narrative doesn’t bother showing sympathy to Belos over his trauma because he’s already HAD more than enough sympathy, across centuries, from his brother, the Grimwalkers, his followers, even Luz and the Collector! So the story doesn’t feel the need to waste tears on someone who already got them, and instead focuses sympathy to characters who haven’t received as much, if any; People like Lilith, Amity, Hunter, etc.

         Belos is the culmination of other characters’ traumas (who prove you can still choose to be better and happier despite these things), and was practically coddled by the people in his life for it. But he still chose to be bitter, never opened up to accept help, and his rejection brought even more pain that he could only blame on himself. Belos’ only tragedy is his refusal to change for the better; Even the narrative has made it clear he had chances, tears wept for him by people he knew.

He is a mirror to so many characters, what could’ve happened if they looked at their own pain and used it as justification to continue lashing out, because clearly they are the underdog heroes who have been wronged and are fighting against an injustice, right? The hero of their own story, if you will. Hell, we still also get that with Kikimora, as I just said! What I’ve listed is not a double standard, but rather proof that Belos was not uniquely condemned by his circumstances, for he is alike many characters as I mentioned. And Belos does not need to be portrayed “sympathetically” in order for the audience to understand the relevance of these parallels; Namely, that Belos has no excuse to still be like this when those similar nevertheless choose not to be cruel, and will accept others’ compassion.

         And besides, with how the show was shortened… Who’s to say the writers didn’t plan to throw Belos a sympathetic moment of genuine loneliness, before doubling down? Not that they really would’ve needed to. But if they planned it, the writers had to leave it out to prioritize the weirdos this show is actually about, due to the shortening.

[pinkykats-place]

Male Reader x bnha male character(s) Ⅱ

Tumblr Recommendations

Disclaimers!

The stories linked are NOT mine.

Most contain mature content.

Gif not mine.

Note: if you read and enjoy any of these stories - please like, leave a comment and/or reblog original post!

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

Abnormal

character(s): Class 1-A and bits w/ Aizawa Shouta [platonic]

Summary: basically class 1-A w/ a rescued mutant quirk user, claimed to be used as an “nomu” experiment from authorities but is generally under UA’s hand for now due to the help of Aizawa’s quirk to prevent... accidents

Ghostly Prince

Reader x Bakugou, Midoriya, Sero

Summary: Bakugo, midoriya, and sero with a tall tattooed boyfriend with a powerful medium quirk who talks to ghost kinda like paranorman and can summon them to fight people

Dirty Thoughts for a Clean Man

Overhaul x male reader

NSFW fic

Dabi x male!Reader

Summary: Reader helps Dabi dye his hair and feelings are revealed.

Warning: smut is mentioned but not explicitly written

Dabi With A Neko Boyfriend

It’s… small-

bottom!Tomura Shigaraki x top!Male!Reader

not scary at all (nsfw)

ojiro x virgin!male!reader

warnings: virgin reader, crying, slight mention of a breeding kink kinda

dumbed down (NSFW)

m!reader x denki kaminari

smut!

tw: dumbification, toys, daddy k

SATURDAY NIGHT (nsfw)

[ I. Midoriya x Male!Reader ]

Summary: aged up au with smut

❝ 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙚 ❞

𝙄𝙯𝙪𝙠𝙪 𝙭 𝙆𝙖𝙩𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙞’𝙨 𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧

Teaser ➤ Izuku realizes he must act to get what he wants.

been fantasizin! (nsfw)

izuku midoriya x male reader

WARNINGS: heat cycles, bunny quirk, ear-pulling, creampie (x2), toy use, overstimulation, manhandling, dacryphilia, soft dom!izuku, praise, kissing, drool/spit, body worship, dirty talk, breeding mention, use of the word “pussy” as a synonym for (ass)hole, amab reader

do it again (nsfw)

aizawa shouta x himbo!male reader

cw: mentions of creampie(s), large chest (pecs), teasing, anal, headlocks, fingerhooking, drool/spit, dumbification, veryyy minor dirty talk

Hawks x top male reader

Smut fic

SOFTSPOT (nsfw)

aizawa shouta x male reader

WARNING: amab reader, praise, degradation, spitting, dirty talk, crybaby!reader, himbo!reader, fingering, anal, nipple play, chest mentions, use of the words ‘tits’ in a mocking manner, dumbification, mutual masterbation, sadism, humiliation, creampie

Hitoshi Shinso x Male! Reader

Smut Drabble Fic

Alpha! Male! Reader x Omega! BakuDeku [headcanons]

a healthy recovery!

bakugo, todoroki and midoriya (seperate) x m! reader

Summary: reader is recovery girl’s grandson with a healing quirk

Bnha boys reaction to their boyfriend having a Holstaur quirk

characters: bakugou, kirishima, hawks, dabi

Smut in a closet

Denki x male reader

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Lifeline

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: When Matt starts to shut down, your stubbornness saves him.

warnings: swearing, angst, panic attack description, pining buffoons, pre-relationship, Matt's mental illness and fear of abandonment

a/n: This is a short birthday fic for the wonderful @abucketofweird who wanted a fic similar to Renegade with Best Friends to Lovers. I hope you enjoy, my dear! 🥳🥰❤️

I know it's short and pre-relationship but there is plenty of angsty Matt! (Also, yes she calls him a million nicknames, but they're not ~explicitly~ together in this). Please let me know if y'all are tired of seeing me write crying!angsty!Matt because I know I write that a lot.

w/c: ~4k

Matt could still remember the day that the Devil had first emerged. It was before his accident, after witnessing a group of teens bully his elementary school classmate on her way home from school. Years of seeing his dad throw hits and his own unwavering moral compass had forged a new being within his own; his rage overtaking his consciousness, forming shaky fists and a flower across his face. 

At the time, he hadn’t known how to fight properly and had gotten his ass kicked. A few decades had passed and, though his ability had grown, his rage had stayed the same. 

Fury was a useful tool, most of the time. Allowing him to push through discomfort and injury until he’d taken down whatever evildoer he’d gone after that day. It was his wrath that kept him going, but it was also his biggest inhibition. 

The desire to beat powerful criminals bloody was overpowering. His gut boiled with anger anytime he heard someone crying for help, knowing that, more than likely, the only thing sparing them from that cruel fate was him—a blind Catholic with a chip on his shoulder and lacking self preservation skills. 

It was his rage that caused tunnel vision. Which in turn caused sleep deprivation, which led to more injuries. The cycle didn’t end there though, at least not recently. His tendency to prioritize his alter ego over his own health wasn’t something that could be solved by a simple nap these days. Not when he had people worrying about him, and when his efforts to meditate or find another outlet for his emotions remained futile. 

More injuries meant it was more difficult to hide them. A bullet wound in his stomach, a sprained ankle, these were more noticeable to his coworkers, to you. While you were eternally patient and understanding about his double life, his business partners were not. He tried his best to ignore Karen’s gasps and Foggy’s pointed stares every time he limped into the office or winced while pouring his coffee. Despite his efforts, it always aggravated him, fueling his rage and thus perpetuating the cycle further. 

This week, Foggy had snapped. Yelling at Matt for putting himself in danger, for jeopardizing their recent case—they’d had to postpone a meeting with the prosecution given the state of Matt’s face—and their firm. In return, Matt had lashed out. Screaming about the greater good and Foggy not trusting him. It quickly became an all out brawl, both men hurling insults at the other despite Karen warning them that they were going too far. But her intervention came too late. 

“You claim to be so worried about people leaving but I don’t see how that’s fucking possible when you try so hard to scare us off, Murdock. Guess what!? It’s working!” Foggy snapped, throwing his hands in the air with a huff. 

Logically, Matt knew Foggy didn’t mean that—at least not in the way Matt heard it—but his throat felt swollen anyway. His heart pounded, the argument sitting on his tongue dissolving as his mouth grew increasingly dry. Loosening his tie, Matt stalked to his office to gather his things. 

“You know what, I think I’ll work at home for a few days.” He spoke stiffly, throwing the strap of his bag over his shoulder. 

“Matt,” Karen took a step towards him but he refuses to acknowledge her placating tone. 

“I’ll see you in court next week. I’ll drop off my opening argument tomorrow night.” Without waiting for their responses, he retreated to his apartment. 

With every step along the damp Manhattan sidewalk, his irritation grew. His brain was flickering back and forth between despair and indignation, his hands itching to hit something. Tonight would be productive, that much was clear. 

Though he usually waited until the late hours of the evening to go out as Daredevil, his argument with Foggy had ignited an impatient buzzing beneath his skin—his muscles clenching and anger bubbling until he caved to the Devil. It was risky, dashing from roof to roof in his suit at dusk, but his patience had worn out hours ago. 

The night felt endless, yet it was over far too soon. He raced through the streets, taking down thug after thug, until a serrated blade caught him off guard. With a jagged rip across his thigh, he made for his apartment—planning to crudely stitch the wound before finishing what he’d started. 

As he approached his loft, his ears locked on to a familiar heartbeat, its pattering mulling about his place as he grew closer. Foggy had sent in reinforcements, he supposed, though he wasn’t thrilled about it. 

Opening the rooftop door, Matt stomped down the stairs, hurling pieces of his suit across the space as he ripped them from his overheated body. Pretending not to care about the spike in your heartbeat, courtesy of his pounding steps, he tore the mask from his face, setting it beside the sink before filling a glass with water. 

Fidgeting with your sleeve, you approached him slowly, saying nothing as he downed a glass of lukewarm water before jutting his chin at you. 

“Say what you’re going to say, then leave.” His voice was harsh and deep, the Devil still fully in control. 

You inhaled slowly, not scared of his current state, but clearly unhappy all the same. “What makes you think I have something to say?” 

Matt bit back a scoff. “Foggy sent you, which means you’re on his side and are here to tell me off.” 

“On his side…Christ, Murdock.” You were a few paces in front of him, just behind the counter, your clothes rustling as you crossed your arms in frustration. 

“Why else would you be here?” Matt stormed around you and into his bathroom, unbuckling the bottom half to sew himself up. If anyone else had been here, he might have been more worried about modesty, but you’d seen him in more compromising positions than this over the years. 

Gritting your teeth as you trudged after him, your arms remained folded against your chest. “Because I care about you, asshole. Karen told me what Foggy said. I was worried.” 

Your heart thumped steadily with your honest admission, eliciting a pang of guilt deep in Matt’s subconscious. He remained silent, rubbing a damp cloth over his wound to clean it up before he attempted suturing it. At his lack of response, you scoffed, “Don’t know why I was so worried. You’re clearly taking it very well.” 

Spinning to face you, his lips curled. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means exactly what you think it means, Matt.” You snapped back at him, regretting it when his jaw twitched in response. Sighing, your voice softened. “You are so strong, and I know that Foggy and Karen give you a hard time but they’re not entirely wrong. It’s ok to ask for help.” 

“I don’t need their help.” Matt muttered, leaning against the cold porcelain sink in the bathroom. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” 

“No one is saying that you’re not.” You tried to reason, but he refused to listen. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what Foggy was saying, actually. How would you even know? It’s not like you were there.” He bit out, resentment prickling through his words. 

Ouch. He was right. You weren’t there. Because you’d taken a new job across the city. And he clearly was still not ok with that fact. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” You spoke gravely, brushing away a smudge of dirt on his cheek with your thumb. He tensed under your touch, but didn’t flinch away. “But you know that I don’t agree with what Fog said, right? Regardless of whether he meant it, it was wrong for him to imply—“

Shoving your hand from his face, his lips formed a scowl once again. “What? That it’s my fault? That people leave because I make them? Maybe he’s right.” 

“Matt, that’s not true. You know—“

“Don’t tell me what I know!” He roared pressing into your personal space, eyes blazing with fury. 

Breathing evenly, you shifted your weight away from him. Not flinching out of fear, just a natural reaction to his behavior, yet the movement still stung. Retreating from you, he picked up the cloth and refocused on the gash across his thigh. 

“Go home,” He spoke your name coldly. This wasn’t a question, it was an order. 

“Matt—“ You started but he glared at you. 

“Go.”

You nodded, pacing back into the living room to grab your purse from the couch. “Call me if you need anything, Matty. I’ll be around.” You spoke softly, your soft footsteps fading as you left his loft. 

Biting back an irritated snarl, Matt tread into the kitchen to grab a bottle of whiskey. Taking a full swig, he pushed his guilt and pain aside and picked up a needle. 

Burying your face in the collar of your jacket, you scrunched your nose as a particularly fierce gust of wind smacked you. Soldiering forward, you sped down the street towards the dimly lit building you were aiming for. 

It might be a mistake to return to Matt’s loft, but you couldn’t leave him there alone when he was so distraught. At least, not in good conscience. 

You respected his request for space, absolutely—taking time to return to your own apartment and retrieve his worn Columbia sweater, which you’d stolen a few weeks ago and simply not given back. It was soft and oversized, for you at least, making it ridiculously comfortable. But it was clear Matt needed that comfort more than you did right now. 

After tucking the garment in your bag carefully, you headed back out into the blustery evening to pick up a large order of food from Matt’s favorite Italian place. 

If he still didn’t want you there upon your return, so be it. But the man wouldn’t go cold or hungry on your watch, dammit. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him to take care of himself, you just recognized that self-preservation wasn’t a priority for him when he was…like this. Brooding. Angry. 

In the decade and a half you’d known him, you had started to piece together Matt’s various moods and this was a common one. His heightened senses igniting something inside him that pulled him into fights all around the city. You couldn’t imagine the pain he felt hearing innocent civilians in trouble constantly. But eventually, he’d stop restraining himself. Sleep less. Eat less. Go to work, go out as Daredevil, and do it all again the next day—even when he was a jumble of exhaustion and bruises. 

In these moments, he was no longer your beloved Matthew Murdock. He was a candle, with a burning wick and a torch at his base. The wax slowly melting away, until his sanity was nothing but a distant memory. 

This was something you’d seen a handful of times when working with him and Foggy, even back when you three were just interns at Landman and Zack. It was the thing about Matt that you and Foggy argued about most these days. 

See, Foggy believed the solution to these episodes was to remove Daredevil from the equation altogether. You couldn’t necessarily blame the blond for thinking that, given how Matt’s vigilante antics impacted his work and his ability to be a good friend. 

Despite understanding Foggy’s concerns, your faith in Matt didn’t hinge on his nighttime activities. These periods of great stress were a sign that Matt needed support. Not an indication that he was no longer able to lead a double life. 

While the average person might snap or cry when they were overwhelmed, Matt would force himself to take more on. You assumed this was a symptom of the manipulation he’d endured during his youth. 

Matt hadn’t disclosed much about his childhood mentor, but you knew that he’d been encouraged to work through periods of distress, simply bottling up his feelings in order to ensure productivity. Given that he’d never had those beliefs challenged until well into adulthood, it was second nature for him to add more to his plate until he couldn’t anymore—whether that was because someone forced him to rest, or he was literally comatose. 

He’d confessed to you once—on another night like tonight when he was so tired of fighting everyone that he caved to your questioning—that rest wasn’t something that came easily to him. It was almost an enemy, in his mind, preventing him from helping as many people as he could. Resting meant he was a failure, and failing meant people would leave. 

This conversation lived in the back of your mind every time the dark haired man frustrated you. Every sleepless night spent pulling your hair out while you waited for him to text you that he was alive, every morning spent patching him up in the conference room because the walk to work had pulled his stitches out. Each and every time Matt’s other identity impacted your life, you reminded yourself that, in his mind, he didn’t have a choice. 

This time was no different. 

Though it probably didn’t help that Foggy had insinuated that he was thinking of leaving Matt. Not when Matt’s subconscious was desperately trying to pretend his life was balanced to keep everyone happy. Which is why you allowed yourself to be more stubborn than usual this dreadful evening, worming your way back into Matt’s home so he knew that he wasn’t in danger of being alone. 

Removing one ungloved hand from the safety of your fleece lined pocket, you yanked open the door to the restaurant, smiling softly at the hostess as her eyes met yours. 

“I have an order for pick up?” Giving her your name, you curled both hands back into your pockets, shifting your weight from foot to foot as you waited, somewhat impatiently, for your food. 

After what felt like an hour, the hostess handed you two bags stacked with containers, grimacing apologetically. “Sorry about the wait!”

“Not a problem!” You shrugged, grabbing the bags. “Thank you!!”

Dashing around the crowd forming behind you, your feet carried you the few remaining blocks to Matt’s building. Treading up the stairs slowly, you panted, taking a moment to breathe before making it to his door. 

Here goes nothing. 

You bypassed waiting for Matt to open the door, instead choosing to knock gingerly and use your spare key to unlock the door. 

“Matty?” You called softly, receiving no answer. 

Inhaling deeply, hoping you weren’t about to irreparably damage your relationship with Matt, you stepped over the threshold and into his space. Shuffling around the corner at the end of the hallway, you peeked into the loft, scanning it for any indication of your overworked friend—but there was no sign of him. No obvious one, at least. 

As you blocked out the muffled sounds of the city that had managed to penetrate the walls of the loft, your ears picked up a hushed sound from somewhere in the kitchen. A rapid whooshing—like panting, or choking. 

Rushing around the counter, your eyes widened in shock as you found Matt curled against the dark wooden cabinets. He was seated, but hunched over his knees, his hands tightly wrapped around his shins to keep his body in the position as he rocked back and forth. There was a jaggedly stitched line along his thigh, surrounded by mottled skin and goosebumps. Given his lack of clothing—he was only wearing his boxers—and the frigid temperature in the room, the poor man was shaking violently. A combination of his harsh breathing and his low body temperature, you assumed. 

As your presence became more noticeable, Matt tilted his head up, chin wobbling, eyes frantic and shining. Calling your name shakily, his weak plea almost made your own eyes well up. 

Crouching before him, you set the bags in your grasp aside, opening your palms to him. “It’s me, sweetheart. I’m right here. What happened?”

“D-don’t know. Can’t breathe.” Matt choked around the words, leaning towards you as you scrambled closer. 

“Can I touch—“ You asked, hesitant to take any major steps without explicit permission. 

“Yes. Please,” He sobbed, collapsing against your chest as your arms opened. 

“It’s ok. You’re ok, sweet boy.” You rubbed a hand over his back in a circular motion, using your free hand to guide one of his palms to your chest. “Feel my breathing?” 

Matt nodded against your chest, nails digging into your shoulder blade as he tried to get his breathing under control. 

“That’s my guy. Doing so good for me, handsome.” You praised softly, tracing your hand up his back and into his hair in the way you knew he loved. “That’s it, nice even breaths.” 

Unwinding your body from its squatted position, you sat on the cold floor, spreading your legs to allow Matt to fall into your lap. Perched across your thighs, Matt’s slowly stopped heaving. He was still covered in goosebumps and bruises, but his probable panic attack had been avoided for now. 

“There we go. Good job, honey. Feel a bit better?” You scratched diligently at Matt’s scalp, his skull knocking against your fingers with a nod. 

“Yes. Thank you.” He murmured, hot breath hitting your collar bone, a contrast to his icy skin. 

“Ok, sweets. Are you cold?” 

Another nod, making your lips twitch with a tiny smile. “Yah, stupid question. Here, put this on.” 

Pulling your bag over to you, you yanked out the sweater and handed it to him, mourning the loss of contact as he sat up to slip it on. After his chest was covered, his brow furrowed, a hand coming up to trace the text on the front of the hoodie. “My sweatshirt?” 

Cupping his stubbled cheek, you stroked a thumb over his jaw. “I brought it back. Thought you might need it tonight. C’mon honey, why don’t we go lay down, hm?” 

Allowing Matt to crawl off your lap, you drew him from the floor as you stood, laying your arm around his waist and holding him upright as he hobbled to his room. Tumbling onto the mattress, he haphazardly threw his sheets over his bare legs, curling into fetal position. His body was stiff, as if he was clenching every muscle to prevent writhing in pain. Sitting next to his waist, you fussed with the covers, drawing them more tightly around his rigid form. 

“There, that’s better. Just close your eyes and—“ you attempted to encourage the weary man to rest but his small voice interrupted. 

“You came back.” Matt spoke lowly, blinking back a new wave of tears. “You came back when I told you to leave.” 

“Do you need me to go? That’s fine, Matty, I’ll just—“ 

“No!” His hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist. “Please don’t.” 

“Ok, sweet boy. I’ll stay here. As long as you want me to.” 

Matt nodded once, tears trailing down his face again. “You came back.” No longer talking to you, it seemed that he was trying to make himself believe that he was no longer alone. 

Sliding down to face him, you ran a hand over his arm, letting him murmur silently to himself until he spoke to you again.

“I don’t think they’ll ever be happy.” 

“Who won’t be happy, handsome?” You asked quietly, propping yourself up on an elbow to study his face as he answered. 

“Foggy and Karen. Maybe you too, I’m not sure.” His voice cracked, tears pouring down his cheeks as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Hey, hey,” You shushed, drawing him back into your chest. “Oh, Matty—“

“What am I supposed to do?” His hazel eyes reopened, revealing a hopelessness you were shocked to see. “I hear people screaming for help and I…I can’t just lay here doing nothing. I don’t know how. And I try to explain but no one understands. I don’t know what to do,” When he uttered your name this time, it was a desperate request—to confirm that you understood, that you wouldn’t hold his actions against him. 

“Oh, Matt, honey, I’m so sorry.” You rested your chin atop his head as he sobbed into your collarbone. “Sweetheart, you are so good at what you do. You’re a fucking hero. No one is mad about you choosing to use every ability you have to help people, we just worry about you, sweets, that’s all. And, I can’t speak for the others, but you shouldn’t have to worry about making me happy, ok? As long as you’re alive—“

“He’s going to leave me.” Ah. That’s where his mind was getting stuck. The words were broken, Matt’s voice strained beyond recognition as he voiced his fear. “He’s going to leave me like you did.”

A lump of emotion clogged your throat, tears wavering against your waterline. “Matt, you know I didn’t leave because of you, right?”

He shrugged against you, body still trembling as he cried. 

“Matty, I adore you. I loved working with you and seeing you every day, sweets. I just couldn’t live on pies and hand-knit gloves in one of the most expensive cities in the country. I needed income, not an escape. I’m still here. I’m still yours.” 

Heaving out a shaky breath, Matt nodded. Caressing his cheek, you asked. “What did my heartbeat tell you?”

“Truth.” He whispered. The two of you sat in silence, your hand absentmindedly running through his mussed hair as his body stopped shaking. Just when you thought the fear of abandonment had been swayed for the night, he piped up one last time. 

“What am I supposed to do?”

“About Foggy?” You clarified, biting your lip when Matt nodded. With a sigh, you brought your fingers to his silky hair once again. “Matt, I am not psychic, I don’t know what the future will look like for the two of you, but I know that Foggy loves you. So does Karen, and so do I. And you don’t leave the people you love. You talk it out, you forgive them for their mistakes.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Matt whimpered. 

“I don’t think you have to worry about that. But I’ll be right here with you through it all, ok?” Pressing your lips to his forehead, you brushed a few strands of hair away from his face. “I don’t want to scare you, sweet boy, but I have to go into your kitchen for a moment. I brought some food with me that I’m going to put in your fridge for later. I’ll get you some water too. Anything else you need?” 

“Aspirin.” He murmured, blank eyes glossy with tears. 

“Of course, sweets. I’ll be right back.” With another brush of fingers over his scalp, you wriggled out from under him and hurried to the kitchen—shoving the food into his bare fridge while grabbing water and pills. 

He took the medicine you handed him diligently, his expression uncharacteristically blank. Draining the glass of water, he handed the empty cup to you without a word. You could see him slipping away into the recesses of his mind, trying to shove everything down once again, to handle it all himself. 

Sliding under the covers next to him, you wrapped him in a tight embrace as he buried his damp face in your neck. 

“Talk to me, sweets. What do you need?” 

“Just you.” Matt choked out, fisting your shirt in his hands as if worried you were imaginary. “Please.” 

“I’m right here. Always.” Kissing his crown, you ran a hand along his spine, humming softly as his breathing evened out. 

He wasn’t through the rough patch yet, but that was ok. You were going to be here regardless. And you’d tell him that every day until he believed you.

[yaut-jaknowit]

An Accident

Pairings: We'ar-ow (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count:

Summary: What you believed was enough time to recooparate after the incident, you go back to planning. You follow your way through the halls, learning patterns and what was ways were the quickest with less foot traffic. It's easy... until the lights go out. And you terrified, trembling in the darkness without We'ar-ow near you.

Author Note: Heyyyy, I know it's been over a month since the last post of this series. Please don't be mad. I'm slowly chipping away at the others but I was rushing to finish all the requests I had as well.

P.s. I will be reopening requests shortly!

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18

Though half the size of We’ar-ow’s bathroom, this room offered plenty. The tile comfortably warm in the morning of the ship’s day cycle. A mirror hung above the sink a few inches taller than average.

With your back turned to it, your fingers softly grazed over the healed mark carved into the back of your neck. It wasn’t horrible. You shivered at the memory painted inside of your head. It played over and over. You scoffed, shoulders sagging. She had pinned you down in front of her tribe and marked you as hers… after defeating your ex-mate.

Thinking about it now, it didn’t bother you as much.

Constantly, We’ar-ow has shown you nothing but compassion. May it be a little on the rough side. Say, dragging you out of bed to either shower or feed you; forcing you to straddle her lap as she renewed her scent on you; taking you out to her throne room. It wasn’t anything near a royal treatment, but it was a content life.

Three meals a day; a semi social life; clothes on your back. You took a deep breath in to fill you lungs before fully turning around to face yourself in the mirror.

Nothing much has changed about your appearance. The bags under your eyes have disappeared after two week since the incident. We’ar-ow had allowed you to sleep in her bed for the first week.

Then came… the thoughts. You returned back to your given room all on your own. We’ar-ow said nothing about it. Nothing changed. Things went back to the new normal of your life. That was that.

A shirt was tugged over your head and hung off of your shoulders. You still looked at yourself in the mirror, trying to find something amiss. When you came up empty handed, you shrugged and exited the bathroom. The sight of your strange bedroom didn’t bring you much relief. You couldn’t help the scowl that morphed your features at the dog-like bed in the corner.

Out of all the things that have changed since you’ve been with We’ar-ow, that was the one thing you hadn’t grown accustom to. A pet. A real pet.

Dwainet may have claimed you as a pet for your safety… but he never treated you as such. We’ar-ow constantly reminded you of your ownership. She owned you. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. But… her treatment was different than what you would’ve expected as her pet.

Something delicious wafted into the air. You breathed in a lung full, mouth beginning to water. Your stomach growled, longing for food. We’ar-ow had been gone in the afternoon yesterday, leaving you to fend for yourself. Since you’ve never cooked for yourself while being on the ship, you just went hungry. Plus, you were too timid to grab any fruits to hold you over until morning.

The door slid open at your presence. You peered out and found the lumbering giant in the minute kitchen, working on breakfast. A smile broke cross your face before you shook your head and strolled out.

Bare-footed, your feet made little pitter-patter noises on the metal floors. The metal was mildly warm to the touch. Quietly, you reached the counter and sat down on the stools meant for a creature at least a foot taller than you.

Right on time. We’ar-ow scooped whatever was on the pan and placed the plated food in front of you. A smile of thanks was thrown up at her. You gratefully dug into the food, starving. Actions like these made the title ‘pet’ not feel as bad. Your morals and emotions war with each on that front though. Unable to come to a conclusion that a life like this was fine. We’ar-ow wasn’t going to win you over that easily.

Mid-bite, a knock on the entrance door had you tensing up. Immediately, your heart begins to thunder in its bony cage. Your head whips around to stare at the dark metallic grey slab.

Ever since the scare on your first exploration… you were on edge. Someone had been stalking you, hunting you down that day. The mediocre knife that had been gifted to you would’ve done nothing to protect you from whoever that was. Said knife sat tied in its sheath to your waist band.

A warm hand jolted your muscles, gaze snapping to the person who laid their hand on you. We’ar-ow petted the top of you head in a soothing motion. “Do not fret, my pet. It is just Xilomere,” she explained, letting the limb slip off as she strolled over to the door.

Shakily, you reached down and rested a hand on top of your knife. Your eyes pinned on the door.

It registered in your mind what she had said only a few moments earlier. Your eyes narrowed. Xilomere? Who’s that?

The front door slide open and revealed a dark, moss green Yautja. Male by the size of him. Instantly, he bowed his head to We’ar-ow in front of him before lifting his upper mandibles. A smile. His posture lax, might you even say friendly.

His greying tresses were a sign of his older age, older than We’ar-ow. The extra wrinkles on his face aided that thought process. As you scanned his body, looking for anything that could be considered a threat, you noticed the lower portion of his right arm was gone. From the elbow down was missing. On his other arm, his pinky and the tip of his ring finger were missing as well. This Yautja had seen the hardships of this life to the full extent. Well, besides death, of course. You couldn’t help your hand tightening around the handle of your knife.

When his eyes moved past the face of We’ar-ow, they landed on you. Your whole body locked up, chest rapidly moving with short, quick breaths. The two of you staring each other down.

The moss green Yautja snorted with a chuckle. His arms lifted out at his sides at half-mast. “Ah, there is the ooman I’ve heard so much about!” His voice was on the higher pitched level when he spoke in Yautja. But the translator droned on about what he had said.

He slinked around the towering female and made his way to you. The whites of your eyes were easily seen. You froze in your spot, heart thundering loud in your ears as he stopped before you. “Such a small, little thing you are,” he jestered and reached out, hand heading for your chin.

“Mere,” We’ar-ow scolded, voice firm. The for-called Yautja grunted, gave you look as if you would know what it meant and spun around. His arm was raised in mock surrender.

“What? I’m checking out your new pet. I haven’t gotten to see them since they first arrived here,” Xilomere defused the situation. His hand dropped back to his side. “It’s not like everyday that you let a ooman on the ship, let alone have one as your pet.”

All she had to do was give a look before his shoulders were dragged down. “Ugh, you’re no fun.” In the midst of all of this, the most you could do was just stare speechless at this Yautja. Everyone in the ship worships the ground We’ar-ow walked on…

Xilomere… didn’t. He was friendly, playful even with her. We’ar-ow allowed for it to happen, letting him into her shared quarters with you.

Something burned in the back of your throat. The grip on the knife tightened before bite at the inside of your cheek and let go. This was a Yautja. A clearly well decorated one. He’d have you in five different pieces before you could even get within ten feet of him.

You swiveled in your chair and timidly finished up your breakfast. Xilomere left you alone after We’ar-ow gave him a warning. An action you were thankful for.

Once your plate had been cleaned and placed off to the side to dry, you peered around the corner of the kitchen and into the living space. On the couches, both Yautjas sat. Each on their respectful couch.

The translator embedded into the skin behind your ear picked up on their conversation. We’ar-ow and Xilomere were discussing things about the clan and mothership. Plans for maintenance on the engines and other projects along the same line. The lingering burn started to dwindle at their respectful conversation.

For a moment, you padded across the space and scuttled into your room. The device you were looking for was snatched off of the dresser close to the door. Then, you were back out, going over to the We’ar-ow. You stood five feet from her and clutched the tablet to your chest, waiting for her acknowledgement.

When she got to a good stopping point, We’ar-ow paused her conversation to look at you. “Yes?” Her usual softer voice was replaced with the voice of a leader.

Your shoulders scrunched up. “Is it okay if I go out?” The question hung heavy in the air. This was a perfect chance to keep… planning. With We’ar-ow distracted with this Xilomere character, I could go out without the constant worry of her watching me. It had also been a month since the incident. Whoever was out there… they must have lost their interest, right?

We’ar-ow’s darted over to Xilomere without turning her eyes then landed back on you. She dipped her head, tresses slightly swinging with the motion. “You may.”

With that settled, she returned to the conversation with Xilomere, not missing a beat. You took your leave through the front door and down the short hallway to reach the elevator.

Hesitation drew you to a stop short of pressing the button to open the door. Swallowing down the lump growing in your throat, you closed the distance and entered the elevator.

The trip down was short but not sweet. You clutched the tablet tight to your chest and squeezed it harder as the doors opened. They revealed an desolate hallway. The sight didn’t relieve you of any tension. You pressed on and stepped out into the new space.

Much to your relief, nothing jumped out and attempted to drag you into the dark corners of the ship. You took a deep breath before taking the first step down a hallway you knew would be part of your escape plan. From this one, you would need to take the third left before taking another elevator further down into the belly of this mothership.

To refresh your mind, you ran the entire course, measuring the time it would take to walk to the cargo hold. Far longer than you would like. The longer it took to reach the cargo hold, the more time it gave to We’ar-ow to hunt you down or even lock the ship down.

Escape and survive. Those were your two main options. Nothing else mattered. Get off of this damn ship.

There were passer-byers who glanced at you, some uncaring that you exist. Others either sneered or scowled in your direction.

We’ar-ow’s mark was your shield against any of them. If they dared to hurt you in any way, it would bring along the wrath of her. Rage none of them wanted to experience or endure.

After reaching the cargo hold, you turned back around and found an empty hallway to slither into. You sat down and began to type up all of your findings, mostly just about the time. On that same note of escape, next you need to learn about the schedule of the ships. Which ship to stowaway on as well. Something you could possibly steal… if you learned how to fly one. That was the last option because that would take extra weeks, maybe even raking in months of learning. Time you didn’t know if you had.

Your head hit the wall behind you with a groan. This was becoming longer than you expected. All you wanted was to go home. Was that so bad? To get away from all of this… craziness. These people, this species. It wasn’t something you wanted to be mixed with.

Darkness engulfed your form. The tablet’s screen is your only source of light in the pitch blackness of the hallway. You couldn’t help the yelp that surpassed your lips, eyes darting around but found nothing. What happened?

Timidly, your feet found their way under your form. No one was around the last you knew of. Despite knowing none of the Yautjas would step in to help you incase someone attacked you, you believed if there was another Yautja around… no one would try to harm you. Foolish to think that as your safety but it was all you had.

The tablet lit up your path as you retraced the needed steps to make it to a more populated area. Your chest slightly heaving with deep breaths to keep yourself level headed.

Everything went dark. The device in your hand had been ripped out of your hand and smashed into the ground, blocking out your only source of light. You screamed and froze, eyes not yet adjusted to any sort of darkness.

Behind you, you sensed eyes, burning holes in your back. You whipped around and staggered, almost losing your balance in the process. Only blackness greeted your sight.

Terror gripped your heart. You stumbled backwards, heel knocking into the discarded tablet. It slide across the metal flooring for a few seconds then came to a stop. You internally cursed, hoping you could somehow find it once more and use it for a light source again.

Tapping sounded behind you again. Once more, you spun around to face whatever was here with you. Your entire body shook, hands trembling at your sides. With no lights, not even emergency lights, your eyes couldn’t adjust. Nothing for the retina to send a signal up to your brain.

It clicked in your brain, far later than you would like to admit. The knife. Your hands whipped to where it was sheathed and wielded it in front of you. Disappointingly enough, you knew the quakes raking your body weren’t a sight to be terrified of.

Chittering laughter echoed in the hall, bouncing off of the walls. It felt like mockery. You whimpered, pupils blown wide and darting around the area before you.

Claws raked along your back. From the small of your back to the bottom of your shoulder blades, pain exploded like a bomb. Fire raced up with the marks, burning from the inside out. You cried out, knife dropping from your hands. You stumbled forward and blindly kicked the weapon away from you. It too was lost to the darkness.

Weaponless and injured, all you could was shake like a leaf and stand blindly. Tears desperately fought to roll down like raging rivers down your face. You briefly held it in.

All the ways you could die flashed in your eyes with the help of the blackness. Just your body, a bloody heap of flesh and bones, lying dead without the protection of We’ar-ow.

Fuck. We’ar-ow…. How would she feel after learning of your demise? Relief she doesn’t have to care for you? Sorrow possibly? You scoffed internally at the thought. These Yautjas don’t feel sadness. Just rage and lust. Nothing more than mindless beasts.

Something scaly and firm engulfed your throat, simply lifted you up, and slammed you down on the ground. You surely thought your skull fractured from the harsh cracked that rang out. Your ears began to ring.

The burn for air caused panic to surge through your haze. Your legs kicked out and struck a hard body. Yet, whatever held you, stayed. Unfazed from the strike and kept its mighty grip tightly around your feeble neck. Your hands clawed in desperation at the arm pinning you to the metal floor. But the scales were far too thick for your own dull nails to even scratch through the first layer of skin.

Tears poured freely out of the corner of your eyes, running over your temples and leaving droplets on the ground. You tried to scream, to cry, to alert someone of what was happening to you. As the prey animal you are, you wanted help, someone to save before this thing killed you!

All you could produce were gurgles and croaks. No one would come to your air. No one could hear your last noises. This was to be your grave.

The fight began to leave you. The lack of oxygen reaching your brain dwindled with each pump of your heart. Your hands fell away and thumped at your sides.

Air rushed into your lungs. You gasped so hard it scratched at your throat, forcing you to roll over and cough harshly, possibly bringing up blood. You blinked through the tears and squinted your eyes, blinded by the overhead lights. But there was light.

Through the haze of salty tears, you saw a blurred figure sprinting down the hallway and darted around a corner. Gone from sight. You flinched and swallowed painfully. Your throat hurt, feeling the aftermath of it nearly being crushed.

Despite knowing whoever just attempted to murder you could turn themselves around and finish the kill, you could only sit there. The threat of death still hung heavy like a rain cloud over your head. But, you just stayed on the ground, heaving for air. Death was almost a friend for a second. You should’ve never came here. It’s been one bad thing after another.

An unknown amount of time passed before you stumbled to your feet and used a wall for support. Nausea roared it ugly head at the new motion. On the ground, a few yards from you sat both the knife and now destroyed tablet. It had been stepped on clearly and couldn’t handle the weight. A croaked meant as a curse fell from your dry lips. You stepped over to the two items, sheathing the knife and scooping up the pieces of the tablet.

The screen completely shattered, some pieces were gone. With a pained groan, you turned around and started to trek back to more populated areas. Now though, your head was on a swivel, constantly whipping behind encase they dared to come back. The knife was back in your hand, white-knuckling the handle.

Your feet stopped in their tracks when you saw the first Yautja walking in the larger hallway. This path was part of the main route used by most of the clan. But this alien was walking in the direction as you. They didn’t even react to the tiny gasp that escaped your lips.

You started down the new hall, following the Yautja at least fifty feet behind him. He didn’t make an acknowledgement of your presence.

When another turned to use the walkway, you tensed up and stopped mid step. But she didn’t even look at you or your dishevel appearance. You scuttled along, going further into the main area of the ship.

More and more Yautjas moved around you. None of them acting differently besides a few giving you a double look. You had to bet bruises were making their mark around your throat. Plus, the back of your shirt had been shredded, dried blood sticking your skin. It flaked at each step and left behind a horrible, itchy feeling. You kept on marching on until you reached the first elevator.

A single Yautja waited for you enter before pushing a button. Timidly, you reached over and selected your own needed level. The alien made no noise of complaint or despise. Indifferent. An aspect you were thankful, even after they left and the doors closed again.

The machine came to a halt. You yelped; palms pressed to the metal wall behind you to keep you from keeling over. Bronze metal doors slide open to reveal the desired floor. You stepped out and into the new danger. The only thing that kept you from curling into a ball there was the fact you were closer to We’ar-ow. Or, at least, the safety of her room. No one would be stupid enough to break in and harm you. If they could even break through in the first place. And if she was there… she wouldn’t take kind of an intruder. Yautjas are very territorial and possessive.

As you took another step in the right direction, your vision teetered. It took a late moment for your brain to catch up. You put your hands out and caught yourself on the other side of the hallway, against a wall. You groaned, nearly dropping both the knife and demolished tablet. Again.

This same scenario happened twice more before you thought it best to use the wall as a clutch. Your hand glide acrossed the warm metal walls with each step. It not only held you up but helped you keep better balance of staying upright.

The sight of the last elevator door was like seeing heavens gate. You pushed off of the wall wobbled over to the door. The knife was sheathed into its pocket tied to your side. With the newly emptied hand, you leaned against the wall and stared at the digital keypad. A code. The code. What code? Code. You needed a code. What was the code?

For what had to be minutes, you gazed blankly at the keypad. Nothing came to mind. Not a thought of reasoning. Until a moment of clarity struck with enough time to remember. You imputed the code.

A set of doors slid open to reveal the personal elevator. You stumbled in while continuously using the walls for support. With your back to the wall furthest from the doors, you watched with bated breath until you were sealed in. Nothing came for you. Now, you were safe.

Your head pounded with each thump of your poor heart, creating its own beat of drums. This caused you to squint your eyes through the pain.

The realization finally dawned on you at the sight of We’ar-ow’s abode. Safety. A broken sobbed left your dry lips. You hurriedly stumbled through the short hallway and slammed against the shut entryway with a cry. Your hands clawed at the metal, desperate to get in. The thundering in your head only getting strong with each second.

The support was ripped away. You fell forward only to get caught in two strong arms cradling you into a warm chest. Instantly, you wrapped your arms around a neck and held on for dear life. It might have been for you. The tablet falling to the ground in a forgotten heap of electronics.

Air touched the bottom of your bare feet. You were lifted up into the air and brief carried before being settled into warmth and safety.

Tears stained your blazing cheeks. Broken, cracking sobs fell from your dropped jaw with each heave of air you could gasp in.

Hands gripped at your scrunched shoulders and gave a light shake. Through the cotton filling your ears, a voice tried to pierce through. Fingers pinched at your chin and lift it up. You gazed in your hazed sight at the large pink Yautja holding you in her lap. The translator sounding off in your ear, translating every word she spoke in her alien race.

We’ar-ow called your name in haste, demanding you to tell her what had happened. Fear continuously pumped through your veins, causing you to tremble worse than being stuck in the cold. She huffed that ended in growl and cupped both of your cheeks in her massive palms. “What happened, little ooman? Who attacked you?!”

It was an easy sight to tell you’ve been attacked rather this being all on you.

You whimper, hands gripping so tightly on her shoulders, crescent divots had to be left behind. With all of your strength that could be offered, you attempted to bow your head to hide away from her piercing gaze. The heat of burned into your very soul. Her palms kept you up right in her line of sight. “Tell me. They will pay,” she snarled, hands tightening just a fraction before loosening.

For a fleeting moment, you met her bright eyes before letting your gaze dart away. “I-I don’t… know,” you croaked out and fought against the pain surrounding your neck. “The lights. They went off. Something attacked me. I couldn’t see.” You were hopeful she could understand through the grumble of your throat.

The Yautja snarled a deadly note before standing up again. “Mere, call a meeting. I want every council member in there.” You tensed at the new knowledge of another being in here with us. We’ar-ow cradled you close to the protectiveness of her body and carried you over to her bedroom door.  “An attack on my pet is an attack on me.”

“Yes, Monarch,” Xilomere responded, voice firm. The green Yautja pivoted on his heel and head straight for the exit. His arm lifted as he began to speak into his gauntlet.

She kept her pathing for her bedroom and entered said place. Despite weighing nearly four times your weight alone, her feet didn’t make a single noise as she set foot into the connected bathroom. You were set on the counter next to the sink. We’ar-ow had to practically yank off your arms and grabbed a bag from behind the mirror in front of the sink.

Said bag was set next to you. We’ar-ow moved her way between your legs. A clawed finger was placed under your chin and forced it up. You whined when this pulled at the bruising forming a dark path around your throat. Her body tensed before the muscles relaxed all on their own. You felt it more than saw it since your new sight was the bland ceiling of her bathroom.

Coarse finger pads danced along the column of your throat. You swallowed despite the pain. The touch was soft, not something you had grown accustomed to on this damned ship. Then, it was gone, replaced with a gel covering the new wound.

We’ar-ow preformed as a medic till every injured had been cared for. Afterwards, she scooped you up and carried you over to her bed you had once found sanctuary in before.

Deja Vu hit you as the pelt blankets were used to cover the majority of nearly naked frame. The shirt that once hung off your shoulders had been removed. She knelt down at the side of the bed and ran a hand over your hair. “I’ll be back. Stay here, ooman,” she ordered then stood up.

Her steps carried her over to the bedroom door where she stopped and glanced back for a short second. Then, the door closed, a lock clicking in place. Three doors from you to the main hallway. Three doors protecting you from harm.

Low lights kept the room illuminated and fought off any shadows your attacker could hide in. You nuzzled into the comfortable blankets, arms latching onto one of them. But sleep won’t come easy to you. A headache persisted worse than anything you’ve felt before.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18