#don't drink the kool aid

[backseatsoldier]

"Broken", Not Stupid - 8

Pairing: alpha!Simon "Ghost" Riley x unusual omega!OC (13)

CW: Omegaverse; cult-like situation; dehumanization; selling children to a cult

Author's Note: The words are flowing~ today! And a bit softer part this time lol

"13." I hear Simon call to me gently. When I feel his hand on my shoulder I open my eyes slowly. "We're here."

Groggily, having fallen asleep for the rest of the drive, I sit up and look out the car windows. It's... a house. It's not huge, but it does have a fenced in front yard. Probably the back too, by the looks of the fence seemingly wrapping around the house.

Home.

The world settles into my mind again, but it feels... foreign. Almost as if it's a lost concept to me.

"Alright?" he asks for the second time since he's picked me up.

I nod slightly and unbuckle my seatbelt. He quickly exits the car, rounding it, and opens the door for me again. Instead of taking his offered hand I get myself out of the car. My independence is important to me and I refuse to continue being taken care of tonight.

Even if he is, technically, my alpha.

My alpha!

The omega inside me squeals at the thought of having an alpha and I shake my head to clear the excitement as I follow him up the front steps.

As soon as the door opens, I get the faint smell of cinnamon and cedar - him. It should be stronger, considering this is his house, but I pay no mind to it. I'm sure the constant sterile air flow from Salvation's facilities for the past however many years has done something to my sense of smell. Couldn't smell him until we hugged. Gotta be something from Salvation.

There's plenty from Salvation I'm dragging with me, I'm sure.

Once inside, Simon seems on edge, but he gives me a quick tour. He points out the living room to the left, kitchen to the right, bedrooms and bathroom down the hall in front of us. He adds that there's a sunroom on the back side of the house, that the door at the end of the hall leads to it.

"I also have-"

Something warm and soft rubs against my ankle and I look down to see...

"-a cat. Sorry. She's not typically so social. Espeically at first."

I wave dismissively at him and lean down to let her sniff my fingers.

"Black cat seems... very you," I comment as I gently run my hand over the cat's head. She nudges up into my hand while purring.

"Her name is Selene," Simon informs me after a moment of silence. "Named her after a moon goddess because, well... she showed up on full and new moons every month for," he pauses, thinking, "about three months. I started leaving food out for her on the third visit and she became a permanent fixture in my life after that. She let herself in one day while I was on my way out," he chuckles at the memory.

"You're very beautiful. Simon must take good care of you," I coo at Selene. She meows loudly at me in response and I smile.

"She's probably cussing me out because I've been gone or busy around the house all day," he mumbles.

"Oh, you poor baby... did Dad abandon you all day?" I frown at Selene and she meows in an almost sad way while shoving her head against my wrist.

Simon takes the time I'm spending with Selene to close the door and lock it. Then he moves down the hall and opens a door to the right. While he does... whatever he's doing, I lay on the floor with Selene and she takes the chance to curl up close to my chest. From the corner of my eye I see him leave the room he'd entered and make his way back to us.

"I see you two made very fast friends." There's a hint of a smile in his voice, but he still has the surgical mask on so I'm not sure if he is smilng.

"Not gonna lie, if she stays here, I'm going to fall asleep right here," I chuckle and slowly run my hand over her back.

Selene purs louder and I smile at her.

"I wasn't allowed to have cats," I say softly. "Dogs were the only animal allowed..."

I trail off as I think back to my life before Salvation. Simpler, yet somehow still so complicated.

"Come on," Simon says to me. "I won't let you sleep on the floor. Especially in front of the door. I got a bunch of blankets and pillows out for you to choose from real quick. Tomorrow you can take your time with selections and truly make your nest yours."

The omega in my head springs to life but I move slowly, so as not to upset Selene too badly.

"Can she stay with me tonight?" I request after picking out a couple blankets and pillows. Selene is already curled up on a pillow I chose specifically for her, should she be able to stay in the room.

"I don't think either of us have a say in the matter. She's already made herself at home," he chuckles quietly and reaches out to sratch Selene's head gently.

A whine builds in my throat at the show of affection but I swallow it. Damn, I need sleep. So I climb into my first-ever nest and snuggle near Selene, slowly stroking her fur to coax both of us to sleep.

Once my eyes fall closed, I hear Simon's boots shift on the carpet and the door close but not latch.

Masterlist | CoD Masterlist | Part One

Tag List: @lucienofthelakes @lostintransist @demothers-empty-blog @scaredyspooks @tessakate @one-really-annoying-tree-rat @nerdyphantomtheorist @gazsluckyhat

[spockeye-fierce]

[disneyismyworldforever]

DIE HARD IS NOT A CHRISTMAS MOVIE.

I will debate anyone on this topic.

I'm team, not a christmas movie

Not exactly a spoiler

Since this movie has been out before I was born.

Opinion might change by the end who knows.

- Jess

[toxicrayofsunshine]

Trying to research a bit for a story and I'm starting to think what I'm looking for doesn't exist. I don't want the opinions of the people in charge or the ones who happily drink the kool-aid. Give me the disgruntled pelicans and assholes who tell it like it is, but oh no! All I'm getting is the Pollyanna bullshit...

[s-n-arly]

Yes. They're going to try to humanize toxic waste, because that's what CEOs largely are. Don't let their cuddly future words make you forget what health insurance companies have been doing to millions of us for decades.

Profit-driven healthcare is inherently evil and counter productive, and should never have been allowed to exist. It's time to put it down.

There was some kind of shadowy conference for CEOs in New York last week. Fortune Magazine was there, of course, to mix and mingle and tell us what our betters are up to, in a post-Luigi Mangione world.

These people are among the most hated people in America. Do they get what is going on?

A: Ha ha ha!

I don't think you guys are going to be able to PR / HR your way out of this one.

"We count on you people being too sad and tired to pay attention to our evil schemes. What is going on??"

This is revealing, at any rate.

Good question.

Of course, this assumes your employees also don't hate you.

This assumes.

Then there's THIS guy.

Yes. People have only hated evil rich people in the last four years. Because of Biden. Somehow.

Imagine that your company is being run by someone this shockingly stupid.

[marypsue]

Man, it's cool and all if you see a metaphor for marginalisation in the monstrous, and if you want the power fantasy of 'what if you could just eat anybody who threatened you/pissed you off'. Me too.

However, as soon as you start saying 'no, these monsters are a 1:1 on Specific Marginalised Group, and you have to treat them in the fiction like they are directly representative of real human members of the marginalised group', BUT you also, in the fiction, make them hurt/kill/eat humans? And then try to shame me, your audience, for noticing or engaging with the bit where they kill people, because you made them directly representative of a real-world marginalised group? You have lost me, and also, I think, the plot.

[luminantjess]

[rabbithaver]

every so often i will see a post from a leftist on this website that is so egregiously ableist that i remember that like. oh yeah the userbase of leftists on this website is violently anti-disabled people and will jump at any chance to demonize any of us for any reason. i just forget that fact because i'm extremely dedicated to curating my space

i'm paraphrasing here but i saw a post that said, "every time i see an American [disabled person] mention being scared about the election because they're afraid of losing their benefits i have to laugh. anybody who wants blood-soaked money from the US government deserves to starve" which. like. goodness that's a lot to unpack. i think we should burn the whole suitcase instead !

[sweetrevxnge]

Ghosts In The Snow

Chapter Four

Pairing: Vampire!Kylo Ren x Reader AU

Summary: Six long years had passed under the reign of the First Order. The bitter winters grew longer, and as they did, hope faded from the hearts of the citizens of Hosnian Prime. As a lieutenant in the Resistance cavalry, it was your duty to nurture that ember of hope. After a mission takes an unexpected turn, you are taken prisoner by a commander in the First Order, a mysterious man with an insatiable appetite—for violence, power, and you. In the coming days, you must keep the spark of your own hope alive from the dark confines of the Commander's castle.

Warnings: sexual content, violence, blood kink, gore, mentions/descriptions of injury and death

*concurrently being published on AO3 and Wattpad as well!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Next Chapter

Spotify Playlist

Word count: 3.3k

Chapter-specific CW: excessive drinking, vomiting

A/N: "oh he's kinda cute... HE'S A MURDERER! but he's kinda cute..." -y/n

───────── ❅ 🦇 ❅ ─────────

“You’ve barely touched your food, dear.” Commander Ren’s low voice pulled you from your trance as you poked at the lamb shank on your plate. A fitting entrée for tonight.

“I haven’t much of an appetite,” you muttered, setting the silver fork down beside your dish. You were almost catatonic, and despite your contempt for him, you felt betrayed. It was for that reason that you hadn’t so much as looked in his direction since sitting down, instead choosing to study the other guests in the dining hall—including the stormtroopers stationed at every exit. It was an impossible task—you knew that—but you’d sooner die trying than comply with this farce of a treaty.

A low laugh rumbled in Ren’s chest. “I have no stomach for lamb either; it’s far too tender for my liking. Perhaps you would prefer venison? Or roasted vegetables?”

“No, thank you. Just wine will do,” you said as you tipped your cup back and gulped down the remaining liquid. You imagined you would need many more if you were going to endure this evening.

“If you insist.” He pushed his chair back and lifted his hand, summoning one of the servants. A boy with short, tawny hair rushed over, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Yes sir?” he asked meekly, his eyes darting between yours and the Commander’s. Although he stood with his shoulders back and chin high, his age was obvious from the fat in his face and the pitch of his voice. Anger boiled beneath your skin.

“Fetch more wine for my bride,” Ren instructed, nodding at you as he spoke. “And for me, as well.”

“Of course, sir.” The boy’s fear rolled off of him as he turned on his heels and disappeared into what you assumed was the kitchens.

You narrowed your eyes. “Why am I not surprised that the First Order uses children as servants?”

“Only those whose families owe us a debt. No different from the New Republic’s operations,” he said calmly, tapping the empty cup in his hand.

You shook your head slightly and turned back to your plate. “That’s hardly justification for continuing to do so.”

His eyes followed you as you watched the rest of the guests dine. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, either lost in conversation or filling their plates with the assortment of meats, cheeses, and fruits set out on the table—all but one. Across from you sat a red-haired man, with hollow cheeks and a scowl twisting his features. Given his proximity to the Supreme Leader, you assumed he was another commanding officer.

Beside him was a woman, but unlike the other ladies in the hall dressed in elaborate gowns, she was wearing the same regalia as the men. You furrowed your brows. Was she��? No, she couldn’t be.

Ren leaned in close to your ear, his cold lips brushing your skin. “Captain Phasma of Parnassos, to answer your question.”

His breath sent a shiver down your spine. “Get out of my head,” you snapped, your knuckles white around the body of the cup in your hand.

“How else am I to make conversation with you?”

You scoffed, redirecting your attention to the servant returning with a pitcher of wine in either hand. It was clear by his unsteady footing that the weight of both of them was nearly too much for his small arms.

As he approached the table, you reached for one of the decanters to save his shaking arms. "Thank you," you said, mustering up a smile. Gods knew the poor boy needed some kindness.

“No need, my lady,” he replied quietly, pouring the rich liquid into your cup before reaching for the other pitcher. “Commander…”

Ren presented his empty cup and nodded for the boy to fill it. He obeyed, pouring the dark wine with trembling hands. For such an ordinary exchange, the boy was tense, utterly frightened. Not that you could necessarily blame him. 

Once it was full, he set the pitcher down between your plates and quickly returned to his post along the wall. In the hopes of quickening the evening, you finished the cup in a few sips, reaching for the pitcher beside your plate.

A gloved hand seizing your wrist stopped you before you could. “Careful, dear. You might find that mine is a bit too strong for your taste.”

Part of you wanted to try his wine out of defiance, but the rational part of you heeded his warning. With an empty stomach, your wine would be more than enough as it was. You pulled your hand free and reached for the other pitcher. As you poured it, you allowed yourself to feel everything—the anger, the disappointment. How Leia had seemed to so easily forget you. But beneath it all, there was still the ember of hope, buried under the weight of your emotions. It needed to be protected, locked away in the recesses of your mind until you could ignite it once more—until you were free. Once the cup was full, you returned it to its locked box, stowing it away for another time.

“You can’t ignore me forever, you know,” Ren said, taking a sip from his cup.

“I can try,” you countered, doing the same.

He exhaled softly. “I’m sure you will.”

Over the rim of your cup, you could see the red-haired man looking at you, his green eyes locked onto you. You wondered how long he had been watching.

Covering your mouth with your napkin, you asked, “Who is that man next to the captain?”

“That would be General Armitage Hux of Arkanis.”

You hummed. It wasn’t difficult to imagine such a seemingly pompous general coming from a place like Arkanis. “Does he always look so sour?”

Ren scoffed. “Usually less so. He’s been openly displeased about our arrangement.”

“Perhaps he and I have more in common than I realized,” you murmured.

“I think you’d find yourself more outraged with his proposition—gods know the Supreme Leader was,” he said with a light laugh, running a hand through his dark hair.

You cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

He mimicked you, raising his eyebrow in surprise. “Unless you would prefer to be wed to a bastard son.”

“I hardly see how that could be any worse.”

A hand resting on your shoulder immediately pulled you from the conversation. You recoiled, half-expecting it to be General Hux, slinking across the room while you were distracted. You couldn’t have been more wrong.

“My sweeting, it is so lovely to finally meet you,” Supreme Leader Snoke said with an unnerving smile. His touch was cold—even through the fabric of your dress. It felt unnatural, as if he had been trapped in a winter storm for a week.

“Supreme Leader,” you replied, forcing down the bitter taste in your mouth. “What a pleasure.”

It had been over six years since he had murdered Chancellor Villecham, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at him. He was untouched by time—not that he was youthful by any means. Despite his age, there was no silver in his hair or deep creases in his face. Perhaps the wolf skin cloak over his shoulders served as his own personal fountain of youth.

Snoke let out a hoarse laugh, one seemingly loud enough to rattle the crystal chandeliers above. “The pleasure is mine. I take it you’ve found your new chambers more accommodating than your last?”

Rage streaked your vision. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that he was trying to provoke you—as if you needed reminding that you were nothing more than a bargaining piece to the First Order.

“Yes, thank you for asking,” you replied, bowing your head slightly. “Though I must admit, I had grown rather fond of the rats.”

Snoke let out a short, unamused chuckle. “Such misunderstood creatures, they are.” His gray eyes narrowed as he spoke. He quickly shifted his attention to the man beside you, a wall of ice now standing between you. “My boy… I have faith that you will treat our guest well.” He squeezed Ren’s shoulder tightly, threateningly. 

“Of course, Supreme Leader,” he said, the usual color in his voice absent.

“Good. I would hate to have to marry her to Armitage, should you disappoint.”

Ren’s eyes flashed with something akin to envy. “That won’t be necessary.”

Snoke grinned. “I should hope not.”

The air felt thick, as if the room had filled with smoke. You shifted in your seat as the two men stared at each other, locked in silence. Snoke lingered for a moment longer before finally releasing his grip on Ren’s shoulder.

“Please, do enjoy the celebration. The wedding will be held in a fortnight. I had hoped for it to be sooner, but we must allow ample time for our guests to arrive.”

His words fell on you like stones. It wasn’t enough time. A fortnight was hardly enough time to finalize battle strategies—let alone to devise an escape. The flame in your heart waned.

With that, the Supreme Leader crossed to the other side of the table to greet the other guests, starting with Captain Phasma of Parnassos.

Silence stretched between you and Ren, your minds occupied with different concerns. Habitually, you finished your wine and pushed the empty chalice away. “How long should I expect this evening to last?”

“Eager to leave, are we?” Ren teased, taking the liberty of refilling your cup. “It might be wise to eat something. Celebrations like these have a tendency to be drawn out.”

The wine was beginning to take effect, making your skin warm and your mind hazy. Against your better judgment, you continued, draining each cup in a matter of minutes. Truthfully, it was a relief—allowing you to drift to a place far from here, to a place by the sea. A cobblestone home perched on the cliffside, surrounded by vines like veins around a heart. A place that always had a fire in its hearth and a stew simmering above it.

A warm tear hitting your hand pulled you from your reverie. You quickly blinked them away, not wanting anyone to see your emotion—least of all Commander Ren. Empathy wasn’t exactly his strongest virtue.

The night passed in a blur of drinks, hollow introductions, and avoiding your betrothed. It was nearly midnight when you finally staggered back to your chambers, barely lucid. Against your wishes, Ren had accompanied you, ensuring that his prized bride reached her chambers unscathed.

You fumbled with the doorknob for a moment, all too aware of his lingering presence. You continued to ignore him until a sobering realization fell over you.

“Does the Supreme Leader expect you to bed me?” you asked, frowning. The wine suddenly felt heavy in your stomach.

“No,” he said, a flash of humanity in his dark eyes. “Not yet, at least.”

“Oh.” Heat rose to your face. Of course he wouldn’t bed you tonight. If that were the case, the two of you would have been wed during the feast.

“Besides, I don’t intend to take you in this state,” he added, stepping closer. His fingers brushed your cheek as he pushed back a piece of hair that had fallen from your updo. You shivered at the sensation.

“This,” you hissed, stumbling backward until you collided with the doors, “is the only state that would make it tolerable.”

An amused smile played on his lips. “We’ll see.”

Dawn cracked the sky early the next morning, a fateful sign of the long winter ahead. As much as you longed to relish the fleeting sunlight, you were damned to spend the day with a pail in your arms and a cold rag on your neck.

“Are you feeling better at all, my lady?” Rey asked, wringing out a washcloth after soaking it in cool water.

“If only I were. I can’t imagine that there’s anything left to expel,” you said with a shudder, pulling your head from the basin.

Rey blotted your forehead with the cloth, her touch as light as the feather pillows beneath you. She had been silent for most of the morning, which you didn’t necessarily mind. There was an unspoken understanding as to why you were so ill this particular morning.

Hours had passed like this; with her encouraging you to take sips of water and you immediately spitting it up. At this point, it was difficult to tell if the culprit was the constant flow of wine or the extended time you had spent with Commander Ren. Perhaps a bit of both.

After what felt like an eternity, your stomach had settled enough to hold down the water Rey was offering. Once you were able to finish a roll of bread and a cup of broth, she returned to her quarters, allowing you to sleep away the rest of the aches.

When you finally woke, cool moonlight was spilling through the windows, casting shadows on the floor. The fire burning in your hearth had been reduced to a pile of embers and ash, but despite the cool air in the room, sweat coated your skin.

The night terrors that had plagued your sleep in the dungeons were relentless, managing to wake you even after a night of drinking and a day of illness. Every night was the same dream, the memory of the night in the forest. Without failure, the terror always ended with Commander Ren’s mask inches away from your face, close enough to show your reflection in the silver ridges around his eyes. The sight of you, bloodied and bruised, was always enough to wake you from the dream.

Tonight was no different, only this nightmare had a different ending. Instead of your armor, you wore the gown from the feast. Standing before the Commander, you looked at him not with horror, but with admiration. His hands were firm on your waist, holding you tight against him. You were unrecognizable in the reflection of his mask—with ruby lips and dark eyes. Piled around you were the bodies of Resistance soldiers—your soldiers—blood spilling from their ripped throats, staining the snow beneath.

Slowly, you pushed his visor up, but before you could see the man behind it, you jolted awake.

Immediately, you kicked the covers off and ran to the chamber pot, coughing and heaving in an attempt to settle your stomach. Nothing came from it, except possibly waking every occupant of the castle. Before returning to your bed, you used the washcloth and water basin that Rey had left behind to blot your face and neck, hoping to cool the heat under your skin.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed as you stared at the canopy above you, trying to erase the image of the dream from your memory—a task proving to be impossible. With each minute that passed, your breath felt more strained, as if the walls of your chambers were shrinking, suffocating you. It was beginning to feel like you had traded one cage for another.

The wedding was at the forefront of your mind, and you knew that every minute you spent laying awake was precious time slipping away. Despite Ren’s orders to stay in your chambers, you left the warmth of your bed, determined to familiarize yourself with the castle. Even if you couldn’t do it tonight, knowing the layout would benefit you when you did.

Hanging in the wardrobe was a long, dark cloak—perfect for concealing your ivory nightgown from the world. You pulled the hood over your head and carefully cracked the door open, scanning the hallway before stepping out into the unknown.

Flickering candles lined the corridor, but only a few were still burning. No one tends the candles past midnight, you noted, creeping towards the familiar spiraling staircase. As you reached the threshold, you peeked into the main chamber, expecting to find guards posted by every door. To your surprise, the room was empty—other than the portraits of the Supreme Leader gracing the walls. But you were no fool. The First Order was more concerned with outside threats; it only made sense that their guards would protect the exterior of the castle. Until you could be more certain of a safe exit, you would only roam the upper halls.

The corridor leading to your chambers seemed to stretch endlessly, leaving much to be explored. You followed the path, passing by quiet rooms and elegant artwork, committing every detail to memory. The cloak fluttered at your ankles as you crept around, feeling like a marauder trespassing on the grounds. If only you were.

The glow of candlelight dwindled the further you ventured, a sign that you had explored enough for one night. With no help from the drawn curtains, you were blind in the darkness. The threat of being caught outside of your chambers loomed over you as you turned to walk back the way you came, eager to return to the safety of your room. After a few steps, you discovered that the carpet beneath you was entirely different. You froze, searching along the walls for familiar fixtures, but found none. Panic began to swell in your chest at the realization that you were lost.

You tried to retrace your steps—understand how you had managed to get yourself to where you were now, but to no avail. Your breath became difficult—as if your ribs were tightening around your lungs. How could you have been so stupid? What had possessed you to step foot outside your room? Forfeiting the luxury of a proper bed for what—the possibility of finding an escape route?

Adrenaline burned your veins like magma as you swiveled on your heels, clutching your cloak tight around your chest to run. The solid frame of a man standing behind you quickly put an end to your efforts. An involuntary gasp escaped your lips as you collided with his chest.

“Lost, are we?”

Your heart plummeted through your chest. You didn’t need to look up to know exactly who had found you. In a moment of pure instinct, you answered with a half-lie. “I couldn’t sleep. I was only trying to find a bit of fresh air.”

Commander Ren chuckled as he gently pushed the hood of your cloak back. The material shifted on your shoulders, revealing your nightgown beneath. Even under the veil of darkness, you felt exposed.

“Were the windows in your chambers insufficient?” he asked, moving his hand to tip your chin up.

“Yes,” you said, reluctantly meeting his gaze. His eyes were an abyss, drinking you in as you stood there. He looked ethereal, with messy, black curls and a loose sleep shirt to match. As your eyes roamed his figure, you were reminded of the night terror that had incited this predicament.

At that, he released your chin and offered you his hand. “Perhaps you would prefer to go for a stroll outside, then?”

Outside? You couldn’t recall how long it had been since you had even been outside—since you had felt the crisp winter air kiss your skin or listened to the song of cicadas in the dead of night. As enticing as his offer was, you hesitated. Was this another trick? Was he luring you outside of the castle walls to lock you out as punishment for disobeying his orders?

Your fingers twitched at your side.

Noticing your apprehension, he sucked in a deep breath. “Do my intentions seem so insincere?”

Silence followed. You wished for a mountain of bricks, ones you could use to barricade your mind from his sorcery. 

Finally, you said, “Forgive me for being mistrusting, Commander.” Regardless of the frequency with which you said his title, it never failed to make your mouth bitter. Carefully, you slipped your hand into his, a chill running up through your body at his touch. “I would like that very much.”

Through the darkness, you watched as his gaze lowered to your joined hands, satisfaction burning in his eyes. “Allow me.”

[brittlebutch]

the thing about Aelwyn that I think about a lot is that there's a lot to the notion that she, to a certain extent, was so abrasive with Adaine because of how obstinate Adaine is with their parents. If you have based a chunk of your personality on the precept of "The only way to protect myself is to meet my parents' expectations and obey them at all costs", then every time Adaine pushes back against them, there is almost unquestionably a fear-response -- even if you aren't the one who set your parent off, their stress/frustration can fill a room to the point of becoming smothering anyway. And if you don't feel safe getting mad at your parents for being a source of stress/fear in your life, then invariably the only thing you can do is begin to resent the third-party who you perceive as setting them off for no reason instead of playing it safe, like you do.

[deadnatura11]

Eddie feeling isolated -> Eddie getting wrapped up in a cult

[backseatsoldier]

"Broken", Not Stupid - Part 6

Pairing: alpha!Simon "Ghost" Riley x unsual omega!OC (13)

CW: Omegaverse; cult-like situation; dehumanization; selling children to a cult

Author's Note: If I missed you in the tag list, PLEASE let me know ;-; I think I got everybody but I feel like I'm missing someone... Also, I'm putting together a playlist for this. Is a link to such something that y'all would want access to?

Discussion?: I feel like Simon's quick to anger and protective, even outside of the Omegaverse. What do you think? >.>

What did they do to her? How long has she been there?

The questions continue to bounce around in Simon's head as he settles into a chair with a view of the hallway where the rest rooms are. There's no chance in hell that he's gonna let her walk out of that door and not have an almost immediate view of him. He wants her to feel safe.

No, it's more than that.

He wants to be safe for her.

The chair across the table from him scraping across the floor forces him from his thoughts. Looking up, he finds 13 slowly lowering herself into the chair. She looks... dazed.

"13," he calls to her. Her head tilts slightly to the side but her eyes are still unfocused and glossy. "13, look at me."

As if on autopilot she looks at him, but she still doesn't look entirely present.

"Talk to me."

Her lips twitch like she wants to speak and her eyes focus a bit more.

"What happened?"

13 blinks slowly at him and shrugs slightly.

Hesitantly, unsure if it'll do any good, Simon reaches across the table and rests his hand over hers.

"What were you going to say earlier? You started to say you were pretty sure about something, but stopped yourself," he says, trying to coax something out of her.

"I'm... pretty sure... they were filling the air with... something... while we slept," she mumbles and pushes the words out slowly.

Simon's hand wraps around hers and he takes a deep breath to keep his head. That mandatory therapy is finally coming in handy.

An employee with a kind smile brings out their food, gently sliding the tray on the table.

"Anything else I can get you?"

Simon shakes his head and the employee wanders off. With the distraction gone, he refocuses back on 13. She said she didn't like fish so he got her a chicken nugget meal. The memes Johnny sends all the time make it seem like chicken nuggets could heal the soul, so Simon felt like they may have been a safe option.

"Here," he says softly, holding up a french fry.

Her lips part slightly and he gently tucks the fry between them. She stills for a moment then begins chewing. A bit of relief washes over Simon, but something's still wrong.

Specifically with his omega. They may just be in agreement to help her with this mission to 'out' Salvation, but he's not going to leave her without regular care as well. Especially with a reaction like this to seemingly just ordering food.

As she chews, her eyes become clearer.

"It smelled weird sometimes, on the nights I couldn't sleep," she explains, her voice less robotic and no longer sounding forced. "Like there was something sour lingering in the air. It was always faint, but I could smell it."

Simon holds another french fry up to her lips and her eyes actually focus on it this time. 13 accepts it like she did last time, allowing him to feed her.

"Do you want to keep talking about it or do you need a break?"

Her chewing slows, nearly stopping, as her eyes travel to his face.

"I'll say one more thing then I... think I need a break, yeah."

He nods and waits, picking up another french fry to prepare to give her another.

"I won't say for sure that smell was the reason for my reaction to being here, but I don't think it's the root cause. I've been in Salvation facilities for... a lot of my life now. The root cause could have been... there's plenty of options."

"Can I ask how long?" Simon asks hesitantly as he offers her the next french fry.

"Pretty much as soon as I started smelling like an omega, but not acting like one," she pauses, thinking. "I was about 13 when my father sent me to Salvation."

She's 27, according to her paperwork from Salvation. She's been in their 'care' for fourteen fucking years.

Simon realizes he's going to have to find a therapist for her. He also realizes he's going to have to recruit some specific others for this... situation. He may not have all of the information yet, but he feels he has enough to make this call.

It's time to call in the calvary.

It's time to start involving 141.

Masterlist | CoD Masterlist | Part One

Tag List: @lucienofthelakes @lostintransist @demothers-empty-blog @scaredyspooks @tessakate @one-really-annoying-tree-rat @nerdyphantomtheorist @gazsluckyhat

[hellsingmongrel]

So. I think I'll post this and pin it, but if you're a homophobe, transphobe, racist, sexist, ableist, or any other of their ilk, you're not welcome around MY circles.

Please get fucked, yours truly,

a genderfluid afab in a same-sex marriage.

Everyone else is awesome, though! Love you guys! Mwah!

[idiosyncraticrednebula]

I feel like whenever people discuss "gender roles" on social media and just in society at large, they simplify it way too damn much.

[danwhobrowses]

I think it's funny that the Trump cult act like Trump pleading not guilty automatically is a win for them. It just means if the jury finds him guilty the punishment worsens, and the jury isn't gonna be 2/3rds of his Republican buddies like the Impeachment trial.

Delusion, Denial, Desperation

[tiredassmage]

wheeze. Sorry, Keeper. And sorry, Jadus, that he delivered this comment like he’s half-listening to a conversation in a cantina while he’s sipping on a martini kldafnlsdfdsf.

he’s havin’ a normal one.