#everyone read if it rains it spores

[llittlelotusflower]

spores fanart for @stupidlittlespirit

yo no offense fox, ford's fit kind of gives brawny paper towels. was that your outfit inspo for him? be honest

(guwhehe they reblogged it life is good.)

[krobus-void-monster]

each of the bachelor / bachelorette first reaction to the green rain event

Shane : Shane’s reaction goes exactly like this “ the fuck is going on out there” . He gets a message from his boss saying that he doesn’t have to go to work today because of the weather so Shane checks on the chickens and goes back to bed the green rain is his new favorite weather because he doesn’t have to go to work

Maru : Maru and Demetrius freaking out because nothing like this has ever happened before there taking all sorts off samples Demetrius brought out a hazmat suit ( he doesn’t actually think it’s that serious but he’s been looking for an excuse to use it) . Ultimately it’s determined to be a strange type of algae and moss spores (yes moss reproduces via spores) wired sure but harmless

Sam : Sam is stocking up on medical supplies just in case and trying to calm down Vincent but after receiving word from Maru and the news that the rain is harmless decided to make the best of it and go play out in the rain with Vincent because something like this might never happen again

Lean : despite the possible dangers lean goes foraging anyways gathering moss and weeds to use in future projects

Penny : spent the day reading despite the rains strange color she still finds it soothing

Abigail : she has to be physically restrained from trying to taste the green rain but ultimately just spends the day playing video games

Haley : is very concerned/ grossed out she takes a few pictures of the rain but spends the day playing board games with Emily

Harvey : is prepared for a worst case scenario he spends the entire day in the clinic waiting to see if anyone gets sick from the green rain

Emily : finds the rain oddly beautiful and would go outside to experience it. If it weren’t for Haley’s concerns

Sebastian : he woke up in the afternoon while Maru and Demetrius were testing the rain he goes outside anyway because “this green rain can’t be anymore dangerous than me smoking”

Alex : is prepared to go outside if necessary because he is the youngest and most healthy out of everyone at his house

Elliott : he’s so focused on writing writing that he doesn’t even notice the green rain until the afternoon when he took a break from writing

[brooklynislandgirl]

Relief flooding through her makes Beth nearly boneless. Maybe it's just Ben's smile. Maybe it's both. There's a hundred different things. Ones she only enumerates in her journal, or when he's dead asleep and in no danger of hearing her. Ben would eat her heart raw. "More worry dat dey mistake you as new tree." Once inside the habitat, a transformation occurs. Wilting limbs soon seem to perk up and for a moment she can only stand there. Eyes half shut in that way of hers, face lifted up to the air in a moment of divine beatification, Beth comes to like. Were she to sprout tendrils and leaves from her hair or her feet no one watching might be entirely surprised. Beth is a hothouse flower, a creature of sea and jungle and this warm, wet, musty air is as much home to her as anything could be so far away from her native islands. She doesn't blame the pigeon, or Ben for that half-frown she catches in periphery. She sheds herself in layers. Scarf nooses around his throat ~better than her lips but not nearly as pleasing~ and spore left behind as they wander. Ben picks up useful trifles. An elaborate coat rack in the making though she's never seen wood so beautifully carved. So welcome when he leans into her. Tender strokes here and there, petting of the most benign nature. It stokes little fires too numerous to bother trying to put out, but she's good at hiding her conflagration. What he would think if she pulled him down to be level with her mouth. Murmured that there's places they could sneak off. Has he ever considered being worshipped in nature? But it's more than that, really. This reminds Beth of being in Park Slope. Putting dishes away while he's bent over the table, one leg craned up on the chair, the foot of the the other tapping away at some primal rhythm that exists only in his head. Raven wing bangs falling into his face as he reads and reads, correcting here in there with the hieroglyphs of his trade. Corrections that follow his sense of story, a critical eye for art. She envies Ben that. His ease with words and how he's able to swallow them down. Like cooking ~another thing beyond her~ he is a wizard. An alchemist. Or when he pulls his hair back into the world's tiniest pony tail and putters around the kitchen, flour dusting the apron long enough to reach toward her ankles and yet comes down to mid-thigh on him. The ways his hands move and work, an artist and his clay. She loves each and everyone of his quiet, internal and focused moments. Mostly though, Beth is just so incredibly in love with Ben. She forgets her jungle. She forgets the teasing promise of rain in the air. Fur and feather vanish in favour of drowning her in the tides of his gaze.

Graphite dusted fingers leave a smudged grey constellation against his jaw. She abandons reason as easily as she does her sketch pad. She swallows hard enough that her throat rises and falls with it and she blinks. "...Nigma, I would say. T' people who nevah know you. Dem as t'ink dey do. You...could be one t' me, if you aks me outright, an' tell me dat's wha' you want. But here?" Her free hand shakes as she lifts it to her chest and presses it there. The beat of her heart quakes the skin against which her shark tooth necklace rests. "Heah? You're shouted to da world." The beginning of an end she's dreaded a long time. "Heah, I don' feel for anyone da way I feel about you an' dere are no secrets between us. So I goddah aks..do you wanna be? Is it...is it okay t' be..." She shrugs in some vague wave, finding the words so hard to get out and the fear gathering like storm-clouds in her throat.

@brooklynislandgirl :// { responding to this lovely }

—☾—

"I am now." He flashes Beth a diffident smile. "For the record, though, I'm jealous of a scarf. Come on, let's check out the TROpic ZOne. I'll try not to scare the birds."

The opposite seems to take place, though, once they step inside, through the flap doors and the heavy, silken air smelling of bird feed and fern, when a crowned pigeon cuts their path and begins bobbing behind them inquisitively blinking its red eyes at Ben and snapping its head from side to side.

He ignores the giant pigeon until it contents itself by going after a stroller instead. He's good at that—ignoring. And besides the tropical pigeons, there are red ibises, bathing pygmy ducks, and a mouse deer Beth is breathless over and stops to sketch.

Ben stops when Beth stops; he wears her scarf (his victim, he jokes). He holds her coat, her bag; he squeezes two fingers into her jeans pocket; he paws idly at Beth's hip bone; it's probably-really-annoying how he plies her like a stress ball, and somewhat risqué, but no one's looking; the foliage provides a flourish of coverage. So Ben carries on plying Beth at an intermittent tempo and watches as she works the quick magic of relocating the mouse deer into blank space with the gentle stroke of her drawing pencil, hovering, making a mental inventory of the small things; he loves the way Beth tucks her hair behind her ear; he loves the way she sometimes tongues her bottom lip in focus; he loves the look of enchantment, the spark of life drawing often brings to her eyes, even if Ben at times resents that he can't set the fire there himself. He loves all the details that would bore another person to death. There are few things Ben will never tire to behold, and these are those.

Meanwhile, the aviary dome bunts altocumulus clouds, and the verdure reaches and grasps for the top of the cage. A macaw that doesn't like Ben very much screeches and flashes his colors with a warning flap, and a fruit bat gazes at them with curious, wet eyes. Beth giggles. Ben thumbs her waist.

"Hey." When Ben looks at Beth, his heart swells. And that could be a problem, a real problem. The undulation under the ribs feels akin to panic. "Am I a secret?" 

A forward question for Ben, and how telling that he doesn't hide behind a lopsided micro-grin, or a funny face, or a veil of detachment, the sort cameras seem to draw from him like a well.

[tristintea]

Endersleep

AU that’s basically a bunch of headcanons about endermen ft. Edward the Enderman and Lethe (Ranboo) :D

~

Endermen do not give birth, like piglins, humans, and other mammals do. Endermen do not lay eggs, like sirens, avians, reptiles, birds, dragons, and fish do. In fact, their method of reproduction is more akin to that of spores. Everywhere an enderman goes, particles are left behind, little bits of ender that fade but never quite dissolve. Those little particles are replaceable, insignificant, until they find enough of themselves that they can remember what it feels like to be ender.

It is nigh impossible to find infant or adolescent enderman anywhere, even in the End, where they are the only creatures other than the nearly extinct enderdragons (see: The Enderdragon, A Summary) and face no natural predators. At first, it was assumed that endermen were at risk of extinction, but studies showed no significant changes in population. One dedicated researcher by the name of Rhianna James, however, spent her life with these cryptic creatures, eventually learning the answer to this perplexing question.

As James discovered, most endermen spawn fully grown. It is only very rarely that there are enough particles to spawn an enderman but not enough to make an adult mind. That is why, when an enderman finds an enderling, it will adopt it into its haunting, and all members of the haunting take on the role of a caretaker. You will never find a more protected child than that of an enderman.

Edward’s haunting is gone. Edward has been wandering for many years now, and as the grief that accompanied the loss turned to nostalgia, they’ve regained their old vigor for life. Now they see sights worth seeing, places worth being, people worth meeting; now they search for others to spend their nights with. 

It has been far too long since they’ve sung the Old Songs properly.

Travel is dangerous, Edward has come to know very well. Others, non-endermen, often meet Edward with a sword in hand, either in defense or in greed. Edward themself has learned that connecting gazes is not a threat to non-endermen, but they have yet to be able to control their instinct to retaliate in anger.

The weather is also dangerous. Being caught in the rain is painful, and the only escape is to teleport to one of the other dimensions. Snow is beautiful, but when it melts it hurts just as bad. 

It has just stopped raining when Edward hears a call that is painfully familiar but distinctly off. It’s the cry of a wounded enderman, but the sounds are higher-pitched and slurred. They don’t register that, though; they are far too preoccupied with searching for its origin, ears flared outward as they listen intently for the next call.

They find a small, precious thing, under the dripping leaves of the forest. They have to ignore the sharp sound of the sizzling of their own skin with every drop that hits them, and it is worth it, because of all the endermen to be blessed with an enderling, Edward never thought that they would be one of them.

Their enderling is a little strange. They are split down the middle, one half of them the proper coloring, with the bright green eyes that they have been told all enderlings have for many years, while the other half is white and its eye red. But Edward does not care. They are theirs, and they will protect them with their life. 

As we know, endermen, when stressed, become aggravated; however, what James discovered is that they go into a catatonic state once the perceived threat is gone. This state is called endersleep, a term coined by James herself, and it can last from anywhere between a few minutes to decades. In fact, an enderman might never wake up from endersleep, and yet it can still live out its entire expected lifespan. Its haunting will feed it, nourish it, and carry it with them either until its death or its awakening. 

James wrote that she had only twice seen an enderman in endersleep. “It was sudden[....] One moment [the enderman] was screaming, and the next, [it] had collapsed. I thought [it] had passed out,” she wrote in one of her earlier entries. In a later entry, she said, “The haunting showed me their fourth member, that they had been carrying with them for some time now. I had wondered about this, with no hypothesis in my thoughts and only bafflement[....] [To] my surprise, I found that [it] was not actually dead, but breathing very slowly as though in a deep slumber.” Then, much later, “[The enderman] woke from endersleep today. I had assumed that [it] would never wake up again[...] now I realize that this is a common occurrence.”

While their enderling rests, Edward carries them away from the forest and the remnants of rain. They are badly injured, splotches of burning skin still sizzling even now, and the humming of their pearl is weak and broken. Edward hurries, a line of particles left to fade in their wake. They cannot let their enderling die yet. 

They trill comforts to their enderling, who has grown too weak to do anything but chirp when the pain grows too much. Even with a dying star pressed to their chest, Edward cannot feel upset. The fact that they held one at all will be enough for them, if Lady Death takes them into her own arms.

They move past trees and stones and hills, ignoring the hiss of a creeper and the whistle of an arrow, because such things do not touch them. They keep moving even as the sky begins to lighten and the hills grow taller and the air grows clearer. Their pearl aches, but Edward does not falter. Their enderling has stopped chirping, has stopped moving entirely; so they must move for them, must sing part of a song they don’t know if they’ll ever truly hear again.

They are cold.

Endersleep could be compared to hibernation, if it weren’t for the fact that for endermen, cold is nothing to be worried about. When an enderman is too warm, it grows drowsy and confused, but when an enderman is cold, its pearl is free, and the colder it gets the more energy it has, until of course it is too cold to move. This is one reason why endermen are nocturnal: to avoid the heat of the sun.

Edward does not slow when they see high stone walls towering over them. They teleport to the other side of them, into the quiet of a city, and they do not quiet their song to match. 

They are looking for one of the non-endermen, someone who has a potion of healing. 

Of course, another reason why endermen are nocturnal is the End, their original habitat. The End is a dimension filled with clusters of endstone islands, floating in the ever-black void. There is not much natural light there.

The city is filled with lights, flames flickering in iron cages hung over every door and at every street corner. It starts to meld together in Edward’s eyes, blurs of orange and yellow smudged with shades of grey and blue. 

There. They come to a halt, shaking the fuzziness out of their vision, and only take one look at the potion bottles in the overworld building before they enter in a silent explosion of purple. 

They can still hear the humming of their enderling’s pearl, soft and weak next to their own loud humming, and it makes them slowly walk around the shop. They regret that they do not know how to read Overscript very well. It takes precious time to make out the characters, and longer to stitch them together to form something understandable. 

Harm. Stre. Fir. They don’t look past the first few letters, knowing enough to remember that Healing starts with none of them. Rej. Po. 

Heal.

Edward knocks the bottle from the shelf with one sweep of their tail, and it shatters on the floor with a sound that seems to cut into their skull. They do not flinch. They find a scrap of cloth, and they drape it over the puddle of potion and glass, so that the liquid seeps in and the glass stays behind. 

They leave, rubbing the dripping cloth on their enderling’s shoulders, and behind them a livid alchemist bursts into the room with curses on his tongue and a gleaming sword in his hand.

It’s hard to say whether James’ research is reliable, though. She dealt with delusions for many years before the end of her life, and there are journals filled cover to cover in nothing but nonsensical scribbling and occasional letters, evidence of one of her more questionable projects. She thought that endermen had their own language, going so far as to claim that they had books and even enchantments, and for the rest of her life she tried to convince everyone she met that endermen were players, not mobs. 

[chartedrights]

I just think that maybe. Maybe there’s so much more to this world than the life-changing moments and the horror of understanding that you’ll be alone forever and the menace of the apocalypse hanging over you. I think the world is so much larger than alien spores and eldritch deities and paramilitary organizations which routinely slaughter civilians to cover up disasters and androids and terror and death and fear.

We think of these as the big things. We think of them as the things that define characters. But really they’re the things that make good stories. They’re different and interesting and sad. But Hatchetfield continues to exist the other 364 days of the year. It exists in summer and spring and fall and winter, it exists on lazy Saturdays and Thursday afternoons full of homework and Monday mornings that taste like coffee and rain. Hatchetfield exists at 2 am when you’re sneaking out to get slurpees with your friends at the 7/11 and it exists at 4 pm when you’re walking home from work and everything is a tired bleach-pale yellow and it exists at 11 am when the world is still dew-damp and chilled with waning possibilities.

Hatchetfield is as full of people on days when nobody dies as it is on days when everyone dies. Community college students, retail workers at the Lakeside Mall who are saving up for college, kids who go to the arcade and kids who go the playground to pretend they’re superheroes or princesses or detectives or ghosts. Hatchetfield is full of parents and nurses and lawyers and office workers and reporters and baristas and optometrists and authors and biologists and librarians and community organizers and artists and bakers and electricians and people who are none of those things but used to be and people who might be in the future. It’s full of siblings and children and aunts and uncles and friends and lovers and acquaintances and coworkers and people you’ve never met but still love with all your heart.

Hatchetfield is a tiny town across a lake from Clivesdale, with a forest and an amusement park and a boating club and a mall and a movie theater. There are people there who like Thai food and don’t give to Greenpeace and people who like musicals and eat hot pockets every Tuesday. People who like the color blue and only read the classics, as well as people who heard Nature Boy and it changed their whole life. There are people who have never seen a whale, who have never been to a desert, who don’t know what Coatimundis are, who like caramel Frappuccinos, who drink chai tea, who like seeing ivy on brick buildings even though it’s bad for the integrity of the bricks, who cried the day they graduated from high school.

The vast majority of the world isn’t life-changing in the ways we think things should be to qualify as life-changing. It’s small. It’s quiet. It’s joyful or boring or simple. Most of the time we live our lives in vague contentment. And that’s why things can be life-changing; they do not exist as constants, or in isolation. Events reverberate because they are drastic, because they are intense, because they are different. What is there to change if life does not exist outside of that event? If the small, “unimportant” events have no meaning, then neither do the life-changing ones. What is loss if there is nothing to lose?

There’s more to the world than the end of it, and this I know- the end means nothing if the world is empty.

[kkysolo]

Stuck on You / Chapter One

You curse him for it, sometimes. Loathe him for it - for how he’s made you, his parents, his friends feel. How he’s broken them. Reduced all of you to nothing but fickle fragments that pass through time and space with little awareness, with little recognition, of what’s happening to them. At least, that’s how you feel. But the bitterness, the fury - it doesn’t last long. It never does.

Prologue 

Pairing: Ben Solo|Kylo Ren/Reader Setting: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, dystopia, modern, gangs. Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, war, gang violence, emotional hurt/angst, codependent relationships (eventual fluff, smut, romance).

A/N: Tense change from past to present because we’re shifting into the present timeline of the story. Also, if you’ve read any of my other work, you’ll know I tend to write in second person omniscient. I love a bit of head-hopping, keeps us on our toes, lol. It won’t appear in this chapter, but bear it in mind for the future. 

Chapter under the cut, and also here, on AO3. 

Summary: The year is 2084.

Despite its advances, society has collapsed on itself. The world is crooked, damaged, dying. Rezoned into new territories, separating the elite from the unworthy. Civilization is crumbling at your very feet, and in the midst of it all, your best friend, Ben Solo, has been missing for three years. You desperately cling to what’s left of him, hoping that he’ll come home, praying that things will fall back into place.

And then he does. And they don’t. Because life is different when you’re a scoundrel in the midst of a class war.

Now: 2084, Spring 

You’ve always hated spring. 

They used to call it the season of new beginnings, and new beginnings were good. But that was before. Now, starting over is nothing more than an expected, quotidian task each time the Empire rezones the land. Which is often. Too often to ever feel at home. Too often to ever really feel as though there’s a new beginning to be had. 

“It was the right thing to do, you know,” Rose smiles sympathetically in that way that she does, the kind of way that doesn’t make you feel pitied, but loved.  “Hm?” “Breaking up with Jon.”  “Oh,” you hadn’t actually given the situation much thought. He’d already retreated the back of your mind, an unimportant speck among an ocean of stress. “Yeah, I know.”  “Because you didn’t love him.” “I know.” “Because you love Ben.” “Rose,” you hiss, your head flying around the dimly lit room. Because that’s all it is, really - a room. They’d outlawed bars (at least, in the rezoned areas) six months ago. Your shabby little makeshift basement bar - ran by Ben’s mother, nonetheless - was an illegal, yet necessary sanctuary. “Would you stop? Someone will hear.” 

“Oh, stop,” she scoffs, taking a sip of highly illegal (and cherished) gin and lemonade. “As if everyone here doesn’t already know.”

“Well it doesn’t matter now, does it?” you mumble, twirling a bottle of beer between your hands. It’s a good one, not badly brewed and watered down. Leia, she gets the good stuff. How she gets it, you aren’t sure. “It’s not like he’s around.”  “He’s not dead,” Rose affirms. “He can’t be.” “What makes you say that?”

Because you believe it, too, you do. He can’t be dead - couldn’t possibly be gone. Because Ben, he’s strong. He’s good and he’s kind and he’s funny and brave and men like him don’t just die unknowingly. Men like him go down in glory - of that, you’re sure. 

“Because it’s Ben,” she shrugs. “He’s supposed to be running this place one day.” 

You nod, still dragging your bottle across the uneven wood of the table. 

“It’ll be awkward, though,” you sigh. “With Jon.” “You think so?” “I mean, yeah,” you lean back in your seat. “He’s still with the Resistance, I’m gonna have to see him all the time.” “Yeah, I mean, maybe missions will be awkward but,” she shrugs. “He’s not an idiot, surely he knows to, you know. Stay away.” 

You hum in agreement, taking a swig from your bottle. Ben would like this beer, you think. It’s bitter, like he likes. 

“Sweetheart,” Leia is behind you now, a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Could I ask a favour?” “Of course.” “Could you watch the place for me tonight?” She has that apologetic expression on her face she so often bears, and it pains you to think of her worrying to ask you something. “Han is home from his mission tonight, and I’d just love to see him, honey.”  “Leia, of course,” you place your hand atop hers. “You deserve all the time together you can get.”

And they do. They’d separated for several months after Ben’s disappearance, neither of them able to cope with the weight of it in a manner that allowed them any semblance of intimacy, any notion of peace. But they’d rekindled as much as they could of their relationship, and despite Han’s long missions, continued to work on it. 

“Thank you, honey,” she smiles softly, squeezing your hand before turning to a demanding patron. She gives so much of herself to so many people, you wonder how there’s any of her left. 

When Leia finally bids you farewell, you’re already shuffling around behind the badly crafted bar, held together precariously by planks and rusted nails. You’re not sure who built it - though you expect it may have been Poe - but you’re surprised it’s still standing after only one week of use. You pull another bottle of gin from a box on the concrete floor, and you scoff at the icy feel of it. The wicked cold from the exposed ground has kept it remarkably cool. You hope you’ll be able to shut the refrigerator off, in that case. It’s far too expensive to run. 

“Here,” you pour Rose another glass. She sits at the bar now, resting her chin in her palm. “Perk up a little, you’ve gotta keep me company.” 

Rose sticks her tongue out playfully. 

“Did you get settled in your new place?” She speaks into her glass and the sound of her voice vibrates through the liquid.

“Mhm,” You sigh, pouring a drink for yourself. It’s your second move of the year already - the Empire having pushed you out of every zone you’ve ever called home. When they come, ships and tie-fighters blackening the sky above you, you’re herded like goats to whatever new (and smaller) zone they deem suitable for nuisances such as you. For peasants such as you. “You?”

“Meh,” she shrugs. “I wish they kept me with you this time. I hate being by myself.” “Me too,” you murmur. And you do. You really do. “But it is what it is.” 

You glance to your left, eyeing the stacks upon stacks of boxes that pile up against the wall. All labelled ‘bottles’, ‘glasses’, ‘coasters’ in Finn’s terrible handwriting. There’s one that sits at the bottom, labelled only ‘our stuff’. Back in the old bar - the real bar - you’d had CD players (the old kind, from decades ago - you couldn’t afford anything else). You’d had string lights and flowers and Sabacc tables. You’d decorated the walls with photos - of you, of Ben, of the resistance. Of the people who owned and worked at the only establishment for fucking miles that conceived any happiness. And it was beautiful. It was perfect. 

“When’s Poe back?” Rose hums.  “I think he’s coming back with Han tonight,” She takes a sip of her drink. “Why?” “I really wish he’d move those fuckin’ boxes,” you grit. “Hide them in the back or something, but I can’t stand the sight of them.” 

Rose nods sympathetically. 

“He will,” She turns, then, as the sound of rain pummels against the ground outside. Though it’s a basement, there’s still windows, the kind that sit more toward the ceiling, the kind that are awfully awkward to open. She squints at them, and your eyes catch how she leans closer to get a better look. 

“You alright?” You lean toward her, resting your elbows against the bar. You can hear how it creaks with the pressure.  “Y-yeah I just,” she drags her eyes away, bringing her attention back to you. “I just thought I saw someone outside.”  “There’s lots of people outside,” you smile. “There always is.”  “No, I know, but they were like…” She looks back to the window. “They were crouching, looking in.” 

You sigh.

“Hopefully not an inspector for the Empire,” Rose turns back to you as you speak, and you smirk at her reassuringly. “That Armitage Hux prick has always had it out for me.” 

She laughs in that airy kind of way that she does, the kind of way that makes you bubble with gratitude - because you know her. You’re fortuitous enough, privileged enough to be around such a light, such an ethereal soul. You often wonder what you ever would have done without her. You often wonder if you’d have survived it - survived this, survived the loss of him, without her. 

“Maybe if you wouldn’t rile him up, he wouldn’t hate you so much.” “But it’s just so much fun to piss him off,” You grin. “He gets so flustered.” 

You stay like that, laughing together, until well after midnight. You’re glad for it, the distraction. You need it, even now. Even after all this time. Being alone - with your thoughts, with the gaping hole that sits inside your chest - doesn’t get any easier. They say time heals all wounds. You wish it would. It’s only made yours worse, only further infected it with spores of him, that burst and spread the ache right down into your bones. You curse him for it, sometimes. Loathe him for it - for how he’s made you, his parents, his friends feel. How he’s broken them. Reduced all of you to nothing but fickle fragments that pass through time and space with little awareness, with little recognition, of what’s happening to them. At least, that’s how you feel. But the bitterness, the fury - it doesn’t last long. It never does. 

When you trudge inside your new apartment (though new doesn’t seem very apt, perhaps crumbling would fit better), you feel him. He’s never been there, of course, but you feel him nonetheless. You feel him everywhere. In everything. And it haunts you - he haunts you. And he has no right to, because you know he’s not dead, he can’t be. 

You run through your nightly routine, finally readying yourself for slumber. You hope you’ll see him there, when you close your eyes and drift from hell into harmony. You hope you’ll find him nestled in the crevices of your subconscious. Because you know he’s there. He’s always there. And when you unlock your front door, when you prop open the windows before crawling under the sheets - you hope he’ll find you here, too. Nestled under the covers, waiting for him. 

And when you fall into deep sleep, into a dream - or a memory - of long ago, a dream of smiles and laughter and his honey-brown eyes, you don’t hear the door as it creaks and clicks open. You don’t hear the windows as they fall shut, the frigid breeze no longer assaulting the room. You don’t hear the footsteps, nor do you hear the breathing - panicked, rushed. 

When you’re asleep, you find him. And when you’re asleep, he finds you.

[ma-sulevin]

12. the one where soulmates can heal each other’s injuries.

The prompt is from @softmillers​ and Dakota belongs to the light of our life @tommymillers​

This is a long prompt (8199 words oops) and it has some TLOU canon-typical violence and some moderately spicy scenes. If this were AO3, I’d tag it as M.

Life inside the QZ was shit, but life outside the fallen QZ is shittier. It wouldn’t be so bad if he was alone, but with Lucy at his side, depending on him, looking up to him, crying every time she has to fall asleep in a place that isn’t the shitty city apartment she grew up in... It’s hard. It’s so hard, and it feels like he’s failing her every day they wake up and walk farther away from the mess in Seattle.

He knows it’s for the best, but he still feels like he’s failing her.

They walk south, out of Washington, away from the rain and the city with all the memories, good and bad, of his life before. Lucy holds his hand as they walk and starts sucking her thumb again at night, but she’s brave, the bravest kid he knows, and he tells her that every morning as he braids her hair again to keep it out of her face.

She deserves a home, and he’s going to find it for them.

Portland is worse than Seattle was, and his hometown doesn’t exist anymore, but they hear a rumor about a town in Wyoming that’s self-sufficient, not run by Hunters or WLF or Fireflies or FEDRA, and even though it’s so many miles away he’s not sure they’ll both be able to walk there... Lucy looks up at him with her big blue eyes and he knows he’d walk clear across to Atlanta if it would keep her safe.

She’s already seen more than she should ever have seen. 

If he can just find them a home...

They’re still in Oregon when they find a house to camp in for a couple of days, just to rest. Their walking blisters have long since hardened into calluses, but Lucy can barely stay awake all day and he’s afraid she’s going to get sick if he keeps pushing her. It’s not safe, but this house is the safest they’ve found. There’s no spores or infected or Hunters that he can find on his sweep, and there are still some canned goods that haven’t spoiled.

They eat dinner and clean up with the supplies the house’s old owners left behind, and Lucy falls asleep against his chest as he tells her the story of The Hobbit from memory. 

She finds some books in one of the house’s bedrooms the next morning and curls up with her breakfast to read on the couch. It makes tears well up in his eyes, watching her sit on a dusty couch under a moth-eaten blanket, reading a faded book like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

He goes outside and breathes in the fresh air, still crisp this early in spring, and lets himself imagine them staying there forever, being safe without having to walk halfway across the continent. She could grow up in a real house with miles of land around her -- she wouldn’t have had that even if the outbreak hadn’t happened. Morgan never wanted to live outside the city, and they’d been making it work before, well.

Before.

The distinctive rack of a shotgun pulls him from his spiraling thoughts, an intimate reminder of why they’re trying to find a town. He raises his hands and turns slowly, cold sweat breaking out along his hairline.

“You alone?” The Hunter is standing a few feet away from him, too far for him to be able to grab the shotgun away from her, dirt and dried blood smeared across her face and a deadly look in her eyes. 

“No.” She raises her eyebrows at him so he adds, “I don’t have any supplies on me, but there’s canned food in the house. If you let me--”

“Daddy?” Lucy’s voice cuts across his and he flinches, but the Hunter does too. She takes a step back and lowers the shotgun, though she doesn’t take her finger off the trigger. “Who’s that?”

“Sweetie, can you go get some of the cans we found and bring them out here for me?” He looks over his shoulder, trying to keep the Hunter in his line of sight at the same time, and sees Lucy hesitate. “It’s okay, just go grab what you can carry.”

She does what she’s told, leaving the front door open as she disappears back into the house. 

He turns back to the Hunter. “Take what you need and leave us alone. We’re just passing through.”

“That’s your daughter?” He nods, and she chews on her bottom lip as she stares past him at the door. “How old is she?”

“Eight.”

The Hunter draws in a deep breath, then she flicks the safety on her shotgun. 

He lowers his hands.

“I didn’t know.”

He doesn’t say anything even though it looks like there’s real regret on her face. She keeps her shotgun in one hand but doesn’t move otherwise, waiting with him as Lucy crashes through the house.

Lucy comes back out with her arms full of cans and drops one on the stairs. It rolls into the overgrown grass without her noticing, and she marches right up to the Hunter before Tyler has the chance to tell her to put the cans on the porch and go back inside.

“Here you go,” she says, voice strong. She’s always liked to help, and even the shotgun isn’t enough now to make her feel like the Hunter can’t be trusted, not if her dad wants to share their food. Tyler waits to see what the Hunter will do, and he raises his eyebrows when she puts the shotgun in its holster on her back so she can take the cans with both hands. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m okay,” the Hunter says, shoving the cans into a bag that’s suspiciously empty. “I’m just gonna--”

“If you don’t clean it, you’ll get an infection and die.” Lucy’s very matter-of-fact, parroting words Tyler’s explained to her more than once over the years, though not quite in that order. That she remembers, not the lecture about not trusting strangers. “Right?” She turns to look at him, eyebrows raised, hands on her hips. 

Tyler meets the Hunter’s eyes, then looks back down at Lucy. “Yes, but she can clean it later. You need to go back inside.” 

Lucy looks back up at the Hunter, who smiles gently, then back up at him. “But we have soap here.”

“Lucy. Go inside.” He thinks she’s going to pitch a fit, just for a second, because she screws her face up at him in a moment of pure irritation. He stares back at her and she deflates. The fight goes out of her and she goes back into the house by herself.

She slams the door this time, so maybe the fight isn’t all the way out of her.

“She’s cute.” The Hunter is still smiling a little, like she wasn’t just trying to rob him blind and probably leave him for dead. “She seems like a handful. Is it… just the two of you?”

“Are you going to bring your group back here?” His voice is hard, anger at Lucy being in danger pushing his words. “I told you we’re just passing through. You got your food, now you need to leave.”

She holds her hands up in surrender, the smile dropping from her lips. “Okay. Okay.”

She walks away and he watches her until he can’t see her anymore, then he turns and picks the dropped can back up. It isn’t dented, isn’t opened at all, so he brings it with him back into the house.

Lucy’s sitting on the couch, fat tears rolling down her face. She runs over when he shuts the front door and wraps her little arms around his waist. He hauls her up into his arms and she clings to him as he carries her back to the couch and sits down with her.

“I’m not mad at you,” he says, voice low, his hand rubbing over her back. “You just have to listen to me, especially out here. Not everyone is a friend.”

“She was hurt.” Lucy’s voice is wet and small, and he heaves a heavy sigh.

“I know, sweetie. She’s okay, though. We gave her some food and she’ll go back to her group and they’ll be fine.”

He waits until Lucy calms down to tell her they have to leave. He doesn’t know where the rest of the Hunters are, but he’s not going to be here when they get back. He wanted them to rest longer, but now it isn’t safe.

They take as much food as they can carry, and he pretends he doesn’t notice Lucy sneaking a few more paperbacks into her little dirty backpack. He’ll probably have to carry them for her later, but right now… if they make her happy, it’s worth it.

They don’t see another human for two more days. This time it’s a man, outside a gas station, and Tyler can smell the trap a mile away. Lucy must be able to too, or she learned her lesson from the house, because she tightens her grip on his hand and lets him keep her on the far side of the street.

The man follows them.

Tyler’s just shifting Lucy so she’ll be behind him when he turns when he hears the sound of another fucking shotgun racking. He flips around, pistol out, Lucy tucked so close behind him she won’t be able to see anything, and he sees the Hunter from before with her shotgun leveled at the new man.

She’s not looking at Tyler. All her focus is on this new guy, anger curling her lips until her teeth are bared in a snarl. “You wanna rethink that?”

The man puts his hands up, keeping his fingers away from his pistol’s trigger. 

The woman glances at Tyler. “Grab that.”

He does, tucking it back where he keeps his.

The woman gestures at the man with her shotgun. “Don’t let me see your face again.”

The man spits at her, but she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t lower the shotgun until he disappears back behind the gas station.

“You two good?”

Lucy pops her head out from behind him. “Hi!”

“Hey, sweetie. You okay?”

Lucy nods, but she puts her thumb in her mouth anyway. Tyler pulls it out and wraps his hand around hers instead. 

“You following us?”

The woman shrugs and grins a little. “Seems like a happy coincidence. Got here just in time, at least. You two heading east?”

Tyler hesitates, but nods. “We heard about a settlement that’s supposed to be safe. We figured it was worth the risk.”

“A safe settlement east of us? The one in Wyoming?”

“You been?”

The woman shakes her head. “No, but I’ve heard about it. I was thinking about going that way too, maybe… Three of us traveling together might be safer?”

She asks the question confidently, but there’s real hesitation in her eyes. She’s uncertain about his answer, worried that he’ll say no after what happened at the house.

Lucy tugs on his hand. When he looks down at her, he can tell she wants the woman to come with them.

He looks back at her and presses his lips together before he nods.

Her face breaks into a wide smile, and even under the grime and blood, she’s beautiful.

“I’m Tyler,” he says, and he lifts Lucy’s hand a little, “and this is Lucy.”

“Dakota,” she says, looking from him to Lucy and back. “Let’s get going.”

She still has most of the food she took from them, which makes him feel better about a future ambush. She doesn’t apologize for holding him up, but she does pool her food in with theirs when it’s time to stop for the night, and she says she’ll take whichever watch he wants her to so they can all get enough sleep to keep walking the next day.

Lucy loves her, asks her a million questions until she gets tired and wants Tyler to hold her, and then Dakota takes some of his supplies so he can. 

He finds himself trusting her faster than he should. He knows better than this. He knows better than to be fooled by a pretty smile and dark eyes, and even though it’s been seven years since Morgan died… it still feels like a betrayal of him, somehow, to look at Dakota and find her beautiful.

He tries to focus on Lucy, on keeping his eyes and ears on the world around them, on getting them safe to Jackson when it’s hard to follow maps that are a decade out of date. He tries to focus on listening for any infected, to make sure Lucy doesn’t have to see them, to make sure none get close enough to threaten either of them.

Well. Any of them, really.

Dakota’s part of the group now whether he likes it or not.

(And he does like it. He just tries not to think about it.)

They find another house a few weeks later, similar to the first one they stopped in, and they set up for the night once it’s cleared. Lucy takes a bath while Dakota goes out to see if she can catch anything to eat, and he brushes out and braids her hair while Dakota cooks up the rabbit she managed to find.

It’s very domestic, very relaxed, and Tyler finds himself drifting closer and closer to Dakota the longer the night goes on, but… she seems like she’s drifting closer to him too, a little smile on her face whenever she catches him looking at her.

Lucy demands a story for bedtime, snuggled up in one of the house’s empty beds, and he tells her part of Star Wars: A New Hope, talking to her in a low voice until she falls asleep.

Dakota is pouring over the maps when he comes back into the living room, sitting on the couch with the coffee table pulled up close, a towel still in her hands to wring water out of her hair. He sits next to her when she smiles at him, and watches as she points at where they are and where they need to be going to get to Jackson.

“This is the best time to be traveling,” she says, voice pitched low so she won’t wake up Lucy. “You don’t want to be out here when it starts to snow.”

“Have you been caught out here in the winter?”

He knows almost nothing about her, not really, but he’s not wholly surprised when she nods and then looks up at him to explain.

He is surprised when her lips part but she doesn’t speak, because she’s too busy looking at his mouth. She shifts toward him, just a bit, and their knees touch.

Had he sat down so close to her?

He’s not sure which of them moves first, but their lips meet and she moans into his mouth. She pushes closer, climbing into his lap, fingers tangling in his hair that’s too long and still damp from his bath, and he pulls her closer, leaning back so she has more room to settle with her knees on either side of his hips.

It’s overwhelming already, her body warm and solid against his, her teeth catching his lower lip as his hands run up the warm skin of her back under her ratty shirt. 

It’s a bad idea but it doesn’t even occur to him to push her away, to tell her they shouldn’t do this while they still have months of travel ahead of them, but she’s squirming against him and tugging at his shirt too and it feels too good to do anything but yank her shirt off over her head so he can kiss her breasts while she pulls at his belt.

He leans back when she wraps her fingers around him, biting his tongue to keep from being too loud. She pumps him a few times before slipping off his lap so she can push her jeans down, and she’s climbing back in his lap to sink down onto him before he has a chance to lean in and kiss the tattoo on her ribs.

“Fuck.” He swears against her mouth and holds tight into her hips as she starts to move over him. She’s already so wet and he’s barely touched her, and it’s been so long that he’s even had time by himself that he feels like he’s on the edge after just her first few thrusts.

She moans and bites at his lip again, and she holds onto the back of the couch as she starts to really move. “Wait for me,” she says, cheek against his, lips against his ear. “You feel fucking amazing.”

He can’t talk now, can’t do anything but hold on as she fucks him, barely has the presence of mind to reach between them for her clit, but she bats his hand away anyway. She takes care of that too and she comes around him as she touches herself.

“I’m gonna come,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, hands sliding up her sides and then scratching back down. “Dakota, I--”

She kisses him, pulling on his hair, and he comes still deep inside her. She swallows his groan and then kisses him again, soft, lingering as he catches his breath.

“That was great,” she says, conversationally, like she’s complimenting his cooking. “We should do that again next time we find a house. I feel amazing.”

She climbs off of him and pulls her pants back on like nothing happened, and he stands, still trying to catch his breath, and tucks himself away.

Lucy’s still asleep when he checks on her, flat on her back with her arms and legs starfished, and he watches her in silence until guilt creeps in on him. He goes to sleep in the room across the hall, tension creeping back into his limbs.

Dakota grins at him like they have a secret the next morning, but she doesn’t say anything else as they pack up to move along after breakfast. Lucy chatters like she always does, asks a bunch of questions -- this time about outer space since he was telling her about Star Wars -- and they answer what they can. Dakota is delighted to hear they’ve been talking about Luke Skywalker, and she and Tyler compare notes until Lucy gets bored.

It’s easier to walk that day, lingering soreness in his feet and hips all but disappeared. Endorphines are a hell of a thing, and he tries not to think too hard about it.

A glance at Dakota catches her looking back at him already.

She blushes and looks away, so he knows he’s not the only one still thinking about it.

They don’t find a good enough house to give them safety and privacy again that night, or the next, and then they’re not even in a town anymore so it’s hard to find places to sleep at all. It feels like they’re never going to get to Jackson, and Tyler’s still not convinced they’re going to find anything at all when they get there, but he doesn’t know what else to do, so he keeps walking.

He just keeps walking.

They celebrate Lucy’s birthday after they cross over the border into Idaho. Tyler’s not totally sure he has the date right, but it’s close enough, and they find a little bookstore without any Infected in it for her to raid. She wants to sleep there, and they agree, setting up their sleeping bags all in a row in the musty children’s section.

Tyler and Dakota take turns reading from Inkheart until Lucy falls asleep, and then Tyler follows Dakota to the other side of the store where she pushes him into the shadows against the front counter. 

She kisses him the same way she did at the last house, deep and desperate, nipping him when she wants him to do something different, and he starts feeling the same sort of energy washing over him as last time, just from wrapping his arms around her, with her lips against his neck and her hands pulling his belt free of its loops.

He has more control this time, spinning them around and then turning her so he can bend her over the counter. She braces herself against the dusty surface and arches her hips toward him, making the quietest moan when he pushes deep inside. She’s tighter this way than she was last time, with her jeans keeping her knees trapped together, but she’s even wetter, and he gives her all he has until she has to bite her arm to muffle her cry as she comes. 

He finishes inside her again, pushing in as deep as he can and bending over her to press his face against her back. He shudders through it, then relaxes, pleasure still coursing through his veins in a way that makes a thought tickle at the back of his mind.

He ignores it and kisses her again instead, pushing for that last little bit of connection before she slips away to clean up.

He’s nearly asleep when she makes it back to her sleeping bag on Lucy’s other side. He watches her settle in until he can’t keep his eyes open for one more second.

It takes them a long time to get through Idaho, passing through it at its widest point. They have to travel around infections and cities, avoiding anywhere they might find more trouble than two adults can take on with a child to protect.

Lucy bonds hard with Dakota, enough that Tyler worries about what will happen when they reach Jackson. What if they have to keep traveling? What if Dakota wants to stay but he doesn’t, or what if he and Lucy find a home and Dakota wants to leave?

He needs to ask her, to find out what she’s thinking, but whenever they have enough time and privacy to talk about it…

Maybe they’ve bonded hard too, enough that Tyler worries about what will happen if Dakota wants to leave him behind. Having her in his arms, in his lap, bent over furniture or pressed against a wall is one of the best things he’s ever felt, and he can’t get enough of it. 

It seems like she can’t either, because she looks for opportunities for them to be alone. He and Lucy had never found as many safe places to sleep as they do when Dakota’s in charge of navigating across the countryside. It’s like she knows, from being alone all that time, exactly where to find a safe place to bunker down for the night.

Tyler could cry when they pass over the border into Wyoming, and he almost does when he feels Dakota slip her hand into his. Lucy’s on his other side, and it almost feels like…

No.

They’re not a family, and until he talks to Dakota about whatever this is between them, somewhere Lucy won’t hear but somewhere they also won’t get distracted trying to fuck each other’s brains out, he can’t think like that.

They’ve already spent so much time together that no matter what, it’s going to hurt him and Lucy when they have to go their separate ways, but… with her hand in his, it’s easy to pretend that won’t happen. It’s easy to lean into the soft warmth, into the way it makes him forget the aching of his feet, and pretend they’ll keep living like they have been once they reach Jackson.

The same thought that keeps stirring in his head rises up again, the thought that she doesn’t just make him forget the pain, that touching her makes it disappear entirely, but he shakes his head and pushes it back down, deep down where it belongs, and starts walking again.

Morgan was his soulmate. They found out when Tyler cut his thumb trying to cook, and Morgan’s worried fingers on his wrist made the cut fully heal before their eyes. Morgan died, back before the real outbreak started, caught the infection trying to treat the earliest outbreak up at Lakehill, and you don’t get that twice.

Dakota helps, but they’re not soulmates.

There’s not a chance.

They’re actually not that far from where they think Jackson is when they run into trouble.

They’ve seen infected before, mostly around the cities they’ve skirted, usually runners that they’re able to sneak past without trouble. None have gotten close enough to their camping spots to be a threat, and they’ve really only had to worry about packs of Hunters as they’ve walked from Washington. 

It’s not easy to forget that the infected exist, but it’s easy to pretend they’re too far away to really hurt them until it’s too late.

Lucy sees them first, because Tyler’s let himself get too comfortable on this leg of the trip. He’s too used to the three of them being together, to letting Lucy walk just a little ahead of them, to letting his eyes drift over Dakota’s body like he has any right to it. He’s gotten too comfortable, and he doesn’t even realize it until Lucy screams.

The sound pierces him, shrill and loud enough to scare birds away from the nearby trees, and he’s pushing past Dakota to run for Lucy before he has time to process what’s happening.

They’ve made it so far.

Lucy’s running back to him before he finds her, appearing from around a car someone abandoned on the side of the road, and she rams full-speed into his legs before he has a chance to grab her. He’s snatching her up so he can press her face against his shoulder before she has time to say anything, but Dakota is already right there with him.

She pushes forward, around the car, shotgun in her hands and a snarl on her face that spells trouble for whatever’s on the other side.

“Are you hurt or are you scared?” It’s a question he’s asked her before, over and over, and she knows she needs to answer. When she squeaks out a tiny scared, he shifts her weight so he can support her with one arm, leaving his other hand free for his pistol.

He can see the top of Dakota’s head as she moves, looking for what scared Lucy, and he moves slower to join her.

There’s a pile of dead infected, clickers, crumpled up behind the car. Dakota meets his eyes and he knows they need to stay quiet now, and he whispers as much in Lucy’s ear as they start following the road again without speaking.

Their guns stay out, and they stay close. Dakota stays on Tyler’s left, covering Lucy for him. 

He’s glad she’s with them, has been for weeks, and he needs to tell her when they find somewhere to camp. He wouldn’t have let her travel with him at all if it hadn’t been for his daughter, and now he can’t imagine making this trip without her.

As careful as they’re being, as quiet as they’re being, Tyler can hear it when the forest starts to move on the far side of the road. He hisses a word of warning to Dakota and tightens his arm around Lucy, clenching his jaw when he feels her little hands tightening in the collar of his shirt.

“People,” she says, and the little whisper raises the hairs on the back of his neck.

He squeezes her tighter and whispers, “Do you see the blue car?” She turns her head toward the car just on his other side and nods. “When I put you down, I need you to go right to it and crawl under it, okay? Like we did in Seattle. Remember?”

She nods, and he looks over to see Dakota watching from the corner of her eye. She gives a little nod too, arms tensing on her shotgun, her jaw clenching in preparation of whatever’s about to happen. 

“Ready?” 

Lucy’s arms tighten around him and he wants to scream. “Ready.”

He presses a kiss into her hair and says, “Now.”

She runs as soon as her feet hit the broken asphalt, right to the blue car, just like they practiced in Seattle, just like she had to do outside of Portland, dropping her little backpack as she goes.

Tyler spins so that his back is to Dakota’s, gun up, facing the two men that were behind them as Dakota faces the men that were waiting in front of them.

Ambush.

Hunters.

“Y’might as well lower them guns,” one of the men says, one of the ones behind Tyler. “There’s no need for anyone to get hurt.” Neither one of them moves, and the man laughs. “It ain’t the time to be brave, not with your little girl hiding like a rabbit.”

The men move closer, and Dakota does too. Her hip presses against his as she draws their defensive stance tighter, and just the reminder that she’s with him makes him feel a little calmer, even as outnumbered as they are.

“Just toss the bags and we’ll get out of your hair.”

Dakota moves first, drawing in a deep, irritated breath before she shifts enough to let her backpack slip off her shoulders. She tosses it to the side, well away from the car where Lucy is hiding, and Tyler watches from the corner of his eye as one of the Hunters snatches it up.

Tyler bits the inside of his lip as he does the same, tossing his bag to the same Hunter going through Dakota’s. It hits the man in the leg and he snarls at Tyler.

Tyler ignores him.

“Your weapons too.” The leader sounds so fucking smug, and Tyler twists to look at him over his shoulder. “Ammo’s hard to come by these days.”

“Ammo’s in the bags,” Dakota says, voice rougher than Tyler’s ever heard it.

She’s scared.

The Hunter grins at them both. He’s grimy, just like them, but there’s a feral glint to his eyes that makes Tyler absolutely certain they’re in it worse than he thought. 

“You ain’t gonna fight us for a few extra bullets,” he says, moving closer. His fingers twirl a knife around as he walks, and Tyler stares at the motion. “Not with a kid. Not with this many of us. Hand it over.”

He’s close enough to just take the shotgun from her hand, and even though Tyler can feel her tensing behind him… she lets it go.

The Hunter tosses the gun to the side and one of his men catches it, then he turns to Tyler with the same twisted grin on his face. “Your turn now, unless you’re gonna be a man all of a sudden.”

Dakota tenses again, but Tyler hands over the pistol. He still has another tucked under his shirt, the one they took from that other Hunter back in Oregon, but with only a few bullets in it, he’s not sure what he’ll be able to do.

His pistol gets tucked into the Hunter’s belt, then the Hunter turns his attention back to Dakota.

“Maybe you oughta come with us too,” he says. “He obviously can’t keep a pretty thing like you safe out here.” He brushes his knuckles over Dakota’s cheek, and Tyler’s just drawing in a sharp breath when Dakota punches the Hunter in the throat.

Chaos erupts around them as Tyler lunges forward for the leader, tackling him to the ground before he can grab for his weapon. Dakota’s colorful swearing is drowned out by the yells of the other Hunters, the far-off pops of gunfire, and the wheezes of the man under Tyler’s hands.

The Hunter tries to fight back but Tyler has the advantage, and he slams his fists into the man’s face, over and over, until blood starts to splatter and the man goes still.

The pops of gunfire grow closer, and Dakota screams, and Tyler clambors to his feet and turns back to see one of the Hunters shoving her into the dirt with her arm twisted up behind her and the barrel of his gun against the back of her head. 

Just as Tyler gets his handgun leveled at the Hunter’s head, there’s another pop and the Hunter falls to the side in a spray of blood. Dakota pushes herself up to her knees but her right arm is at an odd angle that makes Tyler’s stomach twist.

“Stay right there.” The new voice makes them both freeze, and Tyler forgets how to breathe. There’s no way they can fight off another group of Hunters, not with Dakota’s arm broken and Lucy still waiting for them. “Where’d you come from?”

Tyler turns toward him, ready to do whatever he needs to get them out of there alive, but his words fail him when he sees an older man on a horse. There’s a rifle over his shoulder and a serious look on his face, but he doesn’t look angry.

And the horse is unexpected.

“Seattle,” Tyler tells him, holding his hands up, finger away from the trigger. “These Hunters jumped us.”

The man nods and climbs off his horse. “We’ve been having trouble with them lately. Where you two heading?”

“Jackson.”

The man stands still for a second, staring at him, and Tyler stares right back.

Finally, the man nods and whistles, sharp and loud, and Tyler flinches at the noise. Another person on a horse appears, a younger woman this time, and the resemblance is strong enough that Tyler knows they’re related.

He lowers his hands.

“I’m Michael,” he says. “This is my daughter Maria. We’ll take you to Jackson.” 

Tyler turns and looks at Dakota. She’s climbed to her feet and she looks pale, cradling her injured arm, but her chin is high and she nods when he catches her eye.

“Thank you,” Tyler says, putting the safety back on and tucking the gun away. He moves to the blue car while Maria starts digging through one of her bags and kneels down to look under it. Lucy is flat on her stomach, her eyes wide, dirty cheeks streaked with tears, and she starts to cry again the second she sees him.

“It’s okay, sweetie, c’mere.” He holds his hand out and she starts crawling forward, and he pulls her out from under the car as soon as he can to pull her into his arms. She clings to him, shaking, and he pushes himself to his feet. “It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re safe now. We found some good people who are going to show us where Jackson is.”

He rubs her back as she calms down, standing off to the side as Maria bandages Dakota’s arm as best she can, creating a sling for her. Michael collects the guns the Hunters dropped, looks through their pockets for supplies, and then picks up the bags Dakota points out. The horses, unbothered, nibble at the weeds growing high on either side of the road.

“Look, baby, real horses.” Lucy’s sniff is wet and gross, but she sits up and wipes at her nose to look at the horses. “Isn’t that cool?”

“Mhm.” He doesn’t correct her when she puts her thumb in her mouth, not this time. She’ll stop when she’s not scared, and she’ll stop being scared when they’re somewhere safe. She talks around her hand to ask, “Can I ride one?”

He starts to tell her to ask Michael, but Maria answers first.

“Why don’t you ride up here with your mom?”

Tyler freezes, eyes darting up to meet Dakota’s, but she doesn’t do anything more than give a little smile as she settles onto one of the horses with Michael’s help, her arm supported with bandages wrapped around her torso.

“I got room,” she says, and then holds her hand out for them, “and one good arm.”

Lucy leans forward in Tyler’s arms, and he takes her over to Dakota. Dakota hisses as Lucy bumps into her broken arm, but wraps her good arm around her and kisses the top of her head without saying a word about it.

Once they’re both settled on the horse, Tyler runs his hand over its neck. “Are you okay?” He meets Dakota’s eyes, voice low, and she smiles at him.

“I will be once we get to Jackson,” she says. “Bones heal.”

“Y’all ready?” Michael appears on Tyler’s other side, holding the horse’s reins, and Tyler nods.

The walk back to Jackson is slow, but Tyler’s never felt safer during their whole journey. Michael and Maria know what they’re doing, and they fill them in about Jackson as they all walk together. The town was Michael’s idea, they say, and they’ve been working hard over the last couple of years to see it become a reality. They want it to grow, to be a safe haven, to have clean water and electricity and fresh food, and they ask questions about how Tyler and Dakota can help once they’re settled in.

It’s like they took one look at their little group and decided to keep them forever, and Tyler could cry with relief.

There’s a wall around Jackson, tall and strong, and a guard lets them all in the gate. They stop just inside to leave the horses at the stables, and Tyler gathers Lucy back up in his arms as they walk deeper into the town. She lets him carry her, tucks her head against his shoulder and holds on tight, but he knows her eyes are wide open to take everything in.

“We have a doctor’s office set up,” Maria explains, “so they can take a look at your arm, Dakota, and they can make sure none of you were bit. If you have anything else you need them to look at, now’s the time. I’m going to see if I can find you a house to stay in -- we’ve been fixing them up as we have time and supplies -- and I’ll come back to take you in a bit. Okay?”

They nod, because of course it’s okay, and Maria takes them to the little wooden building that’s serving as Jackson’s clinic, and the silence that’s left behind as she leaves is heavy.

Dakota breaks it first. “Tyler, I--”

He doesn’t let her finish, moving before he can think about it, wrapping his free arm around her shoulders to pull her against his chest. She leans against him, her good arm going around him and Lucy both, and she hiccups a sob when he kisses the top of her head.

She pulls away with the door to the clinic opens, wiping at her face with her sleeve, but Tyler grabs for her hand. He entwines their fingers as he turns to look at the doctor, who smiles when she sees the three of them standing together.

“Hi! We have one broken arm and three new Jackson residents, huh?”

Tyler nods and pulls Dakota’s hand up to his mouth so he can kiss her knuckles before she goes with the doctor. As soon as he sits, he leans his head back against the wall and closes his eyes, exhaustion pressing him down until he feels like he can’t move.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, sweetie?” He turns his head to look down at Lucy next to him.

She’s looking at the door to the exam room, but she turns back to him as she says, “Is Dakota going to live with us?”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly before he answers. “I don’t know. Would that be okay with you?”

Lucy nods. “I know she’s not my mom like, um, like that lady said. But I don’t want her to go somewhere else without us.”

Tyler’s worry about Dakota leaving them rears its ugly head again. Lucy would be heartbroken, but… so would he. He didn’t think this would happen, not when she stole his food, not even when she climbed in his lap that first night in Oregon, but… he loves her.

“I don’t want her to leave either,” he says. “I’ll talk to her for us, okay?”

Lucy nods and then falls silent. They sit together until the exam door opens and Dakota comes back out with the doctor. Her arm is bandaged again, in a loose sling, but she has a smile on her face that grows when she sees Tyler. He raises his eyebrows at her, but she just shakes her head.

“Your turn,” she says. “I’ll wait out here.”

Tyler stands and takes Lucy’s hand, pulling her along with him into the exam room. They let the doctor check them both for bites, then for wounds, and Tyler lets her clean his knuckles that split during his fight with the Hunters. Lucy’s not hurt at all, and the doctor praises her for being brave, and then they go back out to where Dakota’s sitting with the smile still on her face.

“Maria’s outside,” she says, standing up to meet them. “She says there’s a house we can use down the street.”

The three of them follow Maria down the street to the house, listening quietly as she gives them a tour. They have a supply store and a blacksmith, a town hall, a building where there will be a school soon since they have a few kids now, a little library, and a playground. Lucy perks up when she sees the playground, but Tyler’s more excited about the library than anything else.

He takes Dakota’s hand again as they walk, and she squeezes his fingers when he does.

“And here we are!” Maria walks up the steps onto the porch of a two-storey house and pushes the door open. The three of them trail along inside to find it already full of furniture, a woodpile stacked up next to the fireplace, and several cloth bags in the kitchen. “I tried to find clothes that would fit all of you, but there’s also soap and some food and things in here too. If you need anything else, anything at all, you can usually find me in the town hall or at my house. I’m the one who coordinates most of this, so just ask anyone and they’ll point the way.” She looks at her watch, then back up at Tyler. “I’m going to bring you dinner in a bit, once you’ve had a chance to settle in.”

They thank her, and she leaves them alone in their new house.

Lucy breaks the silence. “Do we have to share this house?”

“I don’t think so.” Tyler finds it hard to speak, dizzy with relief as he is. “It’s all for us.”

Lucy’s eyes are wide as she looks around. “Wow!”

He glances at Dakota, then looks back down at Lucy. “Why don’t you go see what’s upstairs? Maybe you can pick out a room to sleep in tonight.”

Lucy chews on her lip for a second, then she starts to grin as she runs off. Her little feet are heavy as she runs up the stairs, and they can hear her exclaiming over the rooms as she runs from one to the other.

Tyler speaks first. “Will you stay?”

Dakota takes a step closer, a little grin lifting the corners of her mouth. “In Jackson?”

He brushes her hair behind her ear and cups her jaw. “With me.”

Her smile grows, like she knows something he doesn’t. “You haven’t figured it out yet?”

“Figured what out?”

She pushes up onto her toes and kisses him instead of answering. He tangles his fingers in her hair at the nape of her neck, his other arm wrapping around her waist, holding her close as he kisses her back. It’s deep and it’s heady, and he doesn’t notice when she cups his jaw with both her hands until she nips at his lower lip and pulls away to look up at him.

“Tyler.”

He blinks down at her, then he blinks again, then he takes a step back so he can really look at her. Her sling sits empty against her chest, and she holds both arms out to the side and wiggles her fingers.

“I’m all better.”

“You… we…” His thoughts swirl around him and everything he’s ignored or pushed away as a coincidence over the last months hits him at once. 

The sheer coincidence of them meeting, how natural it felt whenever she reached out to touch him, how aches and pains always seemed to disappear whenver they slept together… the way she feels as right in his arms as Morgan felt, even before they knew they were soulmates.

And now, the last fact he needs to accept what he’s known since Oregon… her broken arm isn’t broken anymore. It’s healed, just from the short time they’ve spent in each other’s arms since the attack.

“We’re soulmates?” It comes out more of a question than he meant it too, but he can’t help it. It feels too surreal, too big and out of his control, but she just smiles, wide and open and the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“I didn’t think it would ever happen again,” she says, and her smile grows brighter when he starts drifting closer. “I thought I had my chance before and that was it, but then…” She loops her arms around his neck and pulls him close. “I found you.”

“I love you,” he says, the confession spilling out of him. “I already knew I loved you. I was going to ask you to stay with us.” He wraps his arms around her too, holding her body against his.

“Is Lucy okay with me staying here?”

“She wants you to,” he says, leaning down to brush his nose against hers. “She asked at the clinic.”

Dakota tilts her chin up and kisses him, and he parts his lips for her. It feels good and right, and when he breaks the kiss to pull her in for a hug, tucking her head under his chin, he notices that the split knuckles on his right hand have completely healed.

“Daddy! I picked out my room!” Lucy’s voice echoes down the stairs, and Dakota starts to pull away… but he tightens his arms around her so she can’t move. When Lucy skids to a stop in the kitchen again, she puts her hands on her hips and stares at them. “Did you ask her to stay with us?”

“Yeah,” he says. “You still okay with that?”

Lucy’s smile is the biggest she’s had since before they had to leave Seattle, and she nods fast, but she’s not distracted from her goal of showing off her new room. She just changes the way she’s going to do it, grabbing both of their hands and tugging until they disentangle themselves and start to follow her up the stairs.

Having a whole house to themselves in Jackson feels like a dream. It feels too good to be true, like Tyler’s going to wake up and find out that this is a fever dream and he’s still back in Seattle, listening to the WLF fighting against FEDRA and hoping his apartment block isn’t going to be the one that has a bomb in it next. 

Maria brings them food, and they eat together as a family at a table in the kitchen, just like he did when he was a kid growing up. Lucy takes a bath with hot water in her very own bathroom, and then he tells her the beginning of Harry Potter before she falls asleep.

He and Dakota go to bed together, truly clean for the first time in a while, their breath minty and their skin smelling of lavender soap. She pulls him against her, and he goes willingly, covering her body with his as he presses kisses against her skin. He tangles their fingers together as he presses inside her, holding her close as he finally gets to hold her the way he’s been wanting to for weeks.

She moans into his mouth, tugging at his hair and scratching at his back as he moves over her, his thrusts deep and sure after so long together. It’s so much more intimate than their first times together, and he revels in it, soaks it up until he can’t do anything but press his face into the crook of her neck until she calls out her release and shudders around him.

After, they lay still tangled together, her head tucked under his chin and her hair tickling his bare skin. Her fingers trace over the lines of his muscles as he runs his fingers through her hair.

She tilts her chin up to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “Tyler?”

He doesn’t open his eyes, just keeps playing with her hair. “Mmm?”

“I didn’t say it, but. I love you too.”

[void-tiger]

Tagged by @curiosity-killed (thanks for the tag!!)

roses or daisies:

DAISIES!!! They’re so simple and cheery have just as many colors and look delicate but are actually really tenacious? Also, how charming is Day’s Eye (and asters in general having the habit of facing eachother if they’re not turned towards the light--I think I have a picture of dahlias doing this from last autumn--and like. Star Flower. Okay, I’ll shut up now xD )

classical or lofi:

...okay so I admit I had to look this one up. But easily some of my favorite tracks are those Hidden Ones that bands plop onto their albums to fill up leftover space, but are often basically just scrapped recording or practice sessions? The bloopers and their creative process, basically. Cut to me googling and youtubing it and finding hiphop lofi and...yeah! Definitely Lofi.

(Classical vs OST and Modern Classical (that’s composed to be a lot more cinematic) just...really puts me on edge. It’s too mathematical...to put it nicely.)

So...yeah. Slow beats and something that sounds experimental or like a jamming session? It’s soothing and kinda ideal for background noise.

sunrises or sunsets:

Sunset. One, never ever gonna be a “morning person”. Forget it. Two, sunsets often have more dramatic colors and still make the landscape glow and you get to see stars peeping out vs fading. Also, y’know. I’m actually awake to appreciate it vs groggy and legit physically ill.

honey or lemon:

Honey as a condiment. Lemon for sweets flavor. (Baklava’s probably the exception...then again I haven’t had that many honey-flavored sweets, I guess? But Lemon-Poppyseed?? Definitely one of my favorites,)

coffee or tea:

Coffee. I adore tea service aesthetics and will someday probably collect them (especially the really quirky or earthen or blownglass ones vs the froufrou european ones)...buuuut, I just haven’t really had A Good Cuppa Tea much at all. There was this spiced tea I’ve had in Jordan that was AMAZING and I do like greentea (with...A LOT of sugar or honey...) but. I’ve just never really had tea. My family’s coffee drinkers, so the smell of coffee is nostalgic. (And yes, I’m basic enough that I prefer flavored, sweetened creamers; and my coffee brewed or spiced with, like, cinnamon and nutmeg, too. Or as a mocha.)

...I also have a Bad Habit of abandoning my Herbal “Teas” with the bags either left steeping too long (I have gotten better at using a timer) or while waiting for them to cool. And while I’d just really love it for Uncle Iroh to make me tea (provided he doesn’t get on my case about wanting sugar and maybe cream), the Times and Temperatures are just so dang fussy!! I...don’t think I have the patience for that.

enemies to lovers or friends to lovers:

Friends to Lovers. I just...don’t Get It with the sexual tension~ that seems to be the driving force behind enemies to lovers...I guess?? (That, and unless it’s literally on a battlefield, HARD PASS. I’ve had people try to blow off my complaints about getting repeatedly tormented as “he liiiiiikes you~” bullshit to ever be comfortable with it as anything but Legit Two Sides Of A Battle/Political Conflict. Sorry.)

But, Friends to Lovers? That Bond. And then the ...Oh. The domesticity and trust and safety. Also it is RIPE for Idiots to Lovers mutual pining xD

(bonus points if both parties decide ahead of time, “hey. even if dating doesn’t work out I still value your friendship in my life, so no pressure about ‘ruining things,’“ And then, of course, it does work out and there was nothing to be anxious about, after all.)

rainy days or sunny days:

...cop out but, overcast days with Soft Sunlight and Cloudbreaks?? I do like a clear skies sunny day, but, my eyes are also so sensitive to light that it can be painful. Rainy days can be soothing...but the rain has to be A Certain Way. Too heavy and with too much wind behind it and it can get me anxious. (My childhood home had Every Rain is Severe Weather...with no place to shelter. It’s gonna take awhile before i can appreciate it like i’d want.)

jupiter or mars:

Jupiter. GIANT. DEADLY. MARBLE (that wants to eeeaaat meeeee...) Also Pluto, and the jovian moons.

aphrodite or athena:

Athena!! She’s an ace icon, aight?? And also strikes me as...very, very Tired with everyone’s bullshit. Also...all the greek gods are kinda assholes. So. Yeah. She ain’t perfect and her characterization’s at the mercy of whatever myth in question, but generally she strikes me as practical and sensible and having Mercy...sometimes. As much as that group is capable of it, anyway...

rome or greece:

...probably Ancient Rome as a “ancient culture to explore but a YIKES (but. so is ancient greece.)” But visiting IRL in the present? Greece.

sun or moon:

Moon. I appreciate what the sun does and I do like feeling sunlight and all that...but, I’m also a night person. And I can look at the moon without risk of blindness and admire its corona and that rainbow corona you can see just a bit further out if you know where and how to look. BUT. The moon easily loses out to a starfield, especially if the light pollution and humidity are both low enough that ya get to actually see the milky way’s galaxy arm. (The irony that the sun IS our local star does not elude me.)

1920s or 1990s:

...neither?? 90s only slightly win out ‘cause I’m a ‘93 Kid and the 90s and 00s had some incredible toys and cartoons. And, idk. I still like overall pants and shorts. Always have. While a flapper dress would be “oooh pretty! starlight beading! Now OFF. Back to regular clothes for ‘Sporing or Comfy Lounging.”

blizzard or thunderstorm:

Blizzard. Also. Have you considered...thundersnow??

(Admittedly? I’ve also never been through a snowstorm that threatened by health&safety. The same cannot be said about thunderstorms when nearly every one could or would spawn tornados and severe straightline winds that could knock down trees and powerlines and sometimes even damage homes. While living in a home with NO safe place to shelter. Not even an interior closet or bathroom. NOT. FUN.)

midnight memories or made in the am:

...what?? [googles] ...OH...they’re...albums. UH. Neither?? (I don’t listen to them...?)

sage green or vanilla white:

Sage green. It’s kinda a nostalgic color somehow? Also. Just not a fan of monochrome...at all. I see it? I instantly want it to be a backdrop. Negative space. For COLOR. (jewel tones for whites/light neutrals and browns; NEONS for blacks and dark greys. Preference for Jewel Tones over Neons...wait. What was the question again??? OH YEAH..uh... I do like vanilla icecream? With rainbow sprinkles. Or...paired with hot fruit pie or cobbler. Or cookies. Um...yeah I should prolly shutup now. xD )

folklore or lover:

...I don’t...understand??? But...I like Folkslore as in...folklore??? Fairytales, Legends, Myths... (also, so frikkin ace I’m just. not ever gonna pick “lover”)

croissant or macaroon:

...why would you do this to me. I make a beeline for croissants because...Soft Flaky Buttery Bread. And they are So Good as a savory sandwich sorta thing. Easily better than english muffins or crumpets, tho biscuits have a fighting chance. But LIKE. Soft breads. My weakness as a kid.

...but a good macaroon?? It is so light and crisp and TINY and like?? how does it taste like coffee??? and berries????? (Too bad they are So EXPENSIVE. While even cheap croissants are almost always Good.)

ballgowns or pantsuits:

I like the aesthetics of a ballgown. But never the pricetag, I wouldn’t wanna live in that thing for more than an hour, tops (and. so much damn work!!) and I’m stuck looking at them Defying (boob) Physics and just...dying a little inside. With my rare It Pretty Want Pretty wilting with it. But...it’s rare that pantsuits really...look like anything. (They also look uncomfortable and yet another Wardrobe Disaster and Do I HAVE To??? if I think about...actually wearing them. But, Legs Free No Tripping...I guess??)

hades or zeus:

I only wanna EVER meet Zeus if I get to castrate the bastard and lock ‘im up where he’ll NEVER get back out. Hades, tho...I’m WATCHING you, Bub. (Why yes, I agree with Demeter on this one.)

platonic love or sensual love:

Platonic. Cuddling and Kissing are technically Sensual but, y’know what? They ain’t exclusive to sexual or romantic loves (and I just. really do not want kissing at all. MAYBE a quick kiss on the forehead or fingertips but LIKE. That’s it. And it’s cute af for...literally ANY Love Type.)

light academia or cottagecore:

Honestly? A mix between the two. Cottagecore with my charming little home with its overgrown flowerbed of wildflowers (and asters! All the asters) and produce grown in large pots or hanging baskets...and inside the walls are covered with overflowing shelves of books and knicknacks and other Neat Things. Oh, and naturally a tea service (might not actually have tea in it...) and tons of pillows and blankets, and lamps and lanterns Everywhere for warm and soft (and colorful) light to read by while music plays softly in the background. And the home smells like something I just made for Supper or Snacks, or like a food-scented candle.

-

Aaaaaand tagging @mckinlily @headspacedad @aairachnid @synergetic-prose and whoever else wants to play! No obligation to play if tagged.

[vannahfanfics]

Before you read, here’s the previous chapter. New? Start from the beginning!

Cherry-Orange Blossoms 

Ao3

Chapter 3: Lies, Lies, Lies

Katsuki sucked his breath in through his teeth as he held his hands behind his head and sank himself into a squat. He held it for several seconds before gradually rising, keeping his back perfectly straight on the ascent. His calf and thigh muscles burned with exertion. Sweat glistened on his skin and dampened the fabric of his loose muscle tee and gym shorts. It had begun to roll down the ridges of his body to drip down and puddle on the laminate floor. His cheeks burned with a rosy pink hue, not unlike the color of the cherry blossom-like buds blooming within the tissue of his lungs.

His eye twitched as the tight feeling in his chest worsened. It felt like every muscle was spasming at once and giving his lungs no room to inflate. He coughed weakly, feeling an earthy must spread over his tongue as the spores floating in the infected sacs traveled up his windpipe. Apparently, Hanahaki disease was a fungal infection; the original species lived in woodlands, and its fruiting bodies mimicked flowers to attract insects, who would get trapped in their sticky secretions and slowly dissolve. By some evolutionary process or another, the fungus became parasitic, learning to survive in the harsh environment of the body’s gas exchange organ. They remained dormant, supposedly, in spore form until activated by certain hormones circulated during unrequited affection. Serotypes had differentiated from there, but the fungus reproductive structures retained their flower-like imitation.

Katsuki coughed again; he wasn’t sure if the little specks floating before his face were just dust particles illuminated by the sunlight streaming through his bedroom window, or tiny spores of the fungus. Either way, it irritated him. With a grunt, he abandoned his workout and fell back on his haunches. He gritted his teeth as he stretched out his legs, feeling the soreness of exertion pulsing deep within the tissue. He rubbed his thighs and calves, attempting to work out the tension, but paused when his phone pinged with a message notification. Frowning, he grabbed his cell phone and opened the message in the group chat Eijirou had added him to (without his permission).

Eijirou: Hey, Baku-bro, do you want to go to the mall with us today?

Denki: The videogame store is having a sale on new arrivals today! We can totally stock up!

Hanta: Denki, you just want to get Animal Crossing.

Denki: >o< Shut up! I find it therapeutic!

Eijirou: I like the ones that are really manly and into working out. :)

Katsuki rolled his eyes as the conversation derailed to a discussion about the kiddish videogame. He had nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon, and being cooped up in his house with only his thoughts was liable to drive him insane. Already, three times that morning, Katsuki’s mind had wandered to the bubbly girl with the glitter planet charm, and he had suffered coughing fits. One of them had resulted in another cherry blossom petal, which he had buried at the bottom of his trash bin because all hell would break loose if his mother found it. Katsuki typed up a quick affirmative before climbing to his feet so he could find something suitable to wear. He didn’t care much about what people thought of his outfit, but he still had the decency to not walk around in sweat-drenched clothes.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Yooo, Baku-bro!” Denki called excitedly and waved as Katsuki hopped off the subway train. His friends clustered at the base of the stairs leading up to the street. Katsuki shoved his hands deep into his cargo pants pockets, fingering the small collection of cherry lozenges he had thrown in last minute. He didn’t look fondly upon choking out in front of the team and the cheerleaders. Hopefully, his chances of being tackled to the ground on an outing to the mall were meager. Katsuki would much rather suck on one of the sickly-sweet throat tablets than cough up a petal in front of the three. “Why the grumpy face, bro?” Denki asked as he pranced up to him and jabbed him a few times in the bicep.

“Fuck off, Pikachu, I’m not grumpy.” The natural black streak in the electric blond’s hair reminded Katsuki of the shitty little Pokémon, so he had taken to referring to Denki as such. Katsuki clicked his teeth and ran his fingers through his ash-blond hair, finding the strands still clumped with perspiration despite the crude towel-dry he had subjected the fluffy locks to. Whatever. Not like some idiot is gonna come up and sniff my hair. If some whackjob did, Katsuki would kindly provide them a knuckle sandwich.

“So, Eijirou said you had a summer cold or somethin’,” Hanta said casually as the four began to mount the steps to the surface world. “Are you feeling better?”

“I wasn’t feelin’ bad in the first place,” Katsuki growled with a pointed look at the redhead. Eijirou flushed and tugged at his collar with a nervous chuckle. Katsuki rolled his shoulders and slumped a little, feeling his already volatile mood worsening with the reminder of his humiliating experience. “It was just a shitty cough. I slept it off just fine.” The cherry lozenges bounced in his pocket, their little clacks and rustles evidence against his falsehood.

They reached the small veranda that covered the entrance to the subway system. Katsuki blinked rapidly as the harsh sunlight greeted him, burning his eyes. As he shielded his face from its onslaught, his ears gradually processed the din of conversation and traffic assaulting them. The already warm air was hot with the fumes pouring out of the mufflers of the cars lodged bumper-to-bumper on the blacktop road waiting for the light to turn green. Small crowds milled at the crosswalks or scurried in groups across the neat white lines. A steady flow of people streamed along the sidewalk, chattering into their cell phones, scrolling through their social media feeds, or talking amiably with their companions. Katsuki’s blood instantly cooled with the flush of anxiety.

So many people meant so many witnesses if things went way south.

His throat began to itch just thinking about it, and he scratched compulsively at his Adam’s apple, as if to silence the angry screams of the irritated cells. His friends seemed not to notice his anxieties; they strolled on ahead to melt into the throng. Katsuki forced his feet to follow lest he be left behind or lost in the horde. The mall was a short jaunt from the station and towered on the distant city horizon. Its glass dome reflected the light blue of the sky and shimmered like diamonds as the light beams played over its surface. He half-listened as Hanta energetically babbled about the apocalyptic survival game he intended on purchasing.

“-Bakugo. Hey, earth to Bakugo!” Katsuki’s lashes fluttered when he was yanked out of his blank thoughts by Denki. He was snapping his fingers in front of Katsuki’s face. Scowling, Katsuki shoved his hand aside and demanded to know what the hell he wanted.

“What’s up with you spacing out, dude? You were legit about to walk into the fountain.” Katsuki blinked and looked ahead to realize that the large, bubbling fountain situated in the mall’s front plaza was indeed not more than a foot in front of him. His cheeks burned with embarrassment, and he hunched his shoulders, grumbling about how he totally saw it. The three of them exchanged suspicious glances but elected to shrug off the incident. Katsuki’s mouth curled into a frown, and his gaze shifted through the various patrons as they strolled through the automatic glass doors of the mall entrance.

The cooled air pumped by the building’s massive air conditioning units admittedly did feel nice on Katsuki’s raw throat. He breathed in deep, relishing the way the icy oxygen chilled the inflamed passage. Denki squirmed about in excitement in front of him, bleating about all the things he was going to build on his Animal Crossing island. Hanta made a very unflattering gesture behind his back, which Eijirou reprimanded him for with a sharp jab to his ribs.

“Do we want snacks first?” Hanta wheezed as he held his bruised intercostals and leaned down over a decorative wall containing various ferns and flowers. Their aromatic pollen tickled Katsuki’s nose and throat, returning that insufferable itch. Katsuki edged away from the plants while holding the collar of his shirt over his mouth. When Eijirou looked at him expectantly, he dropped the cloth and grimaced.

“I don’t care. Let’s just get a move on.”

“Let’s do pretzels, then!” the redhead suggested, spying a small stand squashed in the corner of the nearby food court. Katsuki’s heart sunk, because he just knew the salt and toasted breadstuff would aggravate his symptoms; his stomach soon took over the emotions, rumbling in his abdomen to demand sustenance. Soon he was sitting on a bench and wolfing down a salted pretzel dunked in nacho cheese. Every few seconds, however, the itch would come clawing back up his trachea, and he had to douse it with a large gulp of soda, forcing it from the entrance to his throat. It lurked in the shadows of his insides, prowling like a beast.

Katsuki’s vermilion eyes anxiously skated the crowd as he ate the pretzel. Aside from his three friends, everyone in the mall was a stranger to him- but that didn’t matter. Among them could be news reporters, sports journalists, and any number of professionals who could latch onto his woeful story and make money off his downfall. He pulled at the collar of his shirt, now finding the material irritating on his neck. He slightly resented not wearing a lower-cut fit.

He tore his gaze away from the crowd, knowing that dwelling on his illness would only lead to trouble. He found Denki staring dreamily into his container of caramel sauce with his half-eaten pretzel raining cinnamon sugar onto his clothes as he just held it up.

“Yo, Earth to Pikachu. Who’s the one spacing out now?” Katsuki jeered. He blinked when a faint pink hue rose to the lanky blond’s cheeks.

“I wonder if Kyoka likes Animal Crossing.”

“Oh, here we go,” Hanta sighed and pushed his forehead into his hand with a sardonic grin. Denki blushed darker but was determined to keep the stoic noirette the topic of conversation.

“She’s just so… you know! And I’m so… you know!” Denki lamented, gestating wildly with his pretzel and shaking more of the sweet spice and sugar all over himself. Katsuki pouted and reclined against the bench, trying not to focus on the romantic implications of the conversation. He’d suffered enough of romance in the last few days. It’s like I can’t escape from this Hell! He seethed, desperately trying to prevent his thoughts from spiraling to a certain cheery brunette. Denki whined and pushed his fist into his cheek. “I just don’t know how to impress her, you guys.”

“You mean your ravishing good looks aren’t enough?” Hanta joked, earning an affronted shove from the blond. Hanta munched on his pretzel hot dog and didn’t even bother swallowing. With his cheek puffed out like a chipmunk’s, he posed matter-of-factly, “You gotta make her laugh, dude. Chicks dig a guy who can crack a good joke.”

“I’m funny, right…?”

“O’course you are, Denki!” Eijirou encouraged and looked at Katsuki, eyebrows knit and requesting a follow-up. Katsuki licked some nacho cheese from the corner of his mouth and bared his teeth like an angry hound.

“Funny-looking.”

“Baku-bro, why’re you so mean?” Denki whined and flopped his head back against the metal bar of the bench. Katsuki bristled, then looked away aggravatedly.

“Why’re you asking me, anyway? Do you think I give two shits about your little crush problems? Just man up and ask the girl out, Jesus,” he growled and violently tore a chunk of the pretzel off with his teeth. Denki pursed his lips thoughtfully, then sighed wistfully.

“It’s just not that easy, y’know…”

“Yeah, but he’s right, man,” Hanta frowned. “At least that way, you’ll get an answer. Keep pinin’ like this, and you’ll end up like Kendo.” Hanta made a coughing up motion and then sneered, obviously jesting. Denki snorted with laughter while Eijirou grinned, but Katsuki felt a blast of fire pulse through his nerve circuits. His cheeks flushed with anger, and he clenched the container of nacho cheese until it caved in and spilled the thick paste all over his fingers.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarled. The three boys looked at him, their smiles each falling from their faces as they beheld Katsuki’s rigid posture and death-grip on the crumpled plastic packet of cheese. When Eijirou began to ask if he was all right, Katsuki’s red eyes flashed to him with a livid glare. “Shut the fuck up. You assholes have no fucking idea what you’re talking about! Keep fucking joking like that, and you will be choking on flowers soon!” he roared and threw the messy container of cheese onto the floor. Denki protested as the yellow-orange substance splattered all over the tile, but Katsuki was already up and walking, dripping the sauce from his fingers as he stalked off into the crowd. He didn’t have a destination in mind. He didn’t even have much of a reason other than he just had to get out of there. Or else, the bitter tears that he was so desperately trying to hold back would spring forth, and he couldn’t have that.

Subconsciously, he was able to navigate to the nearest men’s restroom. He startled a little boy washing his hands by throwing the door open with such force that the handle banged against the tile wall and cracked it. The boy decided to skip the paper towels and hurried out of the room, leaving Katsuki alone. Panting as the emotions threatened to overtake him, he paced in front of the sinks like an angry tiger, snarling curses under his breath. With a sudden shout, he punched the metal bin of paper towels. The surface dented, and the automatic dispenser registered his movement and spat out a single white piece of thin material. Something about the dull whirring of the machine swept his frustration away, leaving him just an empty shell. Dully, he plucked the napkin from the dispenser and began wiping the cheese from his hand.

“Fuck,” he whispered suddenly and flopped back against the wall, running his clean hand over his face. What the fuck was his problem? Growing angry at the smallest things, barely able to contain his temper… Rumor would begin to spread if he kept it up. He looked morosely at his knuckles, which were already turning blue and purple -purple, like Ochako’s glittery Saturn charm that she was so excited to pull out of that crappy little coin game at the bubble tea shop sophomore year.

Ochako…

What would she think, to see him acting like this- yelling at his friends and punching things? It would sadden her, absolutely. The brick scraped against Katsuki’s back as he slid down into a sitting position. He tucked his legs to his chest and rested his arms on his knees, then buried his face into the flesh of his forearms. His red eyes gazed miserably at the shadowy tile peeking between the ridges of his sneakers.

Stop freaking out so much. That’s all you have to do, Katsuki tried to convince himself. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Stop being a pissbaby. So what if you’ve got some dumbass disease? Who cares what those Internet bastards say?! I ain’t dyin’, at least not for some time yet! He clenched his fists together, renewed determination flooding his body. I don’t gotta lay down and die or walk on eggshells for this bullshit! I’m Katsuki fucking Bakugo, basketball superstar in the making! No pussy-ass fungus bitch is taking me out!

His nostrils flared as he blew hot breath from his nose. His arm shot up to grasp the sink nearest him and haul himself up. He wiped the rest of the cheese from his hand and then glared at himself into the mirror. Red eyes swam in a pale face that was gradually returning with the color of life -red eyes, like red sneakers, like red hairpins, like red blood. I’m not choking on it yet, he growled to the slightly sickly reflection. Not fucking yet.

His friends were still on the bench when he finally ventured out. They had finished their pretzels and were now drinking slushes. Eijirou had a blue one tucked neatly beside him, untouched.

“Hey, Katsuki, we saved you one,” the redhead smiled and offered the icy drink to him. Katsuki took it with a quiet word of gratitude, electing to stand and shake off the rest of his nervous energy by shifting his weight continuously from one foot to the other. The three boys on the bench awkwardly glanced at one another.

Hanta nervously piped up, “You were right. Hanahaki isn’t somethin’ to joke about… Sorry.” Katsuki stared blankly into the slushie, plucking up the straw to swirl the slushy liquid-ice concoction around in the giant cup.

“S’fine. ‘S just… I saw her, y’know. Kendo.” Katsuki had passed her in the hall the previous day. The girl crouched by the water fountain, clutching her neck as yellow narcissus petals sprouted from her trachea. They fluttered slowly down to pile at her feet; some of the buttery flowers were tinged red with blood from where they had brushed against her raw throat. After a hacking bout, she had shakily tried to drink some water, only to spit it up and start all over again. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and broken sobs leaked out with the coughs. “It’s fucking miserable. I don’t wish it on anybody,” he whispered with lidded eyes. He continued swirling the slush without drinking it, watching the ice melt. The three boys fidgeted on the bench, shamed into silence. Of course, Katsuki was no better; up until this point, he had haughtily discounted anyone who fell victim to the ailment as weak-willed and stupid.

He was such a conceited prick.

Sullenly, he sucked more of the half-melted concoction into his mouth. The cold mush soothed his burning throat even better than the cooled building air. Blinking, he cast a look back into the crowd-

and saw a glittery purple Saturn charm swinging within the mass of bodies. He coughed a little and spit up some of the blue liquid back into the cup, then rubbed his eyes to make sure he didn’t imagine the tacky charm. Sure enough, Ochako had the accessory clipped to one of the belt loops of her white jean shorts. Her smile was radiant, spearing light throughout the room like the stars through the universe. Her pink blouse swished about her frame, giving her a dainty and cute look. She was in avid conversation with someone as she strolled along, and had her fingers linked with theirs.

Katsuki didn’t have to look to know whose hand she was holding.

His fingers twitched, itching to crush the slushie just like he did the little container of cheese, but he refrained from doing so. He couldn’t stop the wracking cough that rattled his body, however. He turned away from his friends on the bench as his chest spasmed. That familiar feeling blossomed in his trachea. The petal was soft as it landed on his tongue, spreading it earthy flavor over his taste buds. He discreetly spat it out and tucked it underneath the fingers holding his cup as Eijirou asked him if he was all right.

“Just fine,” he lied. The blossom-like fungal body seared against his skin, like it was reprimanding him. Not that it did much good- for the next several months, Katsuki was going to lie and lie and lie until it got to the point he couldn’t anymore.

He didn’t know what he would do when that time came. Hollowly, he drank the slushie, feeling the numbing cold spread throughout his entire body- cold like death.

Enjoy this story? Here’s the next chapter! Want more stories? Check out my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork​  @simplybakugou​ @sadistiks​ @wesparklebitch​ @cellotonin​ @pixxiesdust​ 

[renaer-is-allegedly-hot]

session 17 notes

Time for lunch in the castle ward

Someone is yelling at us in the farmer's market place

We walk away

Adam rolls a nat20 to find a tavern

Mirt looks the same as always but he's dressed up more than we're used to

Mirt pays for us bc we're poor

It's like a café

"some of them laughing, in like a very upperclass way"

We are at the dragon's head

Old elf guy is there asking us to follow him as he takes us to the bag

Not much seating inside

Situated on a bluff, unblocked view of the sea

Pigeons have hatched, ugly

We're getting water

Where are we going

,,,,, home ?

Someone sent mirt a thing that said we were looking for the xanathar guild hq

Mirt said he can show us where the alleged entrance is

The shrimp is half celandine's size

We're talking abt someone who embezzled ??

Adam goes to yava

Confronts her abt telling laerl

Gives her his ukulele pick and says he might not come back next week

Asyna and celandine are

Going to meet jones

And get a goldfish

Shack on the outside but inside of apartment is richly furnished

Lots of goblins

Cel's talkin to jones

Jones has once use of dust of disappearance

"I can sing for the dust" asyna 2021, rolls 17 and persuades him

Sings baby by bustin bieber

Acquires dust

Y does everyone think we're gonna die

They're gonna go get goldfish now

Rolls nat20 for investigation

Theo goes to TYP

Talks to durnan

Asks if he knows anyone named lavinia

He's gone for a bit in the back

Comes back w a rlly big tome

Asks theo when

Apparently four months since they were separated

Durnan asks theo to describe her

Page covered w names dates n groups, pointed to group that dipped abt two months ago

Was there for a few days before (going down the well?)

Five companions with her

She's probably down there

They have not come back through this entrance

Typ is more like a front door

Gets names of other companions

Half-orc, tharos

Human, meer

Leila, halflin

Jauros, dwarf

Tha(y)ne, human

Says if she ever wants to investigate herself it's 5 gold

"I'd say you're ready"

Durnan went down a long time ago, suggests to bring a friend

Aerana goes to temple of knowledge

Big houses of worship for god of knowledge

Go to dragonborne lady, filing through papers and scrolls

Some records lent from the castle ward abt ruins and stuff abt tunnels there

Sheath of papers, investigation check of 12

Blueprints for what sewers originally looked like

When first conceived

Investigation, 18

Nothing particularly weird but diff testimonials from citywatch reporting weird things like gangs and monsters

You read that occasionally they find areas with strange layouts

Investigation check, 5

Ask if dragonborne knows of other places

Suggests speaking to city itself

She listed places in the sea ward

  Adam is looking for another teacher

Adam is acquainted with don as another teacher

Adam is buying smth

Shortbow

Jacob losese 150 gold n gives potion as collateral

Adam is racist

And sexist

And hates women

Accidentally talks to theo instead of cel

Got a gift, magic bow?

Cel has a present for theo

New cloak

Gives adam dirty cloak

Attuning to bow gives +2 to damage

.mirt is taking us through a few alleyways

Bureaucratic stuff

We come into enclosed doorway place to alley tha's been blocked off on the side of the street

Manhole cover in the ground]

Gives mirt wig

Aerana goes down after cel, refuge from rain

Down into sewer

Aerana jumps in, area looks like a fluke

Walls look like would contain larger passageway but they took section of sewer and blocked it off as separate room

Passageway with a doorway and stairs leading down

9 perception, can't hear too much other than dripping water

Aerana steps inside, gets sense of being watched, goes down stairs a little bit

Starts seeing points of light

Sees eyes that pop open bc of the light

Magical carvings

Unsettling carvings

No reaction; stone carving in the walls

Displays an eye

Readies weapon

Aerana rolls 23 for stealth

Light gets a lot brighter as descending down staircase

Enters to long hallway that's 9ish feet long, doorway I can see from my position leading off righthand side, all throughout tunnel are eye motifs carved into walls

Sensation I'm being watched

Looking down to left there's big set of double doors, in front of doors on ceiling is eye but different from carvings; looks alive, sticks down and is attached to stalk, occasionally blinks

Eye is just monitoring passageway

Adam makes intelligence check, 6, it looks like the beholder's eyes

It's 60 feet away

Aerana sneaks down, pushes door open a little

Peeking through looks like another shorter hallway going for 40ish feet, v narrow, stops at another door

Adam makes intelligence arcana check, thinks the thing is a sensor, like a security camera

Aerana goes to other door

Peeking in, looks like big chandelier? is hanging from ceiling

23 for stealth again, I'm good thank the lord

You see another beholder eye thing floating in the middle of the room, it's being necormanced

Doesn't see me

There r big green spores floating around like dust motes

Looks like there's another hallway down there

We are outside the room with the beholder zombie

We're gonna try to blind the thingy and RUN to the other hallway

Long dark hallway that leads to left past range of left

Dash into room on the left

Throw open door

Slam circular door behind us

Now we're in a stairway that slopes downwards

Making way downstairs

There's a figure looming in shadows on the side, is actually a suit of armor on the wall

Cel stops adam from touching armor

We walk for a little while, passing into tunnel that curves a little; opens up to open amphitheater, have entered into spectators area for audience

Semicircular recess on the southeast wall

More eye things

Jacob has tums

Looking around chamber, well-lit, blood-stained sand pit in the center

Eye is far away doesn't appear to b looking at us, urns and weird jars under it, nobody here

Set of stairs leading up to right, stairs leading up to left

It's like an arena

We can assume it's for fighting

There's a tunnel leading under the thingy

We're gonna go to tunnel

Jump into the thingy, eye still doesn't appear to see us

Big open tunnel abt 10 ft wide w a circle door blocking our view

Aerana turns the door handle, rolls away

In another darkened chamber

Does look like there are cells in here

Aerana runs 30 feet into cells

Halfling sitting in corner, arms crossed

Drow woman

30 feet sees third cell out of four, has three people in it

Woman, two men

Older man, two younger people

Do we recognize anyone? From what you can see no

Fourth cell has some rlly large hulking creatures

Minotaur

Adam is talking to smth that doesn't rlly understand ? Minotaur ?

Adam is going to sing smth ?

Shutting the door, adam rolls a 17 bardic inspiration

Face matted w blood

Bones in cell

Adam takes out a ration and v tenderly pokes it through the cage doors without putting hand through the cage

Cel is going to humans

Brown skin, olive complexion

Rushes up

"say you don't look like one of the thugs"

"we're not we're trying to take them down what can you tell us about this place"

This is xanathar guild, they throw ppl in arena to fight, beasts in other cell

Claudia, jia and arthwright

Arthwright is an older man

Been here for two weeks?

Others have been there longer than them

Jia says the only time they've seen Him, when fighting; usually by place w urns

Find the jailer for the keys

Or just pick the lock

Aerana is going to drow woman nvm

Halfling closest to door minute came in she yelling at her

We're gonna try to get you out

Was kidnapped

Used to live in sea ward

Maybe we can help you

Asyna goes to drow

Starts talking to her in elvish

Greets her

"say .. You're not with zorin are you?"

Who's zorin

"oh . Well in any case unimportant now"

Asks if she's from a house

Was wandering through and was captured

Asyna rolls history check, 20

Official house title was houses of zorlauren

Asks her what house she's from

"oh ! Wonderful"

Expedition project led her astray

She says no one else of importance was captured

They were killed

She killed the last beast they threw at her

Not sure what she's talking abt when she says levels

Theo lock pick check

14 to pick

Wire using snaps off

Adam

They look like skeptical ogres

One of them speaks common

"if we let you out just running amok"

"oh we can find weapons"

Adam is gonna roll insight

They seem trustworthy

Adam put a lot of stupid trust

Halfling said she could fight

Adam walks up to humans and asks how often jailer comes by, daily

Dwarf wearing horned helmet

Dwarf already came in to give food

If make too much noise he might come back in

"big boys, I need you to make a lot of noise on my signal"

Hear cursing in dwarvish and someone descends down flight of steps

Doorway rolls open, see squat dwarf fellow w big helmet

Cel and theo both hit, takes 30 damage

He's wearing some armor

Adam casts sleep

HE IS NOT SLEEPING his hit points are higher than 33

Pulls out axe

Stopping for tonight

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

Six Baudelaires AU, Part Three {AO3} {Masterlist} {Part One} {Part Two}

Chapter Seventeen → in which Violet doodles

IMPORTANT NOTICE FOR TODAY’S CHAPTER

TRIGGER WARNING - Another implied panic attack happens in this chapter, and while self-harming behavior is not shown onscreen, it is made very clear that a character is self-harming by scratching. Proceed with caution, and stay safe! 

“Well,” Solitude said, “Fuck.” 

The children backed up, with Klaus picking up Solitude as they moved. “Fiona, do you think we’ve been poisoned already?” he asked. 

“No.” Fiona said. “The spores shouldn’t reach us here. As long as we stay on the far end of the cavern, and the mushrooms stop advancing, we should be safe.” 

“They do seem to have stopped advancing.” Lilac said, watching the line of gray mushrooms, which did, indeed, seem to stop getting closer. 

“We’re lucky the mycelium has only grown that far.” Fiona said. 

“I don’t feel lucky.” Klaus said. “How are we going to get out?” 

“If we go through the mushrooms, we’ll be poisoned.” Fiona said. “I could find a cure in my mycological library, but we don’t want to take that chance.” 

“We could climb out that passage.” Lilac said, turning to the side. “Wait, no, it could be miles to the surface.” 

“We can’t go out that way anyway.” Fiona said. “If we don’t return to the Queequeg, someone will have to go investigate.” 

Lilac flinched. “And I feel like your stepfather would send our siblings right into the poisonous fungus.” 

Fiona bit her lip. “He might come instead-” 

“Fiona,” Klaus said, “Your book said the mushroom waxes and wanes, right? So we’ll wait until it wanes, and then run to the water and swim back.” 

“But I don’t know how long until it starts waning.” Fiona said. “It could be a few minutes, or a few hours, or a few days.” 

“In a few days, we’ll miss the VFD gathering.” Solitude said, worried. 

“In a few days, Violet, Nick and Sunny will have ripped apart the Queequeg.” Klaus muttered under his breath. 

“It’s our only choice.” Fiona said. 

“It’s a Hobson’s choice.” Lilac sighed, sitting down on a chest. Klaus sat beside her, giggling slightly. 

“What’s that?” Fiona asked. 

Klaus smiled. “Thomas Hobson lived in Britain in the seventeenth century. He was in charge of a stable, and according to legend, he always told his customers they had a choice: they could take the horse closest to the door, or no horse at all.” 

“That’s not really a choice.” Fiona said. 

“Precisely.” Lilac said. “It’s something that’s not a choice at all. Our Mother used to give us Hobson’s Choices. She’d say, ‘Lilac, you can dust the furniture, or I can play polka music all night.’” 

“You can do the dishes,” Klaus remembered, “Or read the poetry of Edgar Guest.” 

“Eat your dinner or stay in the chair.” Solitude said. 

“She’d do that with the others, too.” Lilac recalled. “Violet could clean her room or we’d stand in the doorway and sing Row Your Boat, and Nick could be nice to guests or be made to read that third book about those kids in a maze, and Sunny could have a bath or a pink dress.” 

Fiona smiled. “Did your mother always joke around like that? Mine would get mad if I didn’t clean my room.” 

“Our mother would get mad, too.” Klaus said quietly. “One night, Violet and I left the window of the library open, and that night it rained.” 

“She really flew off the handle.” Lilac sighed. 

“We spoiled an atlas that she said was irreplaceable.” 

“Our father came down from his study to see what was the matter, and then he started yelling, too.” 

The Baudelaires looked at each other uncomfortably. They were silent for a long moment, remembering that, yes, there were times their parents weren’t perfect, and times they hated, and memories from before the fire that they didn’t want. 

That wasn’t a feeling they liked. 

“My brother used to get angry, too.” Fiona said quietly. “Before he disappeared, when they thought I was asleep, he’d have awful fights with my stepfather.” 

“Your stepfather didn’t mention that.” Lilac said. “He said your brother was charming.” 

“Maybe he only remembers the charming parts.” Fiona replied. “Maybe he doesn’t want to remember everything. Or keep some things secret.” 

“Do you think your stepfather knew about this place?” Klaus asked, glancing around. “He mentioned we might find a place to take off our diving helmets.” 

“Maybe that was just another secret he was keeping.” Lilac said. “Like the Sugar Bowl.” 

“Which we should look for.” Solitude sighed. 

They stood up, and took distant positions in the sand, careful not to step any closer to the Medusoid Mycelium. For several hours, they dug through the sand, but no matter how many objects the children found, no matter how much junk they dug through, there was no Sugar Bowl to be found. 

“Nick! Nick!” 

Violet pounded on the door that led to the dorms. She had to have been standing out there for two hours, but even after she gave him several minutes to himself, and then went back to knocking and shouting, her brother didn’t open the door. She’d debated running off to find Sunny, but she knew Nick would want to show his emotions even less around their baby sister, and Sunny was probably fine in the kitchen with Phil. 

“Nick Liam Baudelaire, you will open the goddamn door right now, or I’m kicking it down!” 

No response, again. Violet sighed, tying her hair back, and then she backed up down the hall. She took a running start, and then slammed her weight against the door. The submarine, as old and broken as it was, was not prepared for the full force of an angry older sister, so the door lock slid away, and Violet barely managed to keep her footing as she stumbled into the room. 

Nick was sitting on a bottom bunk, curled up around a pillow. Whether he had been screaming or crying into it, Violet wasn’t sure, but she knew that she definitely didn’t want anyone else to come in and bother them. She closed the door behind them, before moving to sit on the other edge of the bunk. “Hey.” she said gently. 

No response. 

“Hey, listen, Widdershit’s wrong.” Violet assured him. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

He mumbled something into the pillow that she didn’t quite catch. 

“Nick, listen. Whatever you need to tell me, you can. I’ll listen, and- and I won’t judge, or- or get upset. I won’t even react if you don’t want me to. I won’t cry. I won’t tell the others if you don’t want them to know yet.” 

He mumbled something else. 

“Nick, I can’t understand you.” 

Nick pulled the pillow away, and Violet struggled very hard not to react, like she’d said she would. Her brother’s face was red, and she thought she could still see tears falling. 

“I said go away.” 

“Well, that’s not happening.” Violet moved a little on the bed so she could get closer to her brother and still face him. “If you want, we can just sit here in silence.” 

“I don’t want people around me.” 

“And I’m not leaving you alone.” 

Nick shut his eyes. “You didn’t have a problem leaving Sunny alone.” 

She knew instantly that he wasn’t talking about Sunny being in the kitchen with Phil. “She wasn’t hurt, and she wanted to spy. You, right now, need someone.” 

“I don’t need you!” Nick threw the pillow at Violet, who swiftly caught it- she’d been in enough pillow fights to have fast reflexes. 

“Now, Nick,” Violet tossed the pillow aside, “Listen, I-” 

“You weren’t there! No one was there!” Nick screamed, throwing his hands over his face. “Widdershit doesn’t- he knew! He knew what they were doing to me! And he didn’t care! He wouldn’t have cared if they got any of you!” 

“Nick-” 

“He told me!” Nick screamed, staring ahead blankly, almost as if he couldn’t see Violet, as if he was just yelling to himself, he just had to get it out. “He told me too much! Widdershins keeps- keeps talking about secrets too- too terrible for young- young people to know- I know too much! I felt too much! I- I- I know too much and I can’t-” 

Violet reached forwards, but Nick pushed himself back. “Do you know what he did, Violet? Do you have a fucking clue?” 

Violet bit her lip. “I have… a few guesses.” 

“I- I tried to escape. In the woods. In the-” he shut his eyes. “Third or fourth time. Or maybe sixth. Maybe first. I can’t remember. I can’t even remember if I tried six times, Vi. Something’s wrong with me.” 

“No-” 

“He wouldn’t- he wouldn’t stop-” 

“Nick-” 

“He- he said-” Nick shut his eyes, trying and failing to stop the sobs. “He said if I kept trying to- to run- he’d take someone else. He- he said- he told me what he’d do, Violet! He told me exactly what he’d do to each of you!” 

Violet gasped, and Nick started rocking. “He told- he showed- he said- he said he’d pick a sibling and- and- and I’d have to watch, and then he’d kill me. Vi, he was going to kill me…”  

“Nick…” 

“He was going to kill me- kill me, slowly, long enough so- so he knew I knew I was leaving you alone-” 

Violet didn’t know what to say. 

“I know- I know what he- what he wanted- what he and what she… what would happen to you, and to Lilac or Klaus or Soli or Sunny- and- and I want it out!” He slammed his fist onto the wall, not even flinching at the pain. “Vi, I want it out! I want it out of my head!” 

“Nick-” 

“I want it out! What he could’ve done! What he did! What they did! What everyone has done! All this bullshit, I want it gone!” 

Violet reached to hug him, but he backed up some more. “I want it gone… Vi, I can’t… I want to forget. I want it all gone.” He was crying softly now, not looking her in the eye. 

She opened her mouth to speak again, and then stared down at his arms; his sleeves had been pushed up. 

Oh no. “Nick…” she began. 

Nick saw where she was looking and flinched back again, but Violet just leaned forwards, grabbing his forearms. 

“These, um… your skin’s getting pretty red.” she said quietly, trying very hard to remain calm after what she’d heard. “I don’t… I don’t know what itches, but I’d suggest you stop bothering it for a while. You scratch your arms any more and you could cause damage. Maybe break skin if…” 

Nick didn’t say anything. 

Violet bit her lip. “Nick. Does something itch?” 

Slowly, very slowly, he shook his head. 

She ran a hand over her ponytail, and then she said, “Nick, I will be right back, but you have to promise not to lock the door.” 

“I don’t-” 

“I won’t tell anyone, promise. Nothing you just said leaves this room. But leave the door open, and don’t scratch any more.” 

He didn’t look at her directly, as tears still streamed down his face. Slowly, Violet got up, and ran out of the room. 

As soon as she was out of Nick’s sightline, she buried her head in her hands, struggling to remain calm. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Help him now, freak out later. You need to help, Vi. Just keep moving. She shut her eyes tight, took a deep breath, and then started running again. 

It took a moment to navigate the halls of the submarine, but she eventually found the kitchen. She peered in, seeing Sunny shaking a jar of sprinkles. “Sunny-” 

“No come in!” Sunny shouted. “Surprise!” 

“Sorry.” Violet covered her eyes. “Sorry, but… do you know where there are pens or markers? I was going to ask Phil, but- where is he?” 

“Nodnaba,” Sunny said, and Violet heard her sliding from the counter. “He and Widdershins stepped out a moment; they’ll be back soon.” 

“Okay. Well, um, pens? Markers?” 

“Crayola,” Sunny said, which meant, “There’s a whole box of markers right here, for writing labels on cannisters. Can you bring them back when you’re done?” 

“Honestly, I can’t make any promises.” 

“Alzatadispalle,” Sunny said, which meant, “Eh, fine, I don’t care about this submarine much anyway.” 

“Thank you, Sunshine.” Violet said, stepping back and out of the kitchen. 

After a moment, Sunny dropped a box of markers at her feet, and then said, “Surprise later. Go now!” 

“Alright, alright.” Violet nodded, picking up the markers. “See you in a bit.” 

As soon as Sunny closed the kitchen door, though, Violet raced back to the dorms. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the door was still open, and she knocked a little before entering, to let Nick know she was coming in. 

He’d retrieved the pillow and had buried his face against it again. Violet sat beside him, and said, “Hey, can we ditch that for a sec?” 

Nick sighed and tossed the pillow against the wall, glaring over at her. “What?” 

Violet slowly took his arm again, holding it out and trying to ignore the thumping in her chest when she saw the red skin. Then, slowly, she took a marker from the box, and started to draw on his arm. 

“What are you-” 

“Shh.” Violet said. “Hold on a moment.” 

She continued to draw, no set idea on what she was doodling in mind. But she swirled the marker- a light blue color- around her brother’s arm, until there was just a jumble of color. Then, an idea finally coming to her, she took a black marker and drew some squiggles above it, mirroring the shape of their Uncle’s prized snake, the Incredibly Deadly Viper. It felt like a lifetime since they’d seen him. 

“Now, Nick,” she said quietly, finally releasing his arm. He lifted it up, staring at the drawing. “How was that?” 

“Huh?” he sniffled. 

“Did that… help?” 

He glanced down. “It… it kept me… grounded. Yeah.” 

Violet took his hands, squeezing them softly. “When you feel… feel like you want to scratch without an itch, I want you to take these markers and draw where you… where you want to hurt. Do that instead. It should help. And if it doesn’t, I want you to tell me, okay?” 

Nick narrowed his eyes. “I can keep the markers?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I, um. I’m not an artist.” 

“Just draw squiggles. It’s not like we’re submitting it to an art show.” 

A smile flickered briefly across Nick’s face- not for long, but enough that Violet felt relief course through her. 

“Where, um…” he paused, hesitant. “Where’d you get this idea?” 

Violet waited until he met her eyes, and she admitted, “About two years ago, I asked Father why he had pen drawings on his arm.” 

Nick’s eyes widened. “He- Dad?” 

Violet nodded. “And he said if I ever felt this way… well, now you have an outlet that doesn’t involve hurting yourself.” 

Nick bit his lip. “I… I’m sorry-” 

“No. No, it’s not your fault.” Violet said, almost sternly. “None of this is your fault, do you understand?” She waited until he nodded to continue. “Do you want me to keep this to myself? Or do you want me to tell the others?” 

“Just… quiet. Please.” he said. 

“Okay. Just let me know if you change your mind, or if you need anything else.” 

Nick looked up at her, and then he threw himself at her, clutching her very tight. Violet hugged him back, and he whispered, “I love you.” 

“I love you, too, baby bro.” 

She hadn’t called him that since he was four. But she could tell he didn’t mind.

[dukeofriven]

It’s nice to see Hussie confirm what is self-evident on any given re-read of the comic: the extent to which early Homestuck is divorced from late Homestuck in terms of focus, plot, ‘narrative destination’ and so on. From the ramparts of act one, or even act three, you can’t tell where Homestuck is going to end - literally can’t, as it was unknown to author as the audience. This is not a criticism - it’s a function of many long-form stories: rarely do they end exact the way the creator envisioned them. Steven Universe provides an interesting example: eight years on from its original conception, six years on from first airing, it reached its original planned ‘finale’ with images that had been in its creators heads from the first: yet if you’ve ever listened to the show Podcast you’ll discover just how much of the show’s ‘fundamentals’ came from the minds of other people well after the show was underway. None of the big comic heroes have a story you can meaningfully read from ‘beginning to end’: entire iterations of reality are unceremoniously erased from existence which far less care and understanding than a Hussie retcon: the Batman I loved when I got into Batman literally no longer exists. So when I see people ask ‘do you think we’ll finally get to see Rose ‘play the rain?’ my gut instinct is ‘unlikely’. Admittedly we don’t yet know enough about the Epilogue to speak with a lot of certainly: for all I know now john will go back to the GameOver era and find that the key to victory is playing Sburb ‘exactly right’ - but from this vantage point I doubt it. As Rose herself said, the person she became is one for whom the little quest of LOLAR no longer seemed relevant: it was (and remains) John who hasn’t freed himself from April 13 2009, but everyone else has long since moved on. These prophecies are a good reference point for the way Homestuck’s narrative focus simply moved on - or, rather, onwards and upwards. When you’re watching one planet crash into another in a game of cosmic boxing the build cost of a common hammer ceases to have much relevance or bearing. Rose no more bred lilacs out of the dead land than Dave dropped it like its hot - least as anyone can tell - but this has no negative effect on the story. There’s a fairly meticulous list of unresolved Homestuck “plot points” but with apologies most of those have nothing to do with plot. Few rise to the level of trivia, and many seem to try and draw important meaning out of set dressing and symbolism. I call this the ‘LOST effect’ - wherein a character piece is shaken down for ‘answers’ it doesn’t have and never cared about. The ‘puzzles’ the ‘backstory’ the ‘lore’ exists to serve the themes and goals of the characters, not the other way around.  Whose memories does that amusement park that Vriska and Meenah hang out in belong to? Nobody’s. It’s not there in the story to give you insight into the life of Dave “Barnum” Strider of Universe-QBCDE: its function is not narrative. We like to talk about how Hussie always calls back to something - that nothing in the story is ever “wasted” - but that’s categorically untrue and we all know that. Off the top of my head of Things That Ended Up Being Largely Irrelevent To Homestuck From A Plot-Centric Point of View: Rose and Dave’s ‘waiting’ prophecies, Skaianet Labs, Grandpa Harley fucking about Paradox Space in his giant grey battleship (other than ‘pick-up Jade’s dream self’ we still know nothing about what he was doing there or how or why or anything), Feferi’s destiny to unite the Troll sub-races, literally anything to do with the Beforus trolls who weren’t Meenah and Aradia (you could skip the entirety of Openbound and really only improve your Homestuck experience), the fate of FedoraFreak, the Doctor Brinner Fan Theory Spectacular Power Hour (if you don’t remember... don’t learn), Jade Harley, Sollux Captor who is Karkat’s Best Friend apparently and who just kind of... goes away,  and the Alpha’s kids entire planet-based adventures. Please keep in mind that I don’t mean to imply that these things were ephemeral, but their overall-impact is, shall we say, “limited.” You could, for example, note that Jade and Feferi were said to have teamed up in some sense and created the dream bubbles with the horrorterrors and that the dreambubbles had enough of an impact that they lead to the creation of Earth-C and the union of the Troll race - but that all happened off camera, and if you cut half a sentence out of Homestuck a new reader wouldn’t notice its absence: Feferi’s influence on the final outcome, from a viewer standpoint, is non-existent. The story ran for eight years, and things didn’t so much get ‘left behind’ or ‘unresolved’ as ‘shrunk to insignificance.’ It’s like playing Spore: by the time you’re at the space level, cruising around the galaxy and really, desperately trying to convince yourself that you like this game and it’s not the biggest media disappointment of your first eighteen years of life and you will never trust video games again until Mass Effect 3 hurts you like you swore you’d never let another game do and... and... and... sorry, I lost focus there, what were we talking about? Spore, right: by the time you’re at the space level the single-cell organize game is far behind you and out of your thoughts. Homestuck is like that: it just... moved up.

[thealphabetmurders]

Soon To Be

(Previous) (Next) 

Chapter 2: Nothing Breaks Like a Heart

Pairings: Analogical and Royality 

Word Count: 1623 (chapter), 4625 (full)

Summary: Everyone had their vices nowadays. Information and ideas are conveyed too fast and quickly for anyone to stay sane without a little outside help. There are healthier coping mechanisms than others, some more effective than not, and Virgil has tried pretty much them all, and he has more shit to deal with than most. So whilst many found solace in sex, Smirnoff, and santa marta, Virgil was still smoking in 2019.

Triggers: Talk of self doubt, smoking, crying

Authors Note: I am suffering right now so I am going to make my characters suffer as well. If you comment then maybe I will post another chapter later this week, thank you. 

(Read on AO3)

Virgil woke up to sunlight creeping in from his window, peaking out at him through his blinds. Virgil looked at his clock and groaned: 6:04. He slept over 12 hours, and didn’t even get started on his project, which he wanted to have done.

The pain and noises from his stomach were too loud to ignore as he made his way to the kitchen and put come chocolate chip waffles in the toaster. He put in two more in the other burner as well, knowing Patton would be awake in just a couple minutes as well.

He went to brush his teeth and when he came back he saw his roommate putting on a pot of coffee and pulling out two mugs and creamer.

“Well, good morning, sleepy head,” Patton chirped and Virgil smiled back softly, “Everything alright, kiddo? You seemed awfully exhausted last night and I didn’t want to wake you,”

Virgil watched him adjust his glasses while tapping on their kitchen counter for their morning susitiance. He sighed and smoothen out his slightly wrinkled clothes. Patton was a florist for a wedding company, so he consistently dress like a gardener. His bosses did not mind, seeing as he always worked behind the scenes.

Virgil shrugged, pulling out the butter and syrup, “I am fine, just a long day at work yesterday,”

Patton hummed, but didn’t say anything more on the subject.

“Though,” Virgil started, making Patton perk up, “Something interesting did happen with a customer yesterday,”

“Interesting how?”

“Well,” Virgil began to move to the other side of the table, his voice trailing upwards, “He tripped and fell and we had kind of a moment. Apparently he is a night regular, and this was the first time we had met. He is really cute, and I thought we had something going on, maybe because he said he left something for me on the table-”

“Was it his number?” Patton smiled, he couldn’t help but chime in.

“No,” He sighed, discontentedly, “It was just a fact about the risks of smoking and lung health,” Virgil muttered.

There was a beat, and then he heard giggling from the older man across the table. Giggling which turned into squealing, which is not something you would expect from a 27 year old man. Virgil rolled his eyes as Patton began to dance a little (for unknown reasons to Virgil) while he was pouring coffee and plating the waffles.

“That is honestly so cute, Virge!” Patton clapped, sitting down, and Virgil just raised an eyebrow at him.

“Cute how?”  

“Okay, look, how many people do you know that smoke at Hume’s, cigarettes or otherwise?”

Virgil scoffed, “Almost all the kids that work weekends do, and I know our owner does. Also the night manager who relieves Roman is a bigger cigarette smoker than me,”

Patton’s smile grew wider, “This guy is a regular and I am sure he doesn’t put down facts for every server at your workplace. He wrote that just for you. He wants your attention but doesn’t know how!”

Virgil snorted, “Not everything is that convoluted, Pat, I hate to tell ya. People don’t just do dumb stuff like that for someone’s attention?”

“Really?” Patton asked, sass laced in his voice.

“Yea,”

“Well, let me ask you this,” He took a sip of his coffee and set it down on the counter, “You know I know how to use Photoshop, hm?”

“Of course,” Virgil said, “You minored in graphic design in college, that’s how we met,”

“But Roman doesn’t know that,” Patton smirked back at his counterpart, “Any time I have a “problem” or “question”, Roman is always just too happy to offer me pointers and give me advice,”

“And that works?”

Patton giggled, “I learned Photoshop inside and out in 6 weeks, I have been getting Roman to help me for 4 months,”

Virgil rolled his eyes, “Roman is obviously into you, you don’t have to make excuses to be around him,”

Patton slammed his hands on the table, “But why won’t he say that to me!” He whined.

“Not the point, the point is: what do I do?”

Patton shrugged, “Well, I suppose there are two ways you could go about this,” Patton got up with his coffee mug to open the blinds and windows, letting their house plant infested living room to receive light, “For one, you could just have a slow burn romance like Roman and I and just let these napkins pile up until he makes a bold move when he knows your interested,”

Patton set down his coffee and grabbed the watering can and began to water their jungle. Virgil frowned, following Patton around with his head, “That sounds awful,”

“Oh, uh, it is,” Patton sighed, gently caressing the spores on their Aloe Vera plant, “But it is also fun in a way. I feel like my life is a fanfiction,”

“What is the second way?”

Patton giggled, accidentally hitting himself in the face with the leaves off the Kentia palm while watering their cactus, “Just be upfront and honest about your intentions and make this guy feel special. If he isn’t interested, at least you know, right? You don’t deserve to be pining after a guy who may just be really passionate about lung health.” Patton stopped water for a moment and looked at Virgil, gesturing at him with the water can, “Virgil, your lungs may not be right as rain, but your heart's too big and wonderful to be broken. You deserve all the love in the world, you are a smart, and intelligent, and funny guy. Just be totally truthfully and if Mr. Doctor doesn’t want you, you don’t need him.”

“Patton…” Virgil said softly, “That is really astute. But it would never work for me, I cannot just be honest,”

Patton chuckled, moving onto the pink Cordyline, “That is what Emile told me to do about Roman, and I told him it would never work. When has being honest with your feelings ever been beneficial?” Patton spoke with a tone too cheery for the topic of the situation being discussed.

“Pat…” Virgil said slowly, “Remember, you have to tell me things…”

He sighed, putting down the water can. Patton moved over to the windows and looked out the tall glass, their small 2 bedroom apartment looked over their town quiet nicely. At first, Patton looked as happy and as youthful as ever, the sunlight dancing over his honey colored curls and freckles dotting his face like seeing stars in the morning sky. However, his expression then turned more solemn, more grim. Not quite melancholy yet, but the bittersweetness was sure to taste like lemon juice on your tongue. He fiddled with the front pocket of his baby blue overalls and pushed up his round glasses.

“I dunno Virgey,” He started, still looking out the window, “Does Roman not like me like I like him? It is fun; the flirting and the blushing and all that but,” He looked down at his shoes, “I dunno. Maybe… I am just something to keep Roman entertained for a while until he finds someone… Better,”

If it weren’t for the fan whirring in the living room and the traffic noises from outside, one may have been able to hear Virgil’s heart quietly fall to the floor and shatter. “Patton… You can’t really think that, can you?”

He laughed bitterly, finally being able to look at Virgil, tears welling up in Patton’s eyes, “Can’t I?”

“Look, Patton,” Virgil started, “I gotta tell you, Roman is absolutely smitten with you. I cannot tell you what he says about you half the time. I actually can’t, because he says them in Spanish!” This made Patton giggle and Virgil moved off his stool and held his hands in the other’s, “Look, I know Roman a bit better than you. He likes to be all Mr. Confident, but I am sure he is just as nervous as you are, waiting for when you’re going to make a move. I know you love him, but he is an idiot,”

Patton sniffled a bit, not making Virgil gaze. Virgil frowned and tilted Patton chin to meet his eyes level, “Hey, c’mon now. Whatever you are feeling right now is valid, I get it, you know I do, but tears are not worth it over baseless speculation,” He rubbed slightly at the circles under Patton’s eyes where the tears started to fall, “Call him, text him, invite him to dinner, whatever. I can guarantee you he will say yes,”

“What if he doesn’t?”

Virgil sighed, “Well, if that happens, I’ll just have to kill him over it,” Virgil said, matter-of-factly, dropping his hands to his side.

Patton frowned, a ghost of a smile present on his face, “Roman looks like he has 3% body fat and also has 6 inches on you. He would beat you up in a fight,”

“Not if I brought a knife,” Virgil cracking a smile, eyes widened at the last emphasis. Whatever weird face he pulled, it must’ve worked, because Patton started laughing and smiling once again, “Nice, there’s that smile,”

Patton giggled once more and Virgil held out his arms slightly, which Patton gladly took into (Virgil not normally one of doling out hugs). The shorter man melted into Virgil chest a bit. Patton was 6 inches shorter than Virgil, which made him a foot shorter than Roman. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that, it was almost too adorable.

Virgil pulled away from the other, gripping him by the shoulders, “C’mon Pop-Star, you got this,” He smiled. Patton nodded back at him and Virgil pulled in for another hug, hoping to mend Patton’s broken heart.

[thewildwaffle]

Abduction - Chapter 10

I know these chapters aren’t as long as I’d like them to be, but I do try to get them out in some decent time frame! Thank you to everyone who has left feedback or comments in previous chapters! The next few chapters are going to be a lot of fun! - Fun for me to write, not so much fun for my characters... oops.

Chapter 1      Previous Chapter      Next Chapter

***

“It started out as a normal day. Hot. A little muggy, which was nice. Found another oogin creeper crawling around outside my sleeping bunk. Mean little things, but hey, made for a quick morning meal. Flargin’ thing nearly stung me before I got it down. Another day in paradise, I guess.

“But anyway, as I was saying, day seven hundred forty-one started out quite unremarkably regular. Then I saw the lights in the sky. I’d noticed them some time ago, as stated in previous entries, but they never really moved much, they were just… there. Until early this morning. Their movements were strange though, hard to make out. I knew it had to be something very high up in the atmosphere to look that distorted. Then stuff started falling, and I realized whatever was moving up there was from far beyond the planet’s atmosphere. From what I was able to salvage from the first three crash sites, it looks like the Galactic Confederation’s not having a very good time.”

The remainder of the recording was filled up with a mix of chuckling and clicking, which was replaced near the end with heavy, labored breathing. The bug-like alien scuttled down the steep incline, slipping the recording device into a pack on its back which had been growing heavier and heavier with each visit to a crash site.

Most of the debris burned or broke up in the atmosphere, completely disintegrating long before it reached the surface. A few things, bits of fighter clippers, chunks of engine frames, etc. but without a doubt, the prized find so far had been the ion core, still in its casing mind you! It was worse for wear, sure, but with a little bit of touch up and care… well. Who knows?

Maybe I’ll finally be able to get off this blast-drub rock.

In any case, the ion core had earned a very special spot in the pack - safe and secure as its new owner scurried quickly down the steep ravine towards the newest site.

Large foliage hung over the path, attempting to block the way, but it was quickly cut down by thin but sharp insect-like forearms. This new site was going to be good - it didn’t look like it had broken apart like the others - whatever had crashed could still be in good condition indeed!

The trail, if one could call it a trail- more of a route that run-off water takes after rain, became very steep and rocky. Scuttling legs were soon struggling to find purchase and were slipping and sliding. It became less of a hike down the slope and more of a fall-while-you-reach-from-tree-to-tree-to-break-said-fall down the slope. This was going to be a miserable hike back up to camp later.

It had better be worth it.

***

It seemed normal out here. Hot. A little muggy, which was awful. But it was breathable. Oh! It was breathable. Thank goodness.

“Okay, you were right about the atmosphere, but I’m still ticked and you’re still an idiot.” Wenona had been very hesitant about leaving the pod. This was an alien world, afterall! Who knows what kind of hell was waiting out there. They knew very little about it other than what they could see out the port window and what they could make heads or tails of from the pod’s readouts. Jeb had said it was habitable, and it sure looked that way - there was a lot of vegetation out there. The thing was, this was an alien planet, not Earth. Who’s to say these plants weren’t pumping out cyanide or some weird gas instead of oxygen?

Mike had gone off on how it had to be oxygen - because of how the sky looked, because of a reading on the console (a reading which was still in an alien language, which she had pointed out), and a bunch of other reasons. He had made some good points, but this was their lives on the line here, and his argument had a lot of assumptions sprinkled through it.

What’s more, Jebannuck still hadn’t woken up. They’d unfastened him after landing and laid him on the floor so he’d be more comfortable. Wenona had found some basic first aid supplies in one of the storage bays above the harnesses and had been able to clean and bandage him up. He was bleeding from his head injury - dark, gray/purpley blood was already starting to dry on his face. It didn’t look as bad once she cleaned him up. Head injuries were like that. She was mostly worried about any concussion when he hit, and also his shoulder, which looked like it’d been cut open in the explosion. The wound stretched around the top of his left arm, over his shoulder and around and down his back. They cleaned it up the best they could and tried to position him in a way that he would be comfortable.

Wenona insisted that they wait until Jeb was feeling better before they went out. Or at least wait until he woke up.

Yeah, that worked out well.

Thankfully, the captain had indeed sent them to a habitable planet. Or at least, the atmosphere didn’t immediately kill them. Still, that didn’t make Mike’s smug grin any less annoying.

“See, I told you.” somehow Mikes stupid smile got even bigger as he spun in the small clearing they had landed in. “Totally safe. They wouldn’t have sent us down here if the planet was dangerous.” “You mean more dangerous than the freakin’ war zone they sent us out of? Kind of hard to top that, Mike.”

Mike’s grin morphed into a frown as Wenona’s tone seemed to finally reach him. He folded his arms across his chest and furrowed his eyebrows, “Yeah? And who knows how long that’s going to last up there? We don’t know how long we’ll be here - we would have had to have left the pod eventually. We need to figure out where we are and what resources are nearby.”

That was a good point. Which was even more infuriating.

“Eventually. We would have had to have left the pod eventually. That doesn’t mean ‘Hey Mike, how about five minutes after we land, you jump out and put us all in danger from who knows what could be lurking around on a lousy alien planet!’”

Mike spread his arms to gesture at the clearing around them, “Maybe not, but look around. We’re fine, aren’t we?” “You didn’t know that before! You just act, you always just act without thinking! Whatever impulse flashes into your mind, you just go!”

“If I remember, me doing just that is one of the reasons we’re still alive - you’ve never had an issue with that before!”

“This is different - we weren’t fighting for our lives,” Wenona’s voice rang through the clearing, echoing back slightly. “There’s a time and a place, and you need to grow up and figure that out!”

Mike uncrossed his arms and took a step back. “Grow up? I should grow up?” He looked like he’d been slapped in the face. After a moment, he opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again, tightly. Instead, he turned around and began walking toward the other end of the clearing.

“Where are you going?” Wenona yelled after him.

“Like I said,” he hollered back gruffly, “we need to find out what resources are nearby.”

He disappeared amongst the bright greens, yellows and purples of the trees. Wenona watched him go, still fuming. She stomped a few steps back to the pod door. There was a rounded object on the ground nearby, it looked like it must be made of a chunk of rotting wood. It was a weird shape to just find lying around, but it looked like it make for a good thing to kick. She really needed to kick something.

She took a lunge at it, wound up her leg, and… it exploded into a puff of spores. Poof! Her foot continued through where it had been, the momentum from her kick causing her to lose her balance and she fell in the now-settling cloud of spores and dust. She lay there for a moment before she covering her face with her hands to help muffle a scream.

Once getting that out of her system, she slammed her fists on the ground on either side of her. Her right hand landed in a growing pile of the spores. A sharp pain shot through her hand and up her arm. With a swear, she rolled over and scrambled to her feet. After pulling down her sleeve, she was able to cover up her hand as she squeezed - the pressure seemed to help alleviate the pain a little bit. Stupid alien tree ball!

“I freakin’ hate space, I hate this planet, I hate this forest, I wanna go home,” she muttered to herself over and over like an angry mantra as she walked back towards the pod. She hoped there was something in the first aid kits that would help.

***

“Well. Alright then. This is odd.” The object that had fallen from the sky had indeed been whole and intact. That what had been hoped for, and that’s where the expectations ended.

Upon arrival, it was apparent that this particular find could go two ways. One, the pod was empty, it had maybe been deployed accidentally in the madness, or perhaps had been blown loose under heavy fire. Two, the pod had someone aboard, or multiple someones, and were, no doubt, scanning the area. If it was option two, her current hiding spot would be discovered in a matter of time. Stay or go?

It was a risk, but after the long hike down she wasn’t about to give up and leave so easily.

“Wait it out. Wait it out”,” she whispered under her breath, fidgeting with a short makeshift blade that had been pulled out of the pack upon arrival.

To her extreme surprise, the pod opened after a short while and a strange, bipedal alien walked out. It appeared to be wearing a Galactic Confederation uniform. Another one followed it soon after. This one was slightly smaller and the fur on top of its head was longer and darker. They appeared to be of the same species, but it was a species that she was unfamiliar with. They were… oddly cute? They had no tails, no wings, and yet there they stood, there they walked around on only two straight legs. Their mouths? Well, what she thought they were their mouths were long and wide across the front of their heads. One, the second alien, opened its “mouth.” Large white teeth could be seen as it started making a variety of humming and chirping sounds. It was speaking to the other alien.

Whatever language they were speaking to each other in was apparently not included in her translator chip’s software. However, she didn’t need to know what they were saying to know the tone of the conversation.

From looks alone, she hadn’t expected that such creatures could get so loud. Or look so angry while being so loud. Between their soft looking skin and roundish faces, their anger almost seemed amusing, like an angry pet glahrkut. They didn’t appear to have any natural weapons or defenses, but all the same, there was something about them that made her feel glad to be hidden away in the trees. Something… she couldn’t quite put her antenna on why.

Ponderings were cut short as the first alien turned and started stomping towards her. She glanced up at the trees around her. Krag, too tall, and while carrying the loaded pack, there was no way she’d make it up there without being seen. If she made it at all.

“I’ll be fine,” she thought, “if I don’t move, it can’t see me with all the surrounding foliage. Unless it walks right into me. In which case,” she slowly pulled out the makeshift blade from the pack again, “this thing’s gonna learn real quick to not cross a montauk.”

Previous Chapter      Next Chapter

[illogicalbroccoli]

Not OK

Content Warnings:  Discussion of PTSD

Pairings:  None, really

Summary: Tilly is there for everyone.  Who is there for her?

AO3 Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/16964904

According to her mother, Sylvia Tilly had a character flaw. Actually, according to her mother, she had many character flaws, ranging from talking too much to choosing to spend her life fiddling with warp coils and matter converters in the depths of empty space. Tilly’s mother had sometimes even implied that Tilly’s allergies must stem from some hidden moral defect, worming its way to the surface as a bronchio-nasal reaction to artificial fibres. But among these flaws was the one that Tilly was thinking about now: Tilly couldn’t pass by anyone who looked sad. 

It had started young. One of Tilly’s earliest memories was of herself at age four, walking to ballet lessons with her mother. As they walked, they passed the outdoor tables of a small cafe, where a man sat by himself, reading a PADD with a pained expression. Tilly had stopped, letting her mother march ahead, tapped the man on the knee and asked what was wrong, and if he wanted to hear a joke that would make him smile. She hadn’t had a chance to tell it – her mother, finally noticing that she was alone, had run back and snatched Tilly up, telling her NEVER to talk to strangers like that again.

The lesson didn’t take. At school, Tilly had always been the student who took it on herself to welcome the new kids, showing them where the bathrooms were, which the best swing was, where the biggest puddles formed when it rained. When she saw a kid crying, she would usually rush up to hug them and tell them it was OK. That was how she made her first real friend in school. It was also how she got punched for the first time. From kindergarten onward, her school reports gushed about her empathy, her compassion, her sunny disposition. Her mother would read these outpourings with a tight mouth, and mutter about how her daughter would turn into a pushover.

Tilly knew she was not a pushover. Right now, though, she had to admit that, perhaps, a compulsion to comfort the sad could have its downsides. Not that Tilly had any desire to stop comforting people, but perhaps it would be nice if there weren’t quite as many people to comfort at once. First and foremost, of course, there was Michael. These days, Tilly spent at least one evening in three lying with her arms around Michael, feeling the waves of silent sobs move through her body. As a child, Michael said, she could only remember crying a couple of times. She seemed to be making up for it now.

Then there was Paul. Tilly had known Paul as a sarcastic, persnickety, perfectionist, always ready with a cutting remark; she had known him as a singing, dancing, obsessively joke-making goofball, hopped up on mycelial spores and tardigrade DNA. Nowadays, she was getting to know silent Stamets. In Engineering, Paul worked obsessively, eyes fixed on his screen, speaking only to ask Tilly to check readings or make calculations. She had sat with him at lunch a couple of times. Paul had eaten mostly silently too; Tilly’s attempts to start conversation had been met by shrugs and one-word answers. She dearly wanted to tell him he could talk to her about Hugh, that sharing would help, that it was OK to feel whatever he was feeling. She didn’t dare, though, and not just because he was her boss. He seemed brittle somehow, like too strong a shock might shatter him like a porcelain cup. So she said nothing.

And what about Captain Saru? Or rather Acting Captain Saru, as he insisted on reminding her. Not that she could ever ask Saru about his feelings, but she had served with the Kelpien long enough that she thought she could read him. She could see that Saru was not happy. As the first Kelpien in Starfleet, Saru bore so much. In popular imagination, Kelpiens were a species of cowards, who would turn tail and run at the first sight of danger. Even after everything he had done, Tilly knew that Saru still felt the weight of that stereotype. He had led the Discovery out of a hopeless situation, had held true to the ideals of Starfleet when Starfleet itself had abandoned them, and still, she knew, there were many who expected him to fail. True, they had given him a medal, but they had not given him Discovery. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be back taking orders from someone else; the admiralty was, apparently, not ready to put a cowardly Kelpien in charge of a starship.

And those were only the people she saw regularly. She had lost count of the one-offs, the random people she encountered in the cafeteria, in the recreation room, in the corridors. Like the crewmember she had found sobbing against a bulkhead, whose sister had been on the Buran when Lorca blew it up; the nurse whose hand shook when he tried to take Tilly’s blood during a checkup, and who had explained that he hadn’t slept in three days because whenever he slept he dreamed of Klingons ambushing him with bat’leths and knives… And so many more. Discovery had been, almost literally, to hell and back, and everyone bore scars. Of course, there were psych-trained medics in sickbay. Two of them - for a crew of 130. So Tilly picked up the slack. She listened. She hugged, when people wanted it. Sometimes she gave advice, or just made silly jokes to distract them, for a few minutes, from their pain.

If you had asked Tilly how she was taking it, she’d have said she was fine. That helping people was her thing. That feelings were good, no matter what they were. That making other people happy made her happy too. All of that was true. But, she was starting to have to admit to herself, she wasn’t fine.

The realization had come very suddenly. She had been on the bridge, at her station, doing routine engine diagnostics. Saru had asked her for some statistic, she couldn’t even remember, and she had pulled up the entry and read it out. Saru made one of his clicking noises, and said “Ensign, I do not believe that can be correct.” Tilly had looked, and saw he was right, she had pulled up entirely the wrong menu. And then it hit. Her stomach felt like it had just fallen down a turbolift shaft, her face got terribly hot, and she knew that she was about to cry. Sylvia Tilly’s crying was like everything else she did: it was not subtle. She bit her lip, tried breathing slowly through her nose, counting to twenty, all the other things they had taught her when she was small. It was not going to work.

“Captain Saru?” she said, working hard to keep the waver out of her voice. “Request permission to return to quarters. I’m- I’m unwell.”

Saru tilted his head, and for a moment fixed his pale blue eyes on her.

Please please please please say yes. Please don’t let me start bawling on the bridge.

“Very well, Ensign. Do you need to report to sickbay?”

“No, it’s- no I’ll be fine,” Tilly said.

She walked to the lift doors, step after careful step. She managed to hold it together just until the doors closed.

* * *

The next day found Tilly eating lunch alone. Michael, Paul and Saru were in the ready room, in some sort of holo-meeting with Admiral Terral. Normally, Tilly would have gone and sat with the bridge crew, but after yesterday’s incident, she wasn’t sure she trusted herself around them. So she sat alone, eating her macaroni and cheese, and stared idly out at the ripples and flashes of the warp slipstream.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

Tilly started, banging her knee on the tabletop. Lieutenant Detmer stood by her table, a laden tray in her hands.

Tilly hadn’t talked much to Detmer. If she was honest, she had sort of been avoiding her. Not because of her implants, Tilly would have hastened to add. True, when she first joined Discovery , Tilly had been slightly taken aback by Detmer’s one cold blue eye, by the forking trail of metal along her scalp. But that had faded quickly; now Detmer was just Detmer, and her implants were just another part of her, like her hair or her smile. No, Tilly avoided Detmer because she was tall, slim, and straight-haired; because she didn’t talk much, kept her feelings in check, and projected an air of professionalism at all times. (Almost all times, Tilly corrected, remembering that party all those months ago). Basically, Detmer was everything that Tilly’s mother wished Tilly were. Tilly knew that that was a stupid reason to be nervous of someone, that Detmer seemed perfectly nice, that she was being stupid for letting her mother get in her way like this. Nonetheless, Tilly avoided Detmer.

She realized that she had kept Detmer waiting quite a time while she thought, and said, “Oh, um, yes, of course, sure. I was just- I mean, if you want to. Of course you want to, because you asked, um, yeah.”

SHUT UP SYLVIA , Tilly thought.

“Thanks,” Detmer said, smiled, and sat.

They ate in silence for a moment.

“It’s been quite the year, hasn’t it?” Detmer said.

Tilly drew in a breath. She wanted to shout not now! Come back tomorrow, next week, I’ll totally listen to you. But just not today! But she didn’t. Instead she said,

“Did you want to talk about something?”

Detmer held Tilly’s gaze for a moment.

“Actually,” she said, “I was wondering if you did.”

Tilly blinked.

“You left the bridge pretty fast yesterday,” Detmer said. “I wanted to make sure you were OK.”

Tilly opened her mouth. Then she closed it.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m OK.”

Detmer took a sip of water.

“Really?”

“No,” Tilly said. “I guess I’m not.”

Detmer smiled.

“I have forty-five minutes until my next shift. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

Tilly took a deep breath.

“OK,” she said.

And she did.

[galactichxpe]

day in, day out ❦ jjk, jhs, myg [last of us au]

◜ 　　　　　 ◝ characters » jungkook, hoseok & yoongi (main pov is jungkook)

genre » the last of us au. zombie apocalypse & a little angst

word count » 1,624

warnings » strong language, light gore

a/n » inspired by the game "the last of us." what is the last of us? the last of us is an action-adventure survival horror video game. in which the world is overthrown by infected (of different species such as infected, bloaters and clickers.)

its basically a zombie apocalyptic game with the best storyline and amazing graphics. it's my favourite video game. anyway-

enjoy !

◟ 　　　　　 ◞

he had woken up in the silence of his room. the light from the moon casting upon him causing his face to contort, rubbing his tired eyes. a hand of the clock on the wall had just ticked to 2, 2 in the morning.

he came out from under the covers, placing his feet on the floor before switching on the lamp on the bedside table. the warm light illuminating the room as he stood on wobbly legs, still feeling drowsy from waking up suddenly.

making an advance toward his door, he took a couple steps before his cellphone rang, startling him momentarily but he still picked up the vibrating device. clearing out his groggy 'morning' voice as he read the caller id.

'mom'

he answered the call without a second thought, putting the phone to his ear. "hey? it's late-"

"jungkook! thank god you picked up, i was so worried, i- your father didn't answer any of my calls or texts- is he there? i need you to put him on the phone somethings-" her rushed, shaky rambling was cut short when the line went dead, the ground shaking slightly simultaneously; jungkook gasping quietly in shock.

"mom? mom?!"

he called into the receiver and got no reply. his nerves were shaking along with his heart that was beating two times faster than before. he tossed his phone onto the bed before rushing out of his room. met with the darkness of the hallway.

"dad?!"

his steps were heavy as he jogged through the corridor, in search of his father who apparently hadn't been answering his wife's calls. "dad?" his voice grew softer as he entered the kitchen. his eyes caught sight of a yellow sticky note placed on the marble countertop, it read

"working late, be home tomorrow. feel free to raid my snack pantry :)" jungkook sighed. the sigh was of somewhat anxiousness; didn't explained why he wasn't answering any calls. he placed the note back as red lights and sirens blared past a window in the living room. and just as he was about to walk into the living room, something slammed into the glass door leading to the backyard behind him. spinning on his heel in an instant only for a gasp to leave his lips; eyes widening as his jaw went slack.

"dad?"

there his dad was. bloodied and battered, his guts threatening to pour out of him as he slammed his body against the glass again. and again, and again. jungkooks first initial thoughts surprisingly weren't to help him, but to run away. his instincts were kicking in; a gut feeling telling him that his dad was going to hurt him. his fathers actions progressively became more violent. letting out inhuman shrieks and guttural noises that made jungkook uneasy, practically terrified of what happened to his father... and what his father was going to do to him.

the glass shattered and jungkook bolted for a his fathers desk; pulling open the drawer. clasping the metal of the gun firmly in his hand before turning around. his father was heaving on the ground, bones crunching as he sloppily stood back up from the blood and glass shards surrounding his feet.

"dad?"

he groaned in response, his bleeding eyes seeming to need time to focus as they soon landed on jungkook who was in the other room, gun clutched in both hands.

"d-dad? what're you doing? are you... are you o-okay?" jungkook knew damn well his father was far from okay. he was no where near okay yet he wanted to see if his father responded rather than groaning more. the man who raised jungkook. the man who taught jungkook everything he knows. the man who loved his son unconditionally... then screamed, running toward jungkook in a harsh-violent manner.

"dad!"

he hesitated for split second. and in that split second... he saw for the last time, what little life his father had left in his eyes; before squeezing the trigger.

[ten years later]

his shirt stuck to him like a glove as he treaded through the crumbled streets of boston. the rain coming down heavily as he adjusted the weight of the backpack on his shoulders. the others were following close behind, looking as much of a mess as jungkook; mud smothering their boots and water dripping down their noses. and by 'the others', that's means the two men jungkook had met five years ago when he was scavenging an abandoned neighbourhood; that happened to not be as abandoned as he thought it was.

hoseok and yoongi; his two best friends that started as companions, which turned into acquaintances, then blossomed into trust. he could count on them, feel safe around them. they were his best friends after all.

"hey. why don't we hold up somewhere? we can stay in one of these buildings until the storm passes." hoseok practically yelled over the claps of thunder, water running down the sides of his face as he gestured to the tall, slanted buildings that had moss covering parts of the exterior, rubbled rooftops and foggy windows.

"sounds good." the two others agreed and they proceeded to climb into a hole in the side of a promising looking building. the least damaged one that is. they soon found themselves in a dark, messy corridor of an apartment building. their flashlights being of use as they cautiously walked through the halls of the creaking building. trash suddenly crumpled beneath yoongi's foot; quite loudly. withdrawing his boot thinking it didn't draw much attention; only to hear an echoed guttural cry at the end of the hallway.

a body staggered into view. fresh blood dripping from its chin as it jerked its neck suddenly, catching view of the three men watching it closely. "is it just one?"

"i think."

"it better be." jungkook muttered as he already had a rusty long pipe in hand. approaching the infected who began running at jungkook the moment he advanced toward it. he was quick to react, swinging his weapon at the shrieking man's leg. toppling forward having no time to pounce up at jungkook before he began to violently smash the infecteds head in with the pipe. crushing it's rotting brain and shattering its disgusting skull.

"alright. now that it's dead. let's find a place to crash for the night." jungkook spoke with heavy breaths as he dropped the pipe to the ground; having no more use for it. jungkook was about to return to his friends who nodded in agreement; already opening a door. when a group of infected suddenly burst through another entrance at the end of the hall to his left. he estimated ten as they started to sprint toward him, screaming. without a doubt drawing more attention to the three men.

"shit, run!"

the three boys could have easily taken out ten. but what made jungkook loose confidence was the large bloater; stomping toward him, throwing a chunk of its flesh at jungkook but missed as the man dashed down the hall. spores bursting from the bomb-like piece of flesh. it's yell was loud and rumbled through the building. it's steps shook the ground as it followed the three men closely; it's height helping it move faster with its long strides despite being large in size.

"fuck, fuck, fuck!" yoongi shouted as he took a few pot shots at the infected and bloater. managing to take a small infected down before catching up with the two others.

"this way! this way!" hoseok ordered, busting through a door waiting for jungkook and yoongi to enter before pushing a large cabinet over; barricading the door. presumably the bloater crashed against it, shaking and shifting the cabinet out of place slightly before ramming against the door again.

"that's not gonna hold." jungkook stated the obvious before everyone's eyes searched around the room; in dire need of an escape route, and fast.

"uhh.. oh! here! jungkook, give me your knife." yoongi hurriedly flipped a couch over from adrenaline. revealing a decently large sized vent, capable of allowing the three men to crawl through. he pried the vent open in record time with the blade. throwing the grate elsewhere before standing up, gesturing for the two others to lead the way. "go! go!"

they wasted no time in getting on their knees, crawling through speedily as they heard the door hinges snap. yoongi watched as the bloaters arm shoved through the crack of the door; the cabinet thankfully holding in place long enough for yoongi to crawl through the open space. but before he followed the other two he placed a fallen painting in front of the hole; hopefully hiding it enough so the infected wouldn't crawl through as well.

attempting and successfully surviving the night in the ventilation system.

┆        ┊        ┆        ┆       ┊       ┊

the three men did everything humanly possible to survive just one more day. scavenging, thieving, killing, lying... they did whatever they could if it meant they'd live to see the sun rise and fall again. half of the threat wasn't just the infected; but the people as well. all the good people died in the beginning. and all the dangerous ones lived. the good people jungkook lost... were his father, his mother, his brother, park jimin...

and himself.

he was once your typical, reckless teenager. and he grew up a killer. a dangerous man who didn't take chances... he no longer loved. no longer smiled. and no matter how many times hoseok and yoongi tried... he never laughed; not even a chuckle.

jungkook had let the world ruin him. shape him. he was gone. jungkook had died the moment he killed his father all those years ago.

now it was just day in... and day out.