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kettlefire · 5 months

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Broken Promises

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad kept trying to remind himself of that. It wasn't their fault when the prototype malfunctioned. When Vlad was curled on the floor of the lab. When screams tried to force their way out of his throat, but all he could muster was muffled choked cries. When it felt like someone had tazed him while also throwing acid on his face.

The pain had been unbearable. He couldn't focus. The voices were barely a haze in the background. Vlad knew something was wrong. So horrible wrong. He just didn't realize just how wrong it all went.

He didn't realize it when he was being wheeled out of the building. Bodies and people moving around him. Vlad could barely see anything. Cooled products were being placed all over his face, blocking out most of his vision. The coolness of the items only seemed to make Vlad's skin burn more, the feeling sinking down to his bones.

But Vlad had seen them. The two of them, just as the ambulance doors closed. Jack Fenton and Madeline Walker. The two held each other, tears streaking their faces.

But that's not what Vlad focused on.

No. What got him was the look of unfiltered horror and disgust. A look aimed at him. At whatever that portal had done to his face. A look that cut so deep that Vlad had felt something crack inside him. The last thing he saw before everything went black.

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad reminded himself after he had woken up alone in a hospital room. Nurses and doctors fussed over him, trying to tell him what was going on. Words that went in one ear and out the other ear.

Everything hurt. Every single atom in his body felt like they were boiled, burning until nothing but ash would be left behind. The medication didn't do anything.

They had to limit him, and he understood. They couldn't risk him overdosing, but it was hard not to cry and beg for more when the relief only lasted a few hours... A few hours that quickly turned to minutes.

After the fourth day, Vlad gave up on hoping. Gave up looking up every time the door to his room opened. He was at a high risk of infection, a burn unit for a burn the hospital had never seen before.

Then it happened. Vlad woke up from another fitful, short, painful sleep to voices. Gentle hands holding his through PPE. He barely believed it when his eyes landed on Jack Fenton.

Maddie hadn't come. Jack made a hundred and one excuses why she couldn't. But Vlad knew why. She was disgusted with him. She probably saw him as broken, tainted with how much ectoplasm had hit him.

Jack had been nothing but apologetic and gentle. His usual clumsiness and heavy hands seemed to vanish. Jack had doted over Vlad for three months.

When the burns healed but turned into infectious acne. Something Jack coined as "Ecto-acne". Jack swore up and down that he'd find a way to cure it. That him and Maddie were working on something, something to fix things.

To return it all back to normal.

Long evenings of Jack's visits helped Vlad. Helped him feel less horrible about how he looked or how he felt. The pain was still there, but seeing his friend's smile and attempts to make him laugh seemed to make it all bearable.

Then, one day, Jack didn't show up. Vlad tried to remind himself that the man had other duties in life. Jack had classes still, and it's already been three months. He couldn't expect Jack to throw his life away just because Vlad's life was on a pause.

When one day turns to a week, then to a month, then to five months... Vlad couldn't keep lying to himself. He had been abandoned. Abandoned completely by the people he thought would always have his back.

The pain seemed to just get worse once Vlad fell into the solitude. Even the nurses and doctors couldn't seem to stand being around him once the bandages were removed.

Vlad felt like he was dying. His body was a nerve ending current of pain. He'd have episodes of not being able to breathe. He'd constantly have cardiac episodes, code blues, crash carts, the whole nine yards.

The doctors didn't know what to make up of it. New teams, new faces, new opinions. Yet Vlad wasn't getting better. He was only getting worse.

As a year passed, and then two, Vlad lost hope complete. He resigned himself to a short future of pain, a hospital bed, and a lonely death. The tears dried up by the third year.

By the fourth year, Vlad stopped talking. He remained curled in his hospital bed. Barely eating, being fed through an NG Tube. Psychiatrist tried to talk to him, but Vlad refused. He completely shut down.

The only noises that ever left him were his choked sounds of pain, when he was choking for air, or when his heart decided to stop beating right.

By the fifth year, Vlad couldn't remember much. He had flashes of memories. Of lashing out to the hospital staff. He was constantly restrained to his bed. He was an angry shell of his former self.

By the sixth year, it was a repeat of the fourth year. Vlad couldn't feel anything else but pain. He found himself starting to hate Jack and Maddie. Hate that it was their prototype that did this. Hate that they had abandoned him when he needed them most. It was getting harder for Vlad not to blame them.

It wasn't their fault.

The seventh year was when things changed. Vlad had been resigned to the NG Tube, having to take oxygen in through a breathing tube as well. His body was barely functioning at this point, barely keeping his heart beating.

Vlad felt something change as he saw how it affected the staff. The ones that were there since day one. The ones that had tried to hold out hope, even Vlad had given up.

He saw it in their eyes. The second-hand pain they felt watching him wither away into nothing. Even as they smiled at him, they checked in on him. The pain was always there, always lingering.

Vlad hadn't realized anyone cared if he survived until the last few moments. When his breathing was nothing but raspy harsh inhales. When the beeping in the monitors started to slow.

Then he died.

Vlad was certain he died. He felt it, his body finally giving under the years of pain and loneliness. He remembers taking his last breath, feeling his body start to shut down, and his vision fading to black.

There was no big bright light, no flash of his life before his eyes. Vlad had just faded. He heard the monitor flatline and heard the people rushing into his room. Heard one of the nurses asking him to stay with them. In the moment, Vlad realized he should have signed a DNR. That was his last thought before he passed.

It wasn't their fault.

It was unexpected when Vlad suddenly felt his eyes snap open, his chest heaving with a deep full breath. A breath he hadn't been able to take for years now. He heard the shocked cries around him, something clattering to the floor.

Vlad's eyes were wide, breathing growing labored in shocked panic. He could feel his heart. His heart was beating strong and heavy in his chest. He hadn't felt that in so long.

Then there was the aftermath. Doctors scrabbling for any scientific reasoning for Vlad's sudden turn around.

His Ecto-acne had completely gone away within the first week. His organs had started to slowly get better, functioning as they should. The only crazy split second recoveries had been Vlad's heart and lungs.

There was another year of PT, of tests, and studies. Vlad made a full recovery, at least physically. The staff started to call it a miracle after the first few months. When it was cemented that Vlad wasn't going to suddenly decline, he was free to go.

And Vlad did. He spent eight long years in that hospital, eight long years alone and forgotten.

It didn't take him long to track down Maddie and Jack. They never separated in the time he had been abandoned. Vlad found a small town called Amity Park, the place where his friends had settled down.

His friends had moved on with their lives. They had gotten married and had a beautiful little girl. She reminded Vlad so much of Maddie with her spitfire personality. Even at just the young age of four years old.

Then there was the boy. Just a small young thing at only two years old. He seemed to have his father's clumsiness.

It was then. When Vlad was watching the happy family of four at the park, hidden away in the shadows. As he watched how happy they all looked. How happy Jack and Maddie looked without him.

Vlad had shed his first tears in years.

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad reminded himself over and over again. It wasn't their fault when he had his first accident. Almost a decade in a hospital, no friends or family, Vlad had quickly realized he truly had nothing.

He had no money. No support. No anything.

Vlad had struggled all on his own, barely keeping things afloat. Barely scraping by. Barely finding a place to sleep. It was hard, and Vlad had only found himself falling back into shutting down.

And then he phased through his bed.

After waking up in a muffled cry from a nightmare. A horrible twisted recounting of the accident. Vlad suddenly found himself in the room beneath him.

Thankfully, it was empty, but it left Vlad with a whole new problem. It took months of deep personal testing and trials. Of learning about all his new abilities. Finding out about what he was exactly.

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad reminded himself as he learned the truth about his recovery. Learned that he was now essentially half ectoplasm. Half ghost. Half dead.

Abilities seemed to pop up out of nowhere. First, there was the phasing, then the invisibility, then the flying, and the next thing Vlad knew he had fire abilities too.

Things finally turned around for Vlad. After sulking for months, turning to alcohol and drugs. Alcohol and drugs that only lasted for a few moments at a time before fading from his system.

Sure, Vlad turned to a life of crime. But he changed things. He stopped letting the actions of Jack and Maddie run his life. He became a millionaire over the course a few weeks. Then he became a billionaire.

The world was watching him. And for once, it wasn't as a medical mystery. Vlad felt on top of the world. He completed the work he had strive to do in college. He built his own portal, and it worked.

Years few as Vlad learned more. Learned everything he could about the Ghost Zone. As he established power and control over many of the ghosts. As they all learned just what a halfa was.

Dalv. Co become a national success. Vlad had stolen his money, but he had earned to keep it. Working his hardest to make a name for himself, to final be someone. Instead of just in the shadows.

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad reminded himself when he received the email asking him to host the twenty year class reunion. He reminded himself when he reacted out to Jack and Maddie, inviting them to stay with him for the reunion.

Even behind the hidden anger and pain. Vlad missed his two friends, his two best friends. If he could just get an apology, then maybe. Maybe Vlad could finally let things rest.

Except it hadn't happened. Vlad found himself feeling bitter as he looked at his friends. Looked at how much older they've gotten when Vlad barely aged a year. All that changed was his hair turning white over the years.

Bitter, as he watched them interact with their children. Children that Vlad didn't have. Children that Vlad wasn't even sure he could have if he wanted to. There was no evidence of a prior halfa, and Vlad didn't know how much that changed things.

Vlad had success, yes. But he had it completely alone.

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad barely kept a straight face in as they had dinner together. As Maddie and Jack boosted about Fentonworks and their kids. As Jack washed him with compliments for Vlad's accomplishments.

Vlad barely made it through, but he did. Kept it all together as he wished them all good nights. He kept it all together until the moment he went down for a quick drink.

He had to remind himself that he had guests. Ghost hunters in his home. Reminded himself he couldn't just fade down to the kitchen. It was smart he hadn't, considering the fact that Jack was down there. Helping himself to some leftovers.

Vlad couldn't fake it anymore. His mask slipped slowly as they sat in the dimly lit room. As Jack blabbered on and on the way he always did.

It wasn't their fault.

Vlad reminded himself again, not realizing it would be the last time. He found himself in a vulnerable moment. The pain and hurt in his eyes and tone were clear as day when Vlad finally broke the fake pleasantries.

"You promised."

The words had left Vlad as nothing but a whisper. His heart felt raw in that moment. Open and exposed as he felt those feelings. Those feelings from when Jack and Maddie first abandoned him.

Vlad hadn't meant to. He didn't want this to happen now. Not before the reunion. Not before Vlad truly got to see how much they all changed.

But it happened. And Vlad found himself aching to hear a few simple words. For Jack to apologize. Apologize for turning on the prototype. Apologize for taking four days to see him. Apologize for suddenly leaving him behind. Without so much as a word.

"I know."

All that hope, the desperation in Vlad's chest, broke the moment he heard those words. Heard the resignation in Jack's surprisingly quiet tone. A wave of pure despair and pain washed over Vlad in that moment.

Jack didn't apologize. A simple two word phrase that would have meant the world to Vlad in this moment. Jack didn't say it. Instead, he said two words that felt like a stab to Vlad's half-beating heart.

Vlad didn't say anything else in that moment. He downed the last of his drink before standing from his seat. Vlad was much too into his own feelings and thoughts to notice the shock on Jack's face. Or the way Jack's mouth opened to speak again.

Instead, Vlad turned his back on Jack. Although his tone was more hollow than Vlad intended. He managed to fake a layer of pleasantries. A second good night given that night as Vlad made his ways up the stairs.

He wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bathroom. Downing his sorrows in alcohol and maybe taking his rage out in his hidden lab below the surface.

Instead, Vlad found himself with a burning need for revenge. A burning need to break about Jack's life. Break apart Maddie's life. A life they built once leaving Vlad behind. A life they excluded from him for so long. Only just now showing interest to having him around.

No. This time, Vlad was putting himself first. His wants. His needs. His desires. It wasn't about the Fentons anymore. It was going to be about him. About him finding a family. Of having a community. A life outside of his economic and scientific success.

And maybe this time, Vlad was going to start with a certain fourteen year old boy. A certain boy that Vald had picked out at the start.

A certain boy whose heart beats half the average. Who takes in a breath every few seconds, just a tad too long. A certain boy that made Vlad's ghost sense trigger. A certain boy that reeked of ectoplasm.

A certain someone who might just know how it feels to be an abomination to science. To be so different that you may just be the only one to exist.

A certain someone that might just make his life a bit less lonely.

In this moment, Vlad finally realized the truth of his situation. Whatever has happened since that accident. Whatever happened in the years they hadn't talked. Whatever happens now, after this reunion was over. When Vlad finally made his moves. Whatever happened then, now, and in the future. He knew with unbridled certainty that...

It was their fault.

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

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Zombie God Reader-

Dazed and barely conscious, you wake up after going to a party you didn't even want to attend with a killer headache - and your teeth on the floor. You scramble to the bathroom, come to find that every denture was still in place. A voice in the back of your skull mocks your panic. Just what did you take last night? As the evening's events unfold, you learn that everyone at that party is either dead or missing. That "voice" is the remnants of a decaying God who's blood you consumed from an infected glass of bunch. It tells you the only know cure is to eat another humans flesh, and that's only temporary. You have the choice of clinging to what little humanity you have left by commenting one of the most heinous acts known or giving your body and mind to this ancient deity. Your thoughts deteriorate by the day and you... wait....what are you eating? it hurts..stop that. STOP-

Who would've guessed your terrible diet would be the one force capable of stoping a world ending horror from devouring your brain?

You're eventually scouted out by the cult members at that party. They commend you for holding on this long, but you'll succumb soon enough. They always do. Unfortunately, none of the other candidates they've chosen have survived or kept as much of a physical form as you. Was your will that strong to resist their lord's presence and influence like that? They plan to kidnap you to see how your brain works. Maybe you will be the only host they need. As luck would go, they try to capture you on one of your off days. You ambush their leader and beat them half to death. They're uncaring of their fate as someone else will take their role. Your teeth close around their neck and.... And...

"...nh...n...o."

No. You climb off their battered body and tied your jacket around their twisted ankle before sprinting off. The others ask what happened and they..don't know. They watch you closer. You become something else in their eyes. A survivor. A fighter. You are not their god. You are its rebirth - killing off the disease that was once their idol. They band their members to praise you as you are and slaughter those who oppose. They offer you home cooked meals with bits of their flesh and blood baked inside to help you in your battle. They sneak micro doses of the god's cells to further your ascension. You just want to go home and eat fast food and nearly expired goods from cans.

Crackpost under cut

[Zombie God Reader being held at bay by three cult members when a fourth runs up to them with a severed arm in their hands. Reader kicks them square in the face and flails around like a bat out of hell]

Yan Cultist: What in the nine circles are you doing? We don't do that shit anymore! When you kill someone for our master, you throw the body away! Hurry up and get some frozen pizzas. We can't hold them off much longer.

Dying God: Help me, my child. Once I am reborn, I can make your wildness dreams a reality.

Yan Cultist, staring at Reader wearing a muzzle as rabid foam drips from their mouth as they snarl: Believe me.... They already are.

"What can I get you today?!"

Dying God: Flesh.

Zombie God Reader: burger

Dying God: Human Flesh, you moron!

Zombie God Reader: Three burgers

#yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere #yandere blurb #yandere oc #zombie reader #yandere concept #yandere cult #tw yandere

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jadewolf22 · 4 months

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Welcome to the Pack: Chapter 1

Summary: Zombie apocalypse AU with Gwendoline Christie’s characters x fem!reader x OC Character (Beth) Featuring: Phasma, Brienne, Larissa, Gwen (in Fabric), Lyme (Hunger Games), Jane, Jan, & Lady Jane (The Darkest Minds) with mentions of Miranda and Anna (Welcome to Marwen) based off of this post by @rippersz

TW: Apocalyptic world (?), OC is hit by vehicle, strong language, mentions of death/killing, mentions of PTSD/Trauma, implications of smut, implications of poly-amorous hierarchy/ poly-amorous relationships involving nine people, wolf pack-like environment (reader is referred to as “Alpha”), ext…

A/n: I apologize for the amount of Russian and French in here. I have Russian heritage and wanted to pay a little tribute to that here (ended up being a lot more than a little) and also just felt like it would be a nice little tribute to some of the people on here who aren’t native English speakers. I hope to use more languages in other fics for this same purpose. Reader is American but was taught fluent Russian by a close friend of hers.

Word Count: 8,073

No one truly knows where the virus came from. Some say the Chinese created it, others the Russians, still others claim that it wasn’t created at all but rather an effect of global warming or some kind of solar flare. All anyone could truly agree on was that it was dangerous and deadly. The Serix Virus, as scientists later called it, was a physically transmitted disease that transformed the infected into zombie-like creatures that were unable to feel pain with half-decayed, green skin and bloodshot, yellow eyes; you could shoot one and it wouldn’t go down until a bullet found its head.

Eurasia fell victim to it in the first month, with Africa and Australia not far behind. Three months later South America and Mexico followed. The survivors came flooding to North America, hoping for sanctuary, but none was received. Not even a month later the first cases were reported in North America and the rest of the world went to hell. People scrambled, turning on one another like gladiators in an arena. Fear took over and humanity crumbled, all in less than a year. Now, nearly three years later, the world remains black and dead. The “creatures” outnumber the human race twenty to one, if not more. They travel in packs just like most of the survivors-at least the survivors who were actually smart-shuffling through the remains of towns and cities, searching for their next meals of sweet human flesh; all too eager to taste blood in their mouths and skin in their teeth. To feast on people like Beth.

Beth was a small town woman of 29 from Luray, Virginia and the lone survivor of her hometown. Everyone, her friends, her family, were gone, having either been eaten or transfigured and she was, permanently, on the run. With no weapons other than a little glock with only one full mag left and almost no remaining food Beth knew her time was almost up. She was no survivalist; she had no impressive background or knew any kind of self defense other than her fairly good aim, which would do nothing to save her when her mag ran empty. With her hope fading as the days went by, Beth moved to camp beside a road, her last chance to find salvation-to get help.

She sat there on the side of the road for days, watching helplessly as the sun began to set at the end of her fourth day there and there was still no sign of help. Beth was about to give up and move on when something-a low rumble in the distance-caught her attention. She stood up and turned towards the sound, walking towards the curve in the road from where the noise was coming. It grew louder-the steady roar of a motor-and Beth’s heart leapt. She ran towards the curve, hoping to see the vehicle as it approached and catch the attention of its driver, but it was closer than she’d thought.

A large black blur came speeding around the corner, clipping Beth’s right side and sending her flying backwards across the road. Beth screamed as pain radiated through her. Her arm was on fire, her head throbbed, the world was spinning, and her legs ached. She didn’t dare move for fear that something had been broken.

Beth jumped a little when she heard car doors open and voices shouting at each other from inside the vehicle,

“-Are you out of your goddamn mind-?!”

“-Just leave her-!”

“-Not gonna leave her when it’s my fault! Now get your ass’s out there and help me!”

Footsteps came running towards Beth, two blurry figures kneeling beside her. She couldn’t see much but well enough to know that they were both pale, one with long black hair, the other with short blonde hair. Together they lifted her, Beth screaming in pain as her body protested the movement. They carried her up into the vehicle-a black mini bus, and laid her down across the seats, which had been turned to create two long benches along either side of the bus, leaving a wide space between them for boxes of supplies.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” a third person growled from the front of the bus as the other two took their seats, one person beside Beth and the other on the bench across from her.

Beth screamed as the bus jolted forward, grabbing hold of her arm as she began to slip in and out of consciousness from the pain.

“Gwen, you get to explain this to the Alpha when we get back,” the voice from the front of the bus growled. It was deep and cold, mildly monotone with a clipped English accent and a slightly rough edge to it. Beth couldn’t see its owner but could guess that whoever it was was not someone to fuck around with, “She’s made it clear that outsider’s aren’t welcome-”

“You know what, Phasma, foutre en l'air! I didn’t ask for your damn opinion!” another voice, this one softer, more melodic, almost haunty with a soft English edge to it, snapped, a low growl tearing from the throat of its owner, “I’m sure she’ll understand my reasoning-”

“Not fucking likely,” the deeper voice grumbled as the vehicle shook and swayed, causing Beth to whimper every other minute, “Last time one of us brought someone back, Alpha turned him into crawler food real quick.”

Crawler? Beth had heard the creatures called many things; flesh-eaters, zombies, the undead, but never Crawlers. The term was fitting, though. They did move at a crawling pace until they smelled food.

“Last time we brought someone back, it was a man,” the softer voice countered, sounding annoyed, “Alpha made it clear no men were permitted in the camp, she’s had no problem bringing in women. What about Miran-?”

“Enough Gwen, you made your point.” a third voice cut in, a commanding edge to their tone. This voice was quiet, crisp, and rather gritty. There were hints of an accent to it, but Beth could not place where exactly it was from- somewhere in Europe, if she had to guess, based on its resemblance to the other two, “This is not our mess to deal with. When we get home we’ll hand her over to Jane and Gwen will explain what happened to Alpha. If she’s lucky, the Alpha will let her stay.”

The other two grumbled in agreement, silence taking over the vehicle, allowing Beth to fully succumb to the hold of sleep. When she faded back to a semi consciousness, Beth was no longer in the bus but instead lying on some kind of cot, listening to a rather heated discussion between a large group of people,

“-Why would you bring her here?! We barely have enough food to go around as it is-!”

“Don’t try to pull one of those again. We all know there’s enough food here to last us years-!”

“That’s a rough estimate-!”

“It doesn’t matter if we have enough food or not! They’re injured, which makes them nothing but a hindrance to us! We should have left them where we found them-!”

“Not everyone here is as much of a hardass as you are, Phasma!! Forgive us for trying to have a little empathy-”

“Empathy isn’t going to help us survive!”

“Alright, доста́точно!!” Silence fell immediately. Beth didn’t know what the word ‘dostátočno’ meant, but it was clear that the others did, “That’s enough, all of you… While I appreciate the input, the decision is mine to make. Gwen… I want you to stay with her until she wakes up. When she does have Jane give her a quick lookover then bring her to me. We can figure out what to do from there… Everyone else просто позвольте этому быть. It’s not the end of the world-”

“No. That’s already happened…”

“Phasma, I don’t wanna hear another word out of you, Вы меня понимаете??!”

“... Yes, Alpha…”

“Thank you. Now, все возвращаются на работу…Phasma, Bri, I want that hole in the wall patched up by sundown.”

“We’re doing what we can, but there’s not enough materials to fortify it completely.”

“Then we’ll make another run, tomorrow. We cannot stand to let that wall have gaps in it. It’s too dangerous to-”

The rest of whatever the person had been saying faded away as Beth slipped back under sleep’s sweet spell. The second time she woke, Beth was fully conscious, opening her eyes for the first time in what felt like days. She was in some kind of large, stone room with high, intricately designed ceilings lying on what seemed to be an old-timey hospital bed. Her right arm was in a sling, both of her legs were wrapped in compression bandages from the knees down, and there was a thick gauze wrapping around her hairline. Every part of Beth’s body felt stiff, her broken arm felt full of pins and needles, and her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

“It’s about time you woke up, petite souris,” came a voice to Beth’s left, causing her to jump.

Beth looked over to see who the voice belonged to, and found her breath taken by the beauty across from her. The woman was tall and incredibly pale, possessing a slender yet shapely figure, with graceful curves and a lustrous cascade of dyed black waves that fell in loose tendrils around her shoulders, framing her face like a dark halo. Her hair had a glossy sheen that caught the light streaming from the nearby windows, imbuing her with an almost supernatural radiance and her lips were full and painted with a deep, velvety shade of red. Steel blue eyes watched Beth closely, framed by thick lines of black eyeliner. She wore a fitted shirt with a black and white checkered pattern and with sheer, flared sleeves as well as black leather pants, a black choker and black, knee-high combat boots. There were two Ruger LCP’s holstered in a belt at her hips and an N4 short barreled rifle resting in her lap, her finger lying lazily over the trigger.

“Where am I?” Beth asked, wincing as she fought her way up to a sitting position.

“Home, for now, petite souris.” The woman purred in French and Beth recognized her soft, melodic, almost haunty voice with its soft English edge. She was one of the women from the bus, “Unless the Alpha decides otherwise.”

“The Alpha?” Beth repeated, her brows furrowing in confusion. What kind of fucked up cult had she gotten herself into? “Who the fuck is The Alpha?”

“She’s our leader,” the woman explained, her voice hardening slightly at Beth’s confused, almost humored tone, “Our chef de file. The one who keeps us safe from those things crawling around outside… If you’re going to stay with us, you will need to learn to respect her, petite souris. Or she’ll throw you to the crawlers without a second glance.”

“Right… How long have I been here?”

“About a day-”

“Gwen, you were supposed to come and get me when she woke!”

Beth and the woman-Gwen, jumped in surprise, turning to see another woman walking their way. This woman was about the same height as Gwen, Beth assumed, if not half an inch or so taller, with soft alabaster skin, and a mane of natural raven hair pinned up into some sort of plaited crown around her head. She had a wiry, haunting figure with a regal bearing about her and a rigid posture, conveying an air of authority and severity. Her angular jawline and high cheekbones contributed to that sense of severity, while her piercing sky blue eyes seemed to scrutinize everything with an unwavering gaze. The woman’s face was free of makeup, but by far no less beautiful than Gwen’s, with a small scar adorning her upper lip; something she must have sustained before the virus. She was dressed in a black linen dress that brushed against her mid-thigh with tight sleeves, accessorized with a black and silver corset as well as black leggings and black knee-high boots. Fitting for a post-apocalyptic world yet still fashionable.

“Ouais, peu importe, salope.” Gwen muttered under her breath, giving the second woman a dark look, “She just woke up, Jane. Give me a little slack.”

“Alpha’s orders.” was all the other woman “Jane” responded, her voice cold with a cutting edge to it and a heavy English accent, turning her attention to Beth, “Consider yourself one lucky woman. It’s a rare thing for someone to be hit by a bus and walk away with only a broken arm, a minor laceration, and a few bruises.”

“Tell that to my aching joints.” Beth grumbled.

“Would you rather I say it to your corpse?” Jane asked, her tone anything but sarcastic. Clearly she was a ‘no-nonsense’ type of woman, “Up! I need to see you move.”

Groaning internally, Beth swung her legs off the cot and planted her feet firmly on the cold floor, hissing as her joints protested against her movements. She could feel both pairs of eyes on her, sweat gathering at the base of her neck as Beth pushed off the bed with her good arm, standing on wobbly legs. Jane had her walking back and forth along the edge of the bed for several minutes before having Beth try a few stretches that would, hopefully, help to relax the muscles in her legs.

“That’s as good as you’re going to get for now,” Jane said after a time, rewrapping Beth’s legs after inspecting the swelling, “I’m sure the Alpha’s getting impatient. She’s up on the balcony taking a smoke.” she addressed to Gwen, an indifferent look in her light, sharp eyes.

“Think you can handle stairs, petite souris?” Gwen asked, directing her attention at Beth and ignoring Jane as the imposing figure walked away.

“Do I have much of a choice?” Beth returned. Gwen shrugged, turning on her heel and heading out after Jane with Beth hobbling along behind her.

Beth couldn’t help but look around in awe as she followed Gwen. They were in some kind of gothic mansion, with tall stone walls and ceilings decorated with intricate patterns, statues and paintings, as well as mahogany accents in the doors and stairway railings. Clearly, this place had been some kind of retreat or something for those who basked in wealth. Everything was well constructed and detailed, too nice for something people of a lower class would have had the privilege of seeing.

With a little help from Gwen, Beth managed to make it up to the second floor of the building, hoping and praying that “the Alpha” was not on any of the upper floors. There was no way her legs were going to be able to make it up another flight. Relief filled Beth when Gwen began to lead her down a long hallway, away from the stairs. They passed many rooms, most of which were empty, but as they walked past one of the rooms on the far end of the hall, Beth caught a glimpse of a woman standing over a table inside but didn’t have time for a proper look before Gwen drew her attention away.

“She’ll be in here.” Gwen said, placing her hand on the doorknob of a large mahogany door at the very end of the hall. There was a golden plaque nailed to it which read “Principal Weems”. Apparently, this place had been some kind of school, “Whatever you do, petite souris, don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. And, if you want to have any chance of staying or staying alive, be respectful. If there’s one thing Alpha can’t stand, it’s someone who can’t respect their superiors, comprendre?”

Beth nodded, able to loosely translate the french word. The corner of Gwen’s lips twitched upward in a light smirk before her face went void of expression and she opened the door, beaconing Beth to follow her inside. The room was massive, with well used leather furniture and a large mahogany desk in front of a set of open french doors which led out to a spacious balcony. There was a large marble fireplace to the left of the doorway, carved to look like… medusa? At first the room smelled faintly of wine and must, and then a gentle breeze blew the scent of cigar smoke in through the open balcony doors, drawing Beth’s attention to the figure leaning against the stone railing of the balcony, facing in towards the room; You.

Beth didn’t know what she’d expected from someone who called themselves “the Alpha” but whatever it was was not what you were. When she and Gwen reached you and you rose to your full height you towerd over both of them like a fucking skyscraper with a broad, maculine body complete with soft ivory skin, thick meaty hands, prominent veins, and muscles that might as well have been chisled from stone. Short red hair cut in a 90’s bob framed a sharply defined, oval face allowing your deep green eyes with their frightful and unnerving gaze to stand to attention. You wore a loose-fitting bronze t-shirt tucked into black jeans decorated with custom-sewn pockets all down the legs with a brown and black flannel tied around your waist, a gold watch on your wrist glinted off the dying sunlight, and black, knee-high combat boots similar to Gwen’s adorned your feet; though yours had to be at least three sizes bigger. There were two Glock 19’s in a holster around your waist, a semi-auto .22LR slung across your back, and a knife as long as Beth’s forearm in a vertical sheath across the back of your holster; the many pockets of your jeans bulging with mags for the three guns.

“Give us a moment, would you малыш,” you addressed to Gwen, taking a long drag from the joint between your fingers, continuing to speak as you released the smoke from your lips, your voice silky yet harsh with a tough, demanding and authoritative tone that matched the rest of your persona perfectly, “Why don’t you go see if you can help Jan with the mending? I’m sure she could use a second pair of hands. If not, tell Jane I told you to help her with supper.”

Gwen gave a small nod, turning and walking away without so much as a glance in Beth’s direction. Beth had caught the Russian word for ‘baby’ and realized that it was you who had been speaking the language earlier despite having a flawless American accent whenever you weren’t using Russian dialect.

“So, маленькая полевая мышь, I hear one of my girls hit you with the bus?” you spoke softly, eyeing Beth like someone would a confused child, “Tell me… why should I let you stay, hmm? What can you offer us?”

“I…” Beth paused, unsure how best to respond. She didn’t know what words would save her life and what words would end it, “I-I’m a fair shooter. I can hit a perfect bullseye four of five times-”

You chuckled, drawing her up short, “маленькая полевая мышь, I have four women who can hit a bullseye five times out of five shots. What need would I have of your skill when I already have others who are better at it?”

“I’m a forager.” she tried again, “I know what plants around here are safest to eat, which ones can be used as medicine, and which ones can end a life-”

Again, you cut her off, “And I have a woman who has a master’s degree in medicine and herbology.”

Damn it.

“I…” Beth was defeated. Shooting and foraging were her only helpful skills and you were right. What need would you have of her if there were already those who could do it better? “Those are the only things I can offer you…”

“Poor маленькая полевая мышь,” you purred with a small smile on your lips. You seemed to be enjoying watching Beth as she began to panic, “If you have nothing to offer me, why should I let you stay, hmm?”

“Please?!” she begged, ready to fall on her knees and plead at your feet, “I-I don’t need to stay forever. Just long enough to heal-Please-!”

“There is no need to beg, полевая мышь.” a low chuckle escaped your throat, sending a shiver down the back of Beth’s neck, “You are lucky Gwen seems to have taken a liking to you. If not for her, I would feed you to the crawlers… You may stay with us until you heal but, while you are here, you will conform to my rules. Break or refuse to follow one and I will cast you out with only the clothes on your back. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes… ma’am…” Beth mumbled, looking down at your feet.

“Good,” you purred again, your lips pulled up in a tight, almost fake smile, “Why don’t you come inside and take a seat while I go over the rules with you, hmm? I’m sure your legs must be killing you for standing for so long. When we’re done, I’ll give you a proper tour and introduce you to everyone.”

Beth nodded, her body visibly relaxing in relief as she followed you back inside. You sat down in the chair behind the desk, motioning for Beth to take one of the leather seats across from you.

“So,” you started as Beth sat down, looking down at her hands resting in her lap, “let’s get to it…?”

“Beth,” she answered when she realized you were silently asking for her name.

“Beth. Welcome to our little pack. I am y/n, but you will refer to me as Alpha. Calling me by my name is a privilege that must be earned. Is that understood?” “Yes.”

“Good. Now, in order to keep everyone safe and keep our pack from falling apart, I have set a few rules in place. Failure to conform to these rules will result in your immediate removal from the pack. Get caught breaking a rule and you will be punished accordingly.”

“Yes, Alpha.” Beth muttered, her eyes still trained on her hands.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, милый,” you reprimanded, smirking when Beth’s gaze shot up to your face, “Good. Now, our rules. One; you will obey every command I give you without question or complaint. As the alpha, it is my job to ensure that the pack remains safe. You must trust that my actions and commands are made with this in mind. Two; you must return to camp by nightfall every night and are not permitted to leave again until sunrise. Crawlers are most active at night, that is when we need to be the least active. Three; never leave the camp alone. Always in groups of three or more. Four; if you are injured, whether by a crawler or something else, you must tell someone. You cannot expect us to treat you as if you are injured if we do not know that you are. Am I clear so far?”

“Yes, Alpha.”

“хорошая девочка. Rule five; in order to ensure that we have enough water for drinking and cooking, each of us are only permitted to use the showers three times a week unless given verbal permission from me. Six; everyone must use the gym at least two times a week. We need to keep our strength up. Once you heal enough I will have you working with one of my girls to build your muscles back up. Seven; never keep helpful supplies hidden for yourself. We share everything of great value with the pack. Less important things like jewelry and perfumes and such are fine. We have no severe need for them.”

“Yes, Alpha.” Beth repeated again, showing that she was still listening.

“Number eight; don’t bring men into the camp. They cannot be trusted, nor will I pretend to tolerate them. Nine; do not ever turn off the safety feature on your weapon. It must always be ready should another group attempt to raid us or a horde of crawlers find its way through our defenses. This also means that you must be extremely careful. No one has accidentally shot someone yet, but we have had one too many close calls in recent months. And finally, ten-this rule will not apply to you without my explicit permission which you are highly unlikely to receive; do not touch another one of the girls in an intimate sense without verbal permission from both the woman and myself. As the alpha, it is my job to attend to the needs of my pack, whether that be physical, mental, sexual, or otherwise. The others know they are not to touch themselves or each other without my permission and the same goes for you.”

A mildly disgusted look overtook Beth’s face as the realization of your words sunk in. You were fucking all of them?!

“Don’t worry, полевая мышь,” you laughed, the sound harsh and rich, “I have no intentions of mating with you. You are not a permanent part of the pack, not like my girls.”

“Is that how you became the alpha?” Beth asked before she could stop herself, “By fucking the rest of them into submission?”

A dark shadow filled your eye as a bemused look crossed your face. You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the desk as you eyed Beth, running your tongue against the inside of your bottom lip.

“I’ll give you one pass since you are new, but if you ever speak to me like that again I will gut you. Do you understand, полевая мышь?” you hissed, your smile widening when Beth nodded, “Yes, мышь, that is how I became the alpha. Before me, it was the principal of this school. Fuck the right people in the right ways and they’ll give up everything to you… But don’t let that fool you into thinking I only fuck them to keep my position, oh no, I fuck them because I truely love them, and will do whatever I can to make them forget about what goes on outside these walls, even if it’s just for a night.”

Beth nodded again, her mind still reeling as it tried to process everything you had just told her.

“So, now that you know our rules and how our pack operates, would you like to stay? If not, we’ll give you back your things and send you on our way.”

She didn’t know what to say. Beth knew leaving now would inevitably result in her death, yet she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to stay here. You were incredibly fucked up in the head, that was for certain. However, you did genuinely seem to mean what you said about protecting your ‘pack’. As much as Beth didn’t like either option, she ultimately decided that a month or so with you was better than being eaten alive by crawlers in a night.

“I’ll stay.” she muttered, “And I’ll do whatever I can to be of help while I’m here.”

“Good,” you cooed, clasping your hands together with another tight smile as you rose to your feet, “Come, let’s get you familiar with the camp and properly introduced to everyone, shall we?”

Beth nodded, pushing off of the chair, her legs shaking as she stood. You waited a moment, giving her legs a moment to adjust to carrying her weight again before you strode out of the room, walking slowly so that Beth could keep pace.

“This is our command center,” you said, leading her inside one of the rooms she’d passed earlier, “In here we keep our main radio as well as our maps, supply lists, and other things of that sort. And this is Larissa.”

The woman-Larissa looked up from the map she’d been studying and offered Beth a soft smile that had her weak in the knees. Like the others Beth had met, Larissa was tall. Taller than Gwen but not by much, with silvery-blonde hair done up in a complex updo half hidden in a silver headscarf, a shapely, feminine figure dressed in white pants and a silver blouse accentuated with a thick brown belt and brown ankle boots, skin like a porcelain dolls, and long-fingered hands tucked into white gloves. Her eyes were a brilliant, sapphire blue framed by thick mascara-coated lashes and her lips were soft-looking and full, stained a deep ruby red in color.

She was prestigious and well put together, seeming almost out of place in the modern world. Too gentle, too clean, too pure. But something was off. There was a weary look on her heart-shaped face as she eyed Beth, as well as a sense of falseness to her smile. To Beth, it seemed as if the woman was afraid, But afraid of what? You? Beth?

“Larissa, сладкий голубь, this is Beth,” you announced, smiling gently at Larissa, a comforting gleam in your eye, “She’ll be staying with us for a while.”

“You’re letting her stay?” Larissa questioned, her voice velvety and melodic, yet there was something enigmatic about it…

“Only because I don’t want to hear Gwen’s pouting for months.” you teased, momentarily drawing a true smile from the woman before it turned false again.

“I suppose that’s as good a reason as any,” the blonde concured, eyeing Beth again before returning her focus to the map on the table as you strode back out of the room, beaconing Beth to follow.

“You’ll have to excuse her demeanor. Larissa is not one to trust easily.” you said to Beth as the two of you descended down the stairs, “It will take her some time to warm up to you.”

Beth nodded, half-listening as you went on to tell her about what the school had been before the virus, following you into what at one point had been the school’s cafeteria. All of the tables but one were gone, leaving space for eight beds set in a circle in the middle of the room. There were hospital curtains on the sides and in front of each of the beds, allowing for some separation and privacy, though not very much. Also beside each bed was a small stand, on top of which lay an array of objects; hair brushes and hair ties, makeup products, jewelry, photographs, knives, gun magazines, notebooks, books, ect. Then at the foot of each bed was some kind of trunk Beth assumed was for storing larger possessions and clothing.

There was a large, clearly handmade, circular stone fireplace in the center of the circle of beds, surrounded by an array of well-used, mismatched chairs. Very homey, Beth thought, a sudden wave of homesickness overtaking her. It had been so long since she’d seen anything that even remotely resembled a normal home.

“This is our sleeping quarters and-for want of a better word-dining hall. We eat and sleep here as well as simply lounge around after curfew. I’ll have the twins help me bring down a cot for you later… My room is just past that door.” you pointed to a mahogany door on the far wall, not too far from the circle of beds but far enough to make it very clear you were separate from the others, “Should you need anything during the night or notice something off while you’re on watch, just knock. I’m a light sleeper.”

Beth nodded again. She wanted to make a comment about you sleeping separate from everyone else but that unnerving glint in your eye kept her at bay. You moved on, showing her the infirmary, makeshift gym, bathrooms and showers.

“How do you have running water?” She inquired as the two of you made your way outside. Without humans to run things, places like power plants, dams and such had ceased working. Very few places still had electricity and water, none of which were anywhere near your camp.

“We were able to create our own water system by connecting the plumbing to a river a ways up the mountain. By connecting it to a filtering system, we were able to obtain clean water for drinking and cooking.” you explained, “In order to do that we had to first shut off and drain the preexisting system, remove and close off several pipes from the upper floors, making it so that the plumbing would only run through the ground floor-not that we needed it for much else.”

“And the electricity?”

“Solar power. We raided a solar power plant not far from here about a year and a half ago and figured out how to use the panels we’d taken to power everything here, including the bus one of my girls hit you with.” you said, stepping outside.

The area you’d taken her to was a courtyard at what appeared to be the center of the mansion. Most of it was made of the same stone as the inside, the other part of a thick wrought iron fence, both of which were decorated with beautiful scrollwork designs. Intricate arches lead off to other parts of the school, while thin cobblestone paths weaved through the grass, which was luscious and oh so green compared to the rest of the world. Several tarps had been stitched together and hung over the entire courtyard, protecting it from the rain and sun. Stone benches lined the courtyard’s edge, there were several tables littered with supplies off to one side, as well as a makeshift shooting range, and a large sparring mat staked to the ground with tent spikes, where two more women were currently occupied.

The women on the mat were both broad and muscular, though the one facing away from the two of you had a much more haunty feel to her figure. Her short, snowy-white hair was slick with sweat and brushed against the nape of her neck.

“Phasma, lower your hands!” you shouted, causing Beth to jump, “You’re leaving your ribs exposed! Brienne, widen your stance! If she pushes you, you’re done for!”

The two paused, unfolding from their fighting stances and turning to you, Beth unable to keep her jaw from dropping when she caught sight of-who she assumed was Phasma-'s face. The woman was tall, standing about two inches shorter than you, and had a square face and prominent jaw with a clearly broken nose. A single icy blue eye glared at Beth coldly, the left side of her face marred by a burn scar accentuated with a pearly white eye; clearly the injury had left her blind. Intimidated by her gaze, Beth dropped her eyes to the rest of Phasma’s body. A ripped gray shirt clung to her broad chest and shoulders like a second skin, green cargo pants covered her legs, showing off the muscles there when she flexed them just right. When she shifted her stance a light clinking filled the air, drawing Beth’s attention to the chain of military tags around her neck.

“Come on ladies, you would think I wouldn’t need to tell you these sorts of things with your track records.” you scolded lightly as they approached you.

“Sorry, Alpha,” they muttered in unison, giving Beth a chance to look at the other one while their attention was trained on you.

The other woman was just as tall as Phasma, with the same square face and chiseled jaw, though her hair reached her shoulders and was the color of straw rather than snow. She had the same small, blue, almond-shaped eyes but hers were darker, more like the ocean, as well as the same porcelain skin. There was a large scar on her cheek; it looked rather like a human-made bite mark. It must have been something she sustained before the virus or she would not have been amongst the “living” now. The woman wore a dark blue tank top that showed off her pale, freckled shoulders tucked into brown cargo pants belted with a thick black belt around her broad hips. Both women were barefoot with linen strips wrapped around their hands, raw pink flesh peeking from beneath the strips.

“You’ve already met Phasma… in a sense,” you said to Beth, drawing her from her thoughts as you pointed to the one-eyed woman-Phasma, “This is her twin sister, Brienne. Ladies, this is Beth. She’s going to be staying with us for a while.”

It was easy to note the similarities between the two sisters. As well as being similar in appearance the two women had the same posture and ora, and the exact same look on their faces as they eyed Beth like she was merely a piece of meat.

“You’re letting the rat stay?” Phasma practically growled, her voice deep and cold, mildly monotone with a clipped English accent and a slightly rough edge-the bus driver! Realizing Phasma was the one who’d hit her with the bus, Beth narrowed her eyes at the woman, shifting her stance ever so slightly in an attempt to appear stronger and more confident, though the bandages and sling did little to assist her, “Why?”

“Because, Phasma, I don’t think you want to hear Gwen whining for the next few months because we didn’t help her little field mouse any more than I do.” you answered, your voice firm and assertive, causing the frightful-looking blonde to go silent.

“Alpha,” the other sister-Brienne, stepped forward slightly. Her voice was gravelly and had a natural stentorian and authoritative feel to it, but when she spoke to you it was in the most submissive and respectful way, “our resources are spread thin as it is. Taking on another member… it is not something we can afford…”

“I understand your concerns, Brienne. Believe me, the thought has crossed my mind, but we will make it work.” you assured, “You both know I would never do anything without fully thinking it through-”

“If you had, the runt’s corpse would be halfway up the mountain by now.” Phasma muttered, crossing her arms over her chest, her sister going white beside her as you flushed scarlet.

“Phasma, то есть достаточно!” you roared, raising your hand as if to strike her before lowering it again with a deep breath, “As of now, Beth is a part of our pack. You will treat her with the same respect as the others… And if you ever speak to me like that again, you will be sleeping outside the walls. Is that understood?” The woman merely shrugged, cracking her knuckles as she shifted her gaze to Beth, the one blue eye narrowed dangerously. You sighed, clearly annoyed with the woman’s behavior.

“Finish your match,” you told them, “Once you’re done go ahead and begin evening procedures. I suspect Jane will have supper ready here soon.”

Phasma shrugged again, her gaze never leaving Beth, causing sweat to form at the base of her neck. Brienne put a hand on her sister’s shoulder, whispering something in her ear that caused Phasma to scoff, roughly shoving her sister away and turning and walking back onto the mat. Brienne shot you an apologetic look, nodding at you before following after her twin, ignoring Beth entirely.

“Ignore them,” you said to Beth, turning away from the sisters, “The twins have always been wound rather tightly, especially Phasma. Give them their space and they’ll give you yours. Just, whatever you do, try not to piss them off… If you couldn’t tell, they’re not afraid to break a couple of bones.”

“What happened to them?” you looked down at her, your head slightly tilted in question, “The scars…?”

“Those are stories for another time,” you said dismissively, moving towards the cluster of picnic tables where two figures were conversing on one of the benches along the edge of the yard, “Lyme, познакомься с нашим гостем!” you called as you and Beth approached the two.

The woman you’d addressed-Lyme stood up from her spot on one of the stone benches as you and Beth approached, Beth unable to keep from ogling at the goddess before her. The woman towerd over Beth, standing just shorter than the twins with a muscular and powerful, yet curvy build that suggested years of some kind of combative experience and flawless, ivory skin. Her face was strong and angular, free of makeup with chiseled features that conveyed determination and resilience, and eyes like pools of silver that had Beth struggling to breathe. Her dirty blonde hair was cut in a short, stylish pixie cut that kept it out of her face at all times. There was an air of confidence and authority to her, exuding a sense of quiet power and strength. She was dressed in a dingy white tank top that hugged every curve, dark acid wash jeans, a bloodstained jean jacket, a long silver chain hanging around her neck, and gray boots. There was a large AK-47 slung across her back and two knives sheathed at her hips.

The woman beside Lyme was a few inches shorter than her companion with that same authoritative presence and long, silky brown hair tied back in a low ponytail. She had flawless, sun-kissed skin, a strong, lean and almost cat-like figure and a soft round face void of makeup and splattered with the lightest freckles Beth had ever seen, accentuated with small, dusty blue eyes. There were several small tattoos on her fingers and more poking out from beneath the sleeves of her brown shirt which she’d paired with military-style pants and brown boots, accessorized with a western-style leather holster that housed a silver Glock 17. Her jaw was clenched tightly, and her eyes were narrowed as she eyed Beth up and down, stopping both ways when her eyes reached the sling around Beth’s arm, seeming to size her up. Clearly, she was as keen on having an injured stranger in their midst as Phasma and Brienne were.

“Beth, this is Lyme and Lady-” you introduced, gesturing to each woman as you said their name.

“Lady?” Beth asked, releasing a breathy laugh at the odd name which she instantly regretted when the brunette gave her a dangerous look that would have had Beth six feet under if looks were able to kill.

“Her real name is Jane, but we call her Lady to keep from confusing her with our other Jane.” you explained, stepping slightly in front of Beth as Lady’s hand twitched towards her Glock, “Lady, оставь пистолет в покое.”

The brunette grumbled, folding her arms across her chest as you gently steered Beth away from the two women.

“I’d watch your back around her,” you warned, “She’s the wild card around here. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tries to use you as target practice... At least for the first week or so.”

“Don’t think she’s the only one.” Beth mumbled, eyeing the twins sparring on the mat with a worried glint in her eye.

“Phasma and Brienne may want to put a bullet in your head, but they’d do it with good intentions-at least, Brienne would… You must understand, we haven’t had a new member in over a year and, well... it didn’t end well.”

“What happened?”

“...She died...” you answered, your voice soft, “We were all close with her, and her death shook us quite a bit. In truth, I think the others don’t want you here because they’re afraid of having that attachment again.”

You went silent for a few moments after that, leading Beth away. She longed to press, to learn what had happened, but it was clearly a touchy subject and she dreaded what would happen if she pushed too far. If she was being entirely honest with herself, Beth was afraid of you. Everything she’d heard, everything she’d seen gave her the impression that, though some of the others in your ‘pack’ were scary, you were the only one who she needed to be terrified of. Your authoritative demeanor, your commanding presence, the unnerving glint in your eye, the harsh edge to your voice all pointed to one simple fact; you were dangerous. In what way exactly, Beth did not know, but she was in no hurry to find out.

You lead her back inside to a new area of the first floor and into a room piled high with boxes of supplies and racks of clothing categorized by the item and sizes. She followed you through the maze of racks to the back of the room to where a figure was sitting, pointing as you spoke.

“Jan is who you will go to tomorrow to get fitted for proper clothing. Not only does she have the best sense of fashion, but whatever we don’t have, she can make. She’s quite handy with a needle and some thread.”

The woman you pointed to was like an angel in mortal form with a lean, angular body and pure white skin. A halo of platinum blonde hair fell to the base of her neck in waves framing a sharp, heart-shaped face with blood-red lips and dark eyeshadow with thick black eyeliner that accentuated cerulean blue eyes. Her black, five-inch platform boots seemed a little out of place given the world’s current predicament, but looked quite good with the flared red pants and ruffled white blouse. There was a box of clothing at her feet and a pincushion and several spools of thread on the desk beside her while she methodically stitched away at a shirt laying in her lap.

“Jan, мой павлин,” you practically cooed, drawing the angel’s attention away from her work, “Why don’t you put the mending away for a while and come meet our guest?”

Jan nodded, gently placing her work on the desk as she stood, her eyes flicking over Beth. Unlike the others, her gaze wasn’t disapproving or judgmental, but rather curious and intrigued. She walked closer, flicking her eyes between you and Beth as she drew near. Even with those boots on she was still an inch or so shorter than you, and as she came to a stop in front of Beth a sweet mixture of warm vanilla and cherry scents filled Beth’s nose.

“I’m Beth.” she offered, holding out her hand to the beauty standing before her, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Jan murmured, taking Beth’s hand in a dainty handshake. Her voice was like a breath of wind, angelic, crisp, and oh so silky. It would have been all too easy for Beth to get lost in its sweet spell. The woman’s skin was like satin against Beth’s coarse hands, deep ruby nails standing out against the pale flesh.

Beth went to say something, what exactly she was not sure, but the loud, deep ring of a bell cut her off. She released Jan’s hand, looking to you for an explanation as to what the bell was for.

“That’ll be the dinner bell,” you said to Beth, though your eyes were trained on Jan. To Beth, it seemed that you favored the platinum angel over the rest of your packmates, “Best we head to the dinning hall before Jane or Larissa have our heads for being late.”

Jan nodded, turning off the lamp beside the desk she’d been using before taking hold of your arm as you led her and Beth back out of the room. The three of you joined the others in the dining hall where you did a quick check to make sure everyone was accounted for, scowling when you noticed one member was missing.

“Where’s Phasma?” you half growled to Brienne, your eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“She went to put the bus away,” Brienne shrugged, “Best bet is she’s still in the garage.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple before muttering, “You lot go ahead and get started. I’ll run out and grab her.”

You left without another word, leaving Beth alone with the remaining seven members of your pack. She stood back, staying out of the way while the others lined up to get food much like you would in a school cafetorium-which they were currently in-unable to keep her eyes from glancing over the strong, shapely figures standing about ten feet from her. As much as she wished to deny it, Beth could see why you would find it hard to choose only one of the women here; she was caught in the claws of these beauties… and no force on Earth would save her if she woke the beast…

A/n: This is the first fanfic I've written that was over 1,000 words so I apologize if it drags a little at times. Pt.2 should be released in a few weeks. Hope you enjoyed!! :)

#gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #larissa weems #jane murdstone #commander lyme #miranda hilmarson #captain phasma #jan stevens #gwen in fabric #lady jane

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jayzfort · 4 months

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Remeber that time? || Panville

Pairings- Pansy Parkinson x Neville Longbottom This is the second short yet not so short drabble, these aren't written in order, and can be read as standalones. In this one, Neville and Pansy, "try" to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary, on christmas eve, but parental duties just seem to be piling up, so much so that they don't have any time to spare.

Remeber when we tried to celebrate our anniversary?

Evenings in the Longbottom household were a study in tranquility, but not the eerie silence Pansy had grown accustomed to in her childhood. Here, the quiet was comforting, with the couple nestled on their sofa, Pansy's head resting on her husband's shoulder as he delved into a book. Meanwhile, their three children—Alice, Francesca, and the youngest, August—were scattered across the carpet.

Alice engrossed herself in a tome from her father's study, while Francesca and August engaged in a heated game of wizard's chess. Despite being three years younger, August seemed to be trouncing his sister. Their seventeen-year-old, Alice, glanced at her parents and remarked, "Your seventeenth anniversary is coming up soon."

"You can shoot me on the day I forget," Neville quipped, his eyes still fixed on his book. Pansy playfully nudged his arm.

"Do you two have any plans? Something romantic?" asked Francesca, the fourteen-year-old. Meanwhile, eleven-year-old August gagged at the mention of romance, deep in his "the opposite gender is a contagious disease" phase.

"Aug, you're gagging now, but in a few years, you'll be chasing after some girl, begging for romance," Alice teased her brother, earning a loving laugh from Pansy.

"Mum, any plans?" Francesca persisted. "Hannah Abbott was saying Dad was quite the romantic in his younger days. Did you have romantic anniversaries?"

Neville coughed uncomfortably at the mention of his ex-girlfriend, trying to change the subject, but Pansy reassured him with a comforting pat on the arm.

"He's more of a hopeful romantic," Pansy chuckled. "But we haven't properly celebrated an anniversary since Francie was born. It became even harder with Auggie along the way. Although we did have a few moments when Alice was a baby. People offered to babysit, but our hearts just wanted us all together."

"Francie and Auggie, the romance ruiners," Neville interjected with a smile. "I remember you two pulling me away whenever I tried to steal a kiss from your mum. And you, Auggie, were no less innocent, always glued to your mum's hip and crying every time I got near."

"I told you we should've given them up for adoption. You never took a seven-year-old's opinion seriously," Alice quipped, earning a playful tug on her hair from August.

"Nev, dear?" Pansy called, drawing her husband's attention away from their children. He hummed in acknowledgment, pulling her closer in a tender embrace.

"Do you remember when we tried to celebrate our tenth anniversary?" she asked, catching the children's attention with intrigue. "What do you mean 'tried'?" Francesca inquired eagerly.

On the twenty-fourth of December, Neville and Pansy finally decided to steal a moment for themselves and celebrate their anniversary with a quiet dinner at a charming Italian restaurant nearby. However, as fate would have it, parental duties refused to give them a break. Their three-year-old, August, was cranky with an ear infection and a nasty cold.

"Mama, I don't feel good," August whimpered, seeking comfort from his mother, who was engrossed in the latest edition of Witch Weekly. Pansy immediately scooped him up, her heart aching at his distress, and carried him out to the front porch where Neville was tending to the plants.

Meanwhile, Neville found himself in the midst of his own battle with his two daughters, aged nine and seven. Both were vying for his attention, their constant bickering wearing on his nerves. He adored his girls but wished for a moment of peace to hear them out without the arguments.

Surveying the watering can in his hand and the squabbling girls before him, Neville made a snap decision. Without a second thought, he doused both of them with water. "DAD, WHAT WAS THAT FOR?" Alice protested, while Francesca shot him a glare.

"Now that you're done arguing, care to tell me why you're out here?" Neville asked with a charming smile, trying to suppress his amusement at their soaked state.

"We haven't gotten a birthday present for me yet, and my birthday was ages ago," Francie complained, giving her best puppy-dog eyes. In reality, her birthday had been just three weeks prior, but she hadn't received a gift yet due to the busy household.

Neville dried Francie's hair with a towel, "We haven't gotten a birthday present for me yet, and my birthday was ages ago," Francie lamented, her expression adorned with puppy-dog eyes. In truth, her birthday had only passed three weeks prior, but the absence of a gift was undeniable.

Pansy had made promises, but the household's bustling errands had left little time for birthday shopping. "Yes, lovebug, we'll get you a present. What did you have in mind?" Neville inquired, gently drying her hair with a towel. "Dragon-hide Quidditch gloves, especially the red ones I adore. My old pair is completely worn out," Francie replied, her excitement evident.

Sighing heavily, Neville contemplated the cost of Quidditch gloves. Though he never played the sport himself, he understood their expense, given his friends' involvement. Despite Pansy's jests about their financial security – "Honey, you landed yourself a pureblooded witch, the sole heir; it's like winning the lottery" – Neville was wary of spoiling their children. He didn't want them to expect everything handed to them on a silver platter.

However, considering it was a birthday gift for their vivacious Francesa, he relented. "I'll discuss it with your mother, alright?" he proposed, eliciting a happy nod from his daughter.

Then, turning to Alice, who was still grumpy and shivering, he cast a warming charm on her and handed her a towel.

"Now, Miss Alice Longbottom, what's on your wishlist?" he inquired. She huffed, mentioning a book, "Ferdalland's Creek," specifically the new Christmas edition that would soon be unavailable.

"You can read any book in my study," Neville suggested, hoping to sway her. But Alice wasn't convinced. "Dad, all your books are about plants or herbology," she protested, unaware of the irony.

Neville, hurt by her disdain for his beloved subject, reminded her that plants and herbology was the reason they had food on the table. After some negotiation, he reluctantly agreed to her request, knowing her birthday was just around the corner.

As Neville bantered with Alice, he noticed Pansy approaching with August in her arms,

"He's got a bad cold. We've got to take him to St. Mungo's," Pansy announced, her concern evident as Neville cradled August in his arms. "Loves, why are the two of you drenched?" she inquired, turning her attention to both her daughters. Alice pointed accusingly at her father and replied, "Ask him." Pansy shot Neville a quizzical look, but he simply laughed it off.

"St. Mungo's? We were just talking about going there, Mama," Francie chimed in, eagerly approaching her mother. Pansy struggled to carry her daughter as she listened intently. "Why do you need to go to St. Mungo's?" she asked, puzzled by the sudden urgency. "Not St. Mungo's, but nearby, you know, Quality Quidditch Supplies. Al wanted to go to Flourish and Blotts," Francie clarified, her excitement palpable.

Wrapping August in a snug coat, they embarked on their journey to Diagon Alley, the children's excited chatter filling the crisp air. Their first destination was the hospital, where the doctor assured them it was merely a seasonal allergy, nothing serious.

Despite the reassurance, August shed a few tears when faced with the prospect of an injection. Alice offered comfort by holding his hand, while Francesa attempted to soothe him with a playful bribe. "Auggie, if you don't cry, I'll let you sit on my broomstick," she whispered, earning a sharp glance from her mother.

"Mother, you've got to appreciate humor. Or is it too much of a Slytherin trait to have any sense of humor at all?" the cheeky seven-year-old retorted, eliciting a laugh from the amused doctor. Pansy's cheeks flushed crimson, accustomed to Francesa's teasing antics. "See, he's quiet now. I told you bribery works, Mum," Francesa declared triumphantly after the shot was administered.

"Dad, can we please go to the Quidditch store now? It feels like forever since I've been there, and I've missed Madam Donnoricks," Francesa pleaded, tugging at her father's hand. Neville chuckled. "Fran, I think Madam Donnoricks was too busy to notice your absence," he teased, earning a grumble from his daughter.

"I think we should go to Flourish and Blotts. If I'm not mistaken, your dad wanted to pick up a book from there too, so we can kill two birds with one stone," Pansy suggested, causing Alice's face to light up. "Thank Merlin, I almost thought you'd forget I wanted something too," she quipped.

"Mum, you don't have to play favorites so obviously—August, Alice, and finally, little, annoying Francie," Francesa pouted, huffing all the way to the Quidditch store.

"I love them, really, but sometimes I just want to lock myself in the loo for an hour at least," Neville whispered to his wife once the girls were out of earshot. "Yeah, so much for the tenth anniversary," Pansy sighed sadly.

"Mum, can we please have ice cream?" Alice piped up as they stood in front of Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor. "Honestly, if I say no, your sister will eat me alive. But don't get any for August; he's got a cold," Pansy replied.

"I want ice cream too," August said, his eyes brimming with tears. Pansy shushed him gently, promising to get him a pumpkin pastie instead. He nodded happily, planting sloppy kisses on his mum's face. "Mama, you taste like powder," he declared. Pansy laughed, "I'm glad you find my expensive powder tasty," as he continued to lick her face.

As Neville accompanied his daughters to Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor, the atmosphere was anything but peaceful. Alice and Francie were bickering incessantly over trivial matters, causing Neville's patience to wear thin.

"I swear, if you two don't stop this incessant arguing, I'll drench you both in melted ice cream this time," Neville warned sternly. The threat seemed to have its desired effect as the girls fell silent, shooting each other cautious glances.

However, the peace was short-lived. On the way back home, Alice couldn't resist the temptation and took a big bite out of Francie's ice cream cone. Incensed by her sister's audacity, Francie retaliated by pulling Alice's hair, igniting a fresh round of squabbling.

As the squabble between Alice and Francie escalated, Pansy couldn't contain her frustration any longer. "Girls, enough! You're ruining what was supposed to be a nice outing," she scolded firmly. "You need to learn to get along and show some respect for each other."

Neville nodded in agreement, his expression mirroring Pansy's disappointment. "Your mother's right. We expect better behavior from you both," he added, his disappointment evident in his tone.

The girls hung their heads sheepishly, realizing they had overstepped their bounds. Despite their squabble, they knew they had disappointed their parents. With remorse in their eyes, they quietly accepted their scolding.

The ride back home was uncomfortably quiet, not the peaceful kind that usually followed a family outing. Pansy and Neville tried to engage their daughters in conversation, but their attempts were met with vague responses and lingering shame from the earlier incident.

"Loves, it's alright. These things happen, and it's natural to have disagreements with your siblings," Neville reassured them gently. "But you have to remember to respect each other's boundaries. Alice, you shouldn't have taken a big bite out of Fran's ice cream, and Francie, you shouldn't have pulled Alice's hair."

"Your dad is right. Alice, apologize to Francie. You're older, so you should set a good example and give her some space. And Francie, apologize to Alice. Cut her some slack, alright honeypies?" Pansy chimed in, despite Alice's audible groan at the endearment.

Reluctantly, the girls exchanged apologies, their embarrassment evident but their resolve to make amends stronger.

Making a brief stop at a smaller branch of Honeydukes, Pansy returned with pasties for everyone. August, in his usual fashion, managed to wear more of his pastie on his face than in his mouth, eliciting laughter from the whole family and easing the tension of the earlier disagreement.

After they arrived home, both Pansy and Neville were utterly exhausted, too drained to even consider moving, let alone keeping their dinner reservation. So, they decided to cancel it, opting for a quiet evening at home instead.

Once the kids were tucked into bed, Pansy made her way to the fridge and retrieved a tub of pumpkin-pie flavored ice cream for the couple. "My favorite, you remembered," Neville remarked gratefully as he accepted the bowl from his wife. "Couldn't even get some for me with those two constantly bickering in the store," he added with a chuckle.

"I know it's exhausting, but I wouldn't trade it for the world. I love what we have," Pansy replied, her voice tinged with affection.

"I love us too, and yes, I love those three pests too. They're perfect," Neville agreed wholeheartedly, sharing a laugh with his wife. As he noticed a smudge of ice cream on Pansy's lips, he couldn't resist leaning in to lick it off, eliciting a blush from her.

"Parkinson, are you blushing?" he teased, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Shut up, Longbottom," she retorted playfully, grabbing his collar and pulling him into a tender kiss.

"Happy anniversary, Parkinson," Neville whispered against her lips.

"Happy anniversary, Longbottom," Pansy replied, sealing their affection with another sweet kiss.

"I am highly offended that you'd call us pests, dad," August protested, his tone indignant. "And I consider myself a very important part of this story. Without me, you wouldn't even enjoy your anniversary in a true way."

"Shut up, August. You don't even remember anything; you were three with snot up your nose," Alice retorted, rolling her eyes at her younger brother. "Alice and I still do not get along. She's a bully," Francesa interjected, shooting her sister a pointed look. "Honestly, why do I put up with the both of you?" Alice muttered under her breath.

"Mum? I had a question," Francesa turned to Pansy, seeking clarification. "Yes, sweetheart?" Pansy replied, her attention fully on her daughter. "Your anniversary is on Christmas, and Alice is turning seventeen exactly a month after your seventeenth anniversary. Aren't you supposed to be pregnant for nine months?"

Pansy began to answer, but Neville intervened, not wanting to delve into that conversation with their fourteen-year-old. They couldn't tell her the truth—that they eloped when Pansy was eight months pregnant. That's a story for another time, probably in fifteen years.

"Will you look at the time? Get to bed, everyone. We've got to go to the Burrow tomorrow," Neville redirected the conversation once the kids had retreated to their rooms. As he washed the dishes, Pansy wrapped her arms around his waist from behind.

"Baby, why didn't you let me answer Francesa's question?" she inquired softly, planting kisses along his bare back. He turned around, trapping her between the kitchen island and his arms, lifting her onto the countertop.

"You seriously think I would let you tell the kids that I got you pregnant out of wedlock, was too much of a coward to propose to you until you offered to elope? Yeah, that's not happening," he confessed, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Pansy couldn't help but laugh at his response. Embracing her husband tightly, she circled her arms around his neck and kissed him with all the love in the world. She knew that what they had was a forever kind of love.

#panville #fremione #panville smut #harry potter next generation #harry potter #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts houses #potions #herbology #neville longbottom #pansy parkinson #marriage au #albus-x-alice #teddy lupin x reader #harry x ginny #draco malfoy

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triscribeaucollection · 6 months

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New installment of my PJO Trade AU in the works:

So, apparently demigods didn’t get sick very often.

But when they did?

Hoooo boy did they pull out all the stops.

Thalia readjusted the thick cloth tied around her face and tucked into her shirt collar, before hefting up her latest pair of buckets filled with ice water. Almost made her wistful for the invisible spirit servants on Ogygia, honestly.

As best they’d been able to figure, it started in the Hermes cabin. Three separate new arrivals had come in the week before and been shuffled into the catch-all cabin, though only one stayed there as an unclaimed demigod, the other two heading off to Apollo and Demeter’s cabins, respectively. But regardless, at least one of them came in with some kind of nasty bug without showing any symptoms, and the Hermes kids were the first to get taken out.

Luke wasn’t the senior half blood by any means, but when the Head of the cabin went down puking her guts out, he took charge pretty quick. As soon as he realized more kids than not were dealing with the dizzy spells that preceded the sniffling and then vomit, Thalia’s best friend closed up shop, turning the whole cabin into a quarantine zone. Unfortunately, that practically guaranteed any camper inside who hadn’t caught the bug yet was screwed, but they all obeyed Luke’s orders, reluctantly agreeing to it for the greater good.

Then a daughter of Dionysus collapsed in the dining pavilion, and everything went downhill from there.

Twelve cabins housed all of Camp Half Blood’s demigod population. Three stood empty most if not all of the time (Artemis, Zeus, and Hera); that left nine full of teenagers ripe for infection. Five filled up with feverish groans fairly quickly. The Athena kids tried to close up shop before any of their members could get sick, but missed the mark, and within two days more than half of them were bedridden, including Annabeth. Thalia didn’t dare set foot inside, but she’d at least spoken to the younger girl a little through a closed window, and promised something special once Annabeth felt better.

“But if you die, I get to keep it,” she warned, only to laugh when the eleven year old petulantly stuck out her tongue.

The Apollo campers, gods love ‘em, emptied out the Big House infirmary and went mobile. Those who fell ill were banished back to their cabin, but the rest maintained the closest they could get to hospital protective gear and delivered soup, drinks, and other necessities to everyone else. Kids caught in the spiked fever phase were wiped down repeatedly with cold wet washcloths, while those wracked by dry heaving got the same pressed firmly against the backs of their necks.

But that meant a lot of cold wet cloth constantly warming up and drying out, which meant a fresh supply of ice water was badly needed.

Hence Thalia, decked out like a background extra in a post apocalypse film, lugging heavy buckets up to the cabins again and again and again. She wasn’t the only one by any means; the magical beings employed by Chiron as security and cleaning crew and whatnot were all pitching in too, since they couldn’t get sick like demigods. But that meant Thalia needed to dodge around other folks and their buckets on her back-and-forth trips, which felt progressively trickier as the fourth day of Camp versus Plague dragged on and warmed up.

At some point in the early afternoon, as she set down her empty buckets for another refill, an Apollo kid decked out in yellow vinyl gloves and an actual medical facemask came scurrying up to try and shove two wrapped sandwiches into her hands. “I just need one, thanks,” Thalia told him. Her stomach twisted; maybe make that only half of one.

But the kid shook their head. “The other’s for Percy.”

“Yeah, no, that’s gotta wait, I don’t set foot in our cabin until the end of the day, after I’ve scrubbed my skin down to the cellular level.” Like Tartarus was Thalia tracking germs home to infect her little cousin.

Above the line of their mask, the Apollo kid’s eyes scrunched. “But he’s not at the Poseidon cabin?”

“...what.”

“I saw him helping with laundry, just a little while ago. Looked like he was past ready for a break, too. Like you,” the kid added pointedly, before they successfully maneuvered the sandwiches into Thalia’s unresistant grasp. She only blinked as the twerp took off again, before tipping her head back with a groan.

Percy, helping out with laundry. When Thalia specifically ordered him to stay put in their cabin, away from fevers and vomit and all the camp-wide nastiness. For a moment she idly wondered if losing Poseidon’s favor would be worth strangling the self-sacrificing idiot.

...nah. Probably not.

Sighing, Thalia abandoned her buckets and went to find Percy.

If only so she could throw him headfirst into the lake.

#pjo #the trade au #think I'm gonna title this one #hidden depths #>:3

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chronicillnessfromateensmind · 12 days

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February Baby

A baby born in February whose cries warmed the frigid air of all those around her, a mother's warm embrace, a father’s catchy laughter, an older brother’s playful spirit, all of these things are what welcomed me into the world.

I don’t think anyone’s family is perfect, but mine is close.

New years spent covered in glitter and beads, waking up on Valentine's Day to treats and charms, competitive easter egg hunting, summers in the Outerbanks, fireworks and family, back-to-school shopping sprees, costumes and hayrides, stuffing and laughter, and Christmas mornings all felt ever so magical. These are the memories that defined my childhood. It was a picturesque painting my parents so carefully crafted for my siblings and me. There aren’t enough words to describe how grateful and lucky I was to be born into such an amazing family. A family that no matter what my unhinged imagination conjured up, always supported me.

I was a curious child, bouncing back and forth fixations like a racket ball. From basketball, to gymnastics, to swimming, to horseback riding, to girl scouts, to cheerleading, to school clubs; if I was curious about something I would go for it, and I had my entire family behind me in every decision.

Some may say precocious, others may say, overachiever, I’ll just go with clever, but from a young age, it was evident that I wanted to be the best at anything I did. Walking at nine months old, reading and writing by three, getting top grades in kindergarten, and being way too hard on myself from second grade. There wasn’t a harsher critic of my work than myself. I’m not sure why I was born such a perfectionist, my parents are genuinely happy with any thing I do, but I’ve always been this way.

Looking back I’ve always been a sickly child, although back then it didn’t seem like much, but now it’s ever so clear something was going on. Like whenever I would get a cold, I would always be sicker than all of my friends, also it would last longer and take me more time to get rid of it. Often a simple virus would lead to secondary infections which prolonged the recovery time even further.

A frightful and slightly traumatizing incident occurred after an ordinary routine dental cleaning. The specifics aren’t clear, but the doctors assumed that bacteria got into my bloodstream and landed in my femur bone, slowly eating away at it. The technical term is osteomyelitis, and spent a week in the hospital fighting the infection. The doctors informed my parents that if we had waited a further 24 hours, I would’ve had to have my leg amputated. I was in the fourth grade, 9, and petrified.

I can’t help but draw parallels in my mind as memories from that time flash in front of my eyes, a girl so innocent and so full of love, screaming at the top of her lungs clutching her leg in pure agony as she pleads to her parent’s for some relief. Little did that innocent girl, who was so full of love know that in just four years she would be in the same position; only this time with no explanation as to why she was in such agonizing pain.

When I was 13 the entire world was in disarray. It was 2020, the pandemic had just reached the states, and everyone was paranoid and terrified of the havoc this virus left in its wake. Depictions of toilet paper battles, milk shortages, mask mandates, and uncertain news reports come to mind. Portrayals of political anxiety and never-ending riots were prevalent, and misinformation and inconsistent media plagued our screens.

Being 13 years old and watching the world you once knew fall apart so quickly on the scale that it did was something to this day I don’t think I’ve fully processed. I don’t know if I ever fully will.

Days seemed to stand still, the future didn’t seem bright, and quite frankly there didn’t seem to be any light in the outside world. With the melancholy state of the outside world, my family did their best to create a fun atmosphere inside our home. It’s been instilled in me from a young age that laughter is the best medicine, and in a time so dark and dim as 2020, all you could do was try your best to find humor in the smaller moments. So that’s what we did.

Movie marathons and board games, trashy reality TV and ice cream, laughter and love. It didn’t matter if the rest of the world was bitter, brutal, and broken because our home radiated with warmth, with whispers of laughter encapsulating us, and it didn’t matter because we were together, we were whole. As long as we were together we could weather any storm. Little did we know, the biggest storm we ever would have to face was just hovering over the horizon.

#chronic fatigue #chronic illness #chronic pain #chronically ill #heds #pots syndrome #potsie #amps #crps #mcas #creative writing #writing #writers on tumblr #fnd awareness #fnd

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wallacejwriting · 9 months

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Starkyda's "Chosen" Ones

As a general rule, I'm not interested in writing standard Chosen One tropes. The idea that this one person was chosen and therefore cannot lose is boring to me.

So with Starkyda, I'm playing with the trope in ways I find interesting.

Firstly, instead of one Chosen One, there are nine. And instead of all of them being chosen by gods or destiny, only three of them are chosen by gods. Three more are chosen by Saoirse, the first, and three - Saoirse being one of them - manage to reach through the veil and grasp onto the gods and pick THEMSELVES.

Secondly, they aren't guaranteed to all be good guys. In fact, all three chosen by the gods - who are fallible and disconnected - are actively antagonistic toward the characters in some way. They tried to pick those they thought would help and it didn't quite work out.

Third, they aren't guaranteed to win. Pure aether is very easily warped and twisted by the Blight when they're in the same realm. The chosen ones are all at much higher risk of Blight infection and death, as well as having their newfound god granted powers corrupted and changed into something destructive and monstrous. This means using their powers too much is also risky. And these pure aether god powers are beacons to the Blight. The Blight can sense them. The Blight is hungry.

Fourth, anyone can be a Chosen One. Not in the sense of metaphors and feelings. No, if you rip the god stone - a sort of magical bezoar implanted into a chosen one by a god as a conduit of the god's power - out of a chosen one and consume it yourself, congratulations, you are now that chosen one. And there's nothing the gods can do about it. And yes, this almost always kills the first one.

And fifth, remember Shades? If a Shade steps out of someone with a god stone, well, that Shade has powers it very much should not. Strange, but consistent.

The gods granted Lumira 9 powers to save themselves, because that's all they can do. And unfortunately, that's no guarantee that the right people will get those powers, or that they'll win. The rest is up to them.

#writeblr #amwriting #am writing #writers on tumblr #worldbuilding #starkyda

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team-science · 1 year

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Fanfiction needs to be relevant to what matters to you. Let me say that again. People who say you shouldn't write about what matters to you need to shut up.

I found an old zine I read back in 1993. I was growing up in a mega conservative household and it was the height of the AIDS pandemic. Mom and Dad were fighting and I went to this zine to read some Doctor Who fanfiction. This story, "Farewell" was published that year. It is about the fourth Doctor going to Ryan White's funeral. Now, in my home, Ryan White---a child who had been infected with HIV during a blood infusion---was a scapegoat and a political speaking tool. In this story, the Doctor saw Ryan as a person, a child, and talked to Sarah Jane about it.

It changed how I saw victims of AIDS. Ultimately, that little fanfiction I read when I was nine ended up changing me. Now I'm a scientist who works with infectious diseases.

People who say your fanfiction or your book or your poetry needs to stay out of politics can stuff it. You can change people. Go do it.

Thanks, E. Michael Whitmore II. I would definitely give your fic kudos.

#good fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #zines #politics #change the world #doctor who #the fourth doctor

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chronically-unlucky · 2 years

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Playable Characters of The Quarry as Animal Crossing Villagers

Only one of them has a name match villager so we’re going on ✨vibes✨

So since I want my island to have each of the personalities I sorted everyone into their closet fit. Though there is going to be one double since there’s eight personality types and nine of them. This is my fourth attempt to make this since tumblr keeps closing my draft so forgive me if I don’t expand on any part of my reasoning

Laura: Normal

I read through the wiki for her and each of the personalities in animal crossing and I feel like normal fits her best.

Our girl wants to be a vet one day which. 🫢ANYWAY I think we can safely say that puts her in the nature hobby.

She’s got a very chill fashion sense from what we see, baseball cap and all so I think we’re looking for a more simple cool style. Possibly active as well so Bea, Olive, Sandy, or Stella.

So we’re down to colors. Laura wears a pink hat (though an argument could be made that it’s red) and a brown plaid flannel around her waist. So there goes Sandy. As Olive wears a brown top, Bea is brown, and Stella is pink and wears pink.

Okay I know her style is described as simple, but her color scheme has more bright colors than I see our girl vibing with.

As much as I want to give it to Bea since Laura is turning into a werewolf is an inevitability and there’s not a wolf option, I’m giving it to Olive because of her more muted color palette. Also as I said in the beginning, this comes from vibes and I really feel like Olive matches Laura better.

Max: Lazy

I don’t like the idea, but the wiki describes him as having a lack of ambition and being easygoing

Since he’s also characterized as the class clown, so definitely a play hobby. Which gives us 34 candidates.

His outfit in the game is “blue jacket, green T-shirt, dark blue jeans, and brown shoes” which sounds pretty simple probably a simple/cool combo like Laura. 17 candidates remaining.

We’ll he’s wearing green and blue so let’s do who likes/wears those colors. Oh. Oh no. So we’ve got Joey, Marcel, and Pudge

*sigh* well Joey wears a literal diaper and Max isn’t that incompetent, but he’s also not pretentious enough to be Pudge which means our winner is Marcel. 🥲 I’m fine.

Emma: Snooty

I’m not justifying my selection of snooty for her and I don’t think I need to.

I almost don’t want to go in depth about her having the fashion hobby for the same reason, but the wiki describes her as dressing more feminine than the other counselors so it sounds appropriate to me. So there are 32 Snooty villagers with the fashion hobby.

She wears “a green long sleeved turtle-necked shirt that shows off her midriff, black jeans, and white socks and sneakers.” Which sounds more cool girl to me so we’ll take out the ones without cool in their style. 9 remaining.

Okay she wears green let’s see who wears green or likes green… wow that narrowed things down a lot. Just two villagers remain: Opal who is Green or Freda who likes green and is wearing green.

As much as I adore Opal to like the ends of the earth, I’m giving it to Freya. I think her vibes match better.

Nick: Smug

This man wasted no time shoving his shooting victory in Jacobs face over the Peanut Butter Butter Pops also fine he was infected but big dick Nick? Really?

He’s not athletic enough to be a jock villager, but I think we can at least give him the fitness hobby. Which actually narrows us down to four already.

His outfit is pretty chill and he’s definitely supposed to be the Cool Guy™️ so cool style gives us two options Huck or Lucha.

I don’t like it one bit, but since Lucha is actually red which is a color we do see Nick wearing. He gets it.

Dylan: Lazy

This one does have ambitions, but he’s still pretty carefree and relaxed so we’ll stick him with lazy as well. Also his last name Lenivý is Czech, Slovak, Belarusian (лянiвы), Polish (leniwy) and Russian (ленивый) for "lazy". So.

I’m not seeing a lazy villager with music hobby and only one with Education. But Doc? Ehh. So we’re gonna look at him and nature hobby (quantum physics is like vaguely close to nature right?) lazy villagers and if he still makes it he makes it but I doubt it

His outfit is pretty simple. T-shirt and jeans. About as simple as it gets. So either just simple or simple cool

Uh he’s just wearing a grey shirt so we can’t really bring color into this..he does have a wolf tattoo, but we don’t have a wolf option.. so it we’re just down to vibes.

Personally I think Erik would be a hilarious option since his catchphrase is chow down and he’s scared of werewolves, but Weber actually kinda looks like him so I’m giving it to him.

Kaitlyn: Sisterly

Sisterly. I am an only child so maybe I’m wrong here but Kaitlyn seems like the fun older sister of the group

She’s got a sporty vibe so we’ll say fitness hobby which gives us 6 villagers to pick between

She wears a yellow hoodie so let’s look at villagers who are/wear yellow.

… okay listen. I know it’s Mira. Her fashion is cool and active, she wears and likes yellow. I don’t have a real reason to disqualify her so for this post Kaitlyn is Mira on my island though I’m having Phoebe because I feel like her vibe is more fitting

Jacob: Jock

Do we need to go into this? Be serious.

I know fitness is right there, but I actually think the play hobby is more of his vibe.

His outfit is a green overshirt, a blue undershirt, and black pants. Sounds pretty simple. And we’ll go active because he is a jock after all

Alright now green and blue outfit so who likes/wears those colors we got 6 candidates left.

Funnily enough our wearing and likes leaves us with a green villager that wears blue and a blue villager that wears green. And of the two I think our boy Bam is the better fit

Ryan: Cranky

I feel like Ryan’s brooding loner deal puts him in the smug category. Also he isn’t listening to music it’s a ✨podcast✨ which I like podcasts too but he gives off that indie oh you haven’t heard of it vibe.

Okay as I already said he’s not listening to music, he’s listening to a podcast. I’m giving him the music hobby anyway which gives us 14 candidates.

His whole thing is brooding loner so 100% cool fashion which… only eliminates two villagers.. but his outfit is also pretty simple emotionally I will never recover from Roscoe being disqualified

Okay so his outfit is black and white so our final three are Apollo, Chief, and Groucho. I’m not really a fan of any of these being him. Chief is more fem than I see Ryan dressing, Groucho looks too anxious, and Apollo.. okay fine my only reason against him is not wanting a patriot on my island but he’s passed through the other disqualifications so. Apollo gets the part. No one talk to me I depresso

Abigal: Peppy

Okay granted peppy is the only one left, but I do feel like it fits her best regardless. Peppy villagers are described as energetic, friendly, and overly excited, allowing them to get along easily with many villagers and that definitely sounds like her were she you know.. not living a nightmare..

Apparently she was the art tutor at camp and a pretty good teacher at least according to Nick so I think education sounds appropriate. Oh. Um… well since there’s not really another hobby that fits her and the only peppy education hobby is Shino so um

Shino wins by default

Our Final Lineup

Olive as Laura

Marcel as Max

Freya as Emma

Lucha as Nick

Weber as Dylan

Mira as Kaitlyn

Bam as Jacob

Apollo as Ryan

Shino as Abigal

#acnh villagers #animal crossing new horizons #acnh #the quarry #hacketts quarry #dylan leviny #abigal blyg #nick furcillo #jacob custos #kaitlyn ka #emma mountebank #ryan erzahler #laura kearney #max brinly

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betrosed · 1 year

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The following excerpt is from CS Lewis’ novel Till We Have Faces, within which he retells the Greek myth of Cupid and Psyche from the perspective of one of Psyche’s sisters, whom Lewis names Orual. At this point in the novel, Orual (who hides her ugly face beneath a veil) has been ruling as the revered Queen of Glome for many years. Her counselor, Arnom, has come to inform her that her beloved right-hand captain, Bardia, is approaching death.

Arnom was an old and trusted counsellor now. He laid his hand on my arm. "Queen," he said gently and very gravely, "it would make him the less likely to recover if you now went to him."

"Do I carry such an infection about me?" said I. "Is there death in my aspect, even through a veil?"

"Bardia is your most loyal and most loving subject," said Arnom. "To see you would call up all his powers — perhaps crack them. He'd rouse himself to his duty and courtesy. A hundred affairs of state on which he meant to speak to you would crowd into his mind. He'd rack his brains to remember things he has forgotten for these last nine days. It might kill him. Leave him to drowse and dream. It's his best chance now."

It was as bitter a truth as I'd ever tasted, but I drank it. Would I not have crouched silent in my own dungeons as long as Arnom bade me if it would add one featherweight to Bardia's chance of life? Three days I bore it (I, the old fool, with hanging dugs and shrivelled flanks).

On the fourth I said, "I can bear it no longer." On the fifth Arnom came to me, himself weeping, and I knew his tidings without words. And this is a strange folly, that what seemed to me worst of all was that Bardia had died without ever hearing what it would have shamed him to hear. It seemed to me that all would be bearable if, once only, I could have gone to him and whispered in his ear, "Bardia, I loved you."

When they laid him on the pyre I could only stand by to honour him. Because I was neither his wife nor kin, I might not wail nor beat the breast for him. Ah, if I could have beaten the breast, I would have put on steel gloves or hedgehog skins to do it.

I waited three days, as the custom is, and then went to comfort (so they call it) his widow. It was not only duty and usage that drove me. Because he had loved her she was, in a way, surely enough the enemy; yet who else in the whole world could now talk to me?

They brought me into the upper room in her house where she sat at her spinning — very pale, but very calm. Calmer than I. Once I had been surprised that she was so much less beautiful than report had made her. Now, in her later years, she had won a new kind of beauty; it was a proud, still sort of face.

"Lady — Ansit," I said, taking both her hands (she had not time to get them away from me), "what shall I say to you? How can I speak of him and not say that your loss is indeed without measure? And that's no comfort. Unless you can think even now that it is better to have had and lost such a husband than to enjoy any man else in the world forever."

"The Queen does me great honour," said Ansit, pulling her hands out of mine so as to stand with them crossed on her breast, her eyes cast down, in the court fashion.

"Oh, dear Lady, un-queen me a little, I beseech you. Is it as if you and I had never met till yesterday? After yours (never think I'd compare them) my loss is greatest. I pray you, your seat again. And your distaff. We shall talk better to that movement. And you will let me sit here beside you?"

She sat down and resumed her spinning; her face at rest and her lips a little pursed, very housewifely. She would give me no help.

"It was very unlooked for," said I. "Did you at first see any danger in this sickness?"

"Yes."

"Did you so? To me Arnom said it ought to have been a light matter."

"He said that to me, Queen. He said it would be a light matter for a man who had all his strength to fight it."

"Strength? But the Lord Bardia was a strong man."

"Yes — as a tree that is eaten away within."

"Eaten away? And with what? I never knew this."

"I suppose not, Queen. He was tired. He had worked himself out — or been worked. Ten years ago he should have given over and lived as old men do. He was not made of iron or brass, but flesh."

"He never looked nor spoke like an old man."

"Perhaps you never saw him, Queen, at the times when a man shows his weariness. You never saw his haggard face in early morning. Nor heard his groan when you (because you had sworn to do it) must shake him and force him to rise. You never saw him come home late from the palace, hungry, yet too tired to eat. How should you, Queen? I was only his wife. He was too well-mannered, you know, to nod and yawn in a Queen's house."

"You mean that his work — ?"

"Five wars, thirty-one battles, nineteen embassies, taking thought for this and thought for that, speaking a word in one ear, and another, and another, soothing this man and scaring that and flattering a third, devising, consulting, remembering, guessing, forecasting . . . and the Pillar Room and the Pillar Room. The mines are not the only place where a man can be worked to death."

This was worse than the worst I had looked for. A flash of anger passed through me, then a horror of misgiving; could it (but that was fantastical) be true? But the misery of that mere suspicion made my own voice almost humble.

"You speak in your sorrow, Lady. But (forgive me) this is mere fantasy. I never spared myself more than him. Do you tell me a strong man'd break under the burden a woman's bearing still?"

"Who that knows men would doubt it? They're harder, but we're tougher. They do not live longer than we. They do not weather a sickness better. Men are brittle. And you, Queen, were the younger."

My heart shrivelled up cold and abject within me. "If this is true," said I, "I've been deceived. If he had dropped but a word of it, I'd have taken every burden from him, sent him home forever, loaded with every honour I could give."

"You know him little, Queen, if you think he'd ever have spoken that word. Oh, you have been a fortunate queen; no prince ever had more loving servants."

"I know I have had loving servants. Do you grudge me that? Even now, in your grief, will your heart serve you to grudge me that? Do you mock me because that is the only sort of love I ever had or could have? No husband; no child. And you — you who have had all — "

"All you left me, Queen."

"Left you, fool? What mad thought is in your mind?"

"Oh, I know well enough that you were not lovers. You left me that. The divine blood will not mix with subjects', they say. You left me my share. When you had used him, you would let him steal home to me; until you needed him again. After weeks and months at the wars— you and he night and day together, sharing the councils, the dangers, the victories, the soldiers' bread, the very jokes — he could come back to me, each time a little thinner and greyer and with a few more scars, and fall asleep before his supper was down, and cry out in his dream, 'Quick, on the right there. The Queen's in danger.' And next morning — the Queen's a wonderful early riser in Glome — the Pillar Room again. I'll not deny it; I had what you left of him."

Her look and voice now were such as no woman could mistake.

"What?" I cried. "Is it possible you're jealous?"

She said nothing.

I sprang to my feet and pulled aside my veil. "Look, look, you fool!" I cried. "Are you jealous of this?"

She started back from me, gazing, so that for a moment I wondered if my face were a terror to her. But it was not fear that moved her. For the first time that prim mouth of hers twitched. The tears began to gather in her eyes. "Oh," she gasped, "Oh. I never knew you also . . . ?"

"What?"

"You loved him. You've suffered, too. We both . . .

She was weeping; and I. Next moment we were in each other's arms. It was the strangest thing that our hatred should die out at the very moment she first knew her husband was the man I loved. It would have been far otherwise if he were still alive; but on that desolate island (our blank, un-Bardia'd life) we were the only two castaways. We spoke a language, so to call it, which no one else in the huge heedless world could understand. Yet it was a language only of sobs. We could not even begin to speak of him in words; that would have unsheathed both daggers at once.

The softness did not last. I have seen something like this happen in a battle. A man was coming at me, I at him, to kill. Then came a sudden great gust of wind that wrapped our cloaks over our swords and almost over our eyes, so that we could do nothing to one another but must fight the wind itself. And that ridiculous contention, so foreign to the business we were on, set us both laughing, face to face — friends for a moment — and then at once enemies again and forever. So here.

Presently (I have no memory how it came about) we were apart again; I now resuming my veil, her face hard and cold.

#cs lewis #till we have faces #literature #greek mythology

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catrose13 · 2 years

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Chapter Nine Spooky Scary Skeletons (In The Closet) this Chapters "Brought To You By" is Being Gay and Doing Crime. Also Joey Breaking the Fourth Wall Again. This Chapters Art is very detailed and makes me feel inadequate

You mean the tiny elephants were real??!

...The Spooky Bunny? Is...is that them? ...Possibly a Celtic figure instead of Egyptian?

Shadi ready to storm the castle just like in Princess Bride

Vixen threatening a God

Shadi judging Pegasus' taste...and laughing at the Foliage version of his old friend

Mokuba LANGUAGE!

Poor boy with understandable trust issues

Oh no now he's sad

...Shadi confused by the laughter he hears

This is about the point that realisation should be dawning

Wrong White Haired Millenium Item Bearer

Shadi throwing shade on "whoever" gave an Artist the Eye

The Scales trying to locate Multiple Items? Or is the Hare some how also related to the Eye?

"He's so cunning and intelligent" Pegasus *snores*

Trying to figure things out... Why is there a pic of me?!

Year confusion

Finally the shouting. He's confused and concerned and he want to know how the heck Pegasus know him

Oh no, Kemo's getting drunk with the incredibly Shady Hare I trust it not at all

Kemo stop starting to feel comfortable with it!! Why could Keith's common sense not infect other members of Pegasus' staff?

Wine labels are very weird

And now the Russians are there

Sergei took that title and is now running with it

"My Weed Dealer’s Mechanic’s Client’s Brother’s Nephew-in-Law"

Well at least Kemo is aware Pegasus' eye is fucked up?

KEMO THE HARE IS NOT A "Nice Guy"!! The Hare is Hella Sus, it is encouraging Pegasus' delusions of Grandeur

Misha? Why does the Shady Hare know you? And why do you sound like "creaking wood" what are you Misha?

WAIT Pause! That Hare almost said "writing" the Hare is breaking the Fourth Wall too, I thought only Joey had that power in this fic??

...I knew that Hare was shady

Shadi! x2!

I still don't trust that Hare or the "Hole" in his pocket

Ah hah! Scaly-Shadi is being pulled to either the Hare or other Millenium Items

Shad-key in the meantime is quoting Alice in Wonderland and I'm a little worried about what that could be foreshadowing

Anubis is now smol

Was it a Chupacabra? I was sure it was Ammit. Damn

Who/What is that Damned Hare/Rabbit!!

"A Greek Statue with arms" very nice

...Bakura....who you nuzzling at in your dream Bakura?

Yugi's "Prowess as a Human Plushie"

Yeah there's more of them Seto they have you out-numbered

Love that he's giving Mai all the respect

I'm learning things again... only this time it's not things that will traumatise me

Joey making deals with the Foxes

Seto... well I guess in the right light and if you aren't a nature-y person it's possible to mistake Foxes for Cats...possibly

"Tits"... Well you did get up close and personal with some chests Bakura so it's not in-accurate

Ah morning hugs

Joey measuring Yugi to see who he's greeting

Oof early morning no glasses "why does everything look wrong?" it also helps explain the confusion about the foxes

"Eating for two" whatta way to phrase that

Yami and Téa having a heart felt moment only for Seto to interrupt

They're Foxes Seto. Foxes

Seto you Miette'd that fox "You Kick the Fox? You Kick it like the Football?! Oh Jail! Jail for Human for a thousand years!" or rather "ten millennia of imprisonment"

...Grandpa what're you up to?

Aw man Tristan's poor family... I hope he's not in too much trouble

It's probably not going to be Mr With-A-K, I think he learnt his lesson

...Is that...Anubis?...Di Joey just...?? I think he did... oop

"San Fransokoyo"! Baymax! Tadashi! Aunt Cass!

Joey...this whole conversation and kidnapping have been a train wreck.

Oh no... Guys don't make me sing the song again... I'll do it

Well...your argument is sounding valid... but I still don't like it

Yugi maybe shouldn't be encouraging Seto to set things on fire when they are planning on robbing the place

Oh dear, now Mai also wants to set shit on fire

...Yugi stop thinking about Seto's tits

I'm glad Tristan's genre savvy enough to know not to tempt fate

Oof heat and humidity are terrible I'm with her on this one

Odion? You have a sensei?

"Vulpine Cyclical Zoothropy" that's being a werefox right?

I love the consistency, we learnt about Sasha from the Russians and now we're hearing about her again, I think I remember another reference to her as well

Aw Marik you are a good overlord to your minions

Dammit Hodgekiss this is a Serious Moment

...Well at least Marik knows the importance of helmets?

"Dr Chopper"... Is that...????

Hmm who are you Odion's Sensei?

Odion you liar

...I think he less restrains his brother and more gently directs him at worthy targets

Hounds and Hare....

"A bit of Arson and a lot of Larceny" I feel like that could describe the mood of this chapter so far

Marik needs glasses? Maybe??

Ah Peace and Quiet and Brotherly Understanding....A lack of Hodgekiss....

I feel like Stephannie knows so much

What a bunch of idiots

How much do you want to bet each of those listed kids is going to show up in this fic?

Joey is officially losing his shit

...Joey you... you see Dr Crane? DOCTOR CRANE?!!

You guys definitely went overboard

...That was a lot of swears that I honestly had never heard before

Joey has a lot of trauma

I think Keith's regretting getting his boys to kidnap this one

Keith's older sibling energy is so strong, he's trying to comfort Joey

Oh Hey Joeys back. He checked out for a bit and kinda spewed his trauma everywhere but he's back now

Mokuba did what? I mean I'd believe it

Keith I feel like you're in the wrong genre

At least Kemo's warning people about the Rabbit/Hare/Thing

"Cursed Shit Be Afoot"

Keith finds out Pegasus can read minds and steal souls and shit. Keith instantly decides the island is too unsafe for his little dudes

"Nobody dies or gets sunburned or gets their souls ripped out" Good job Keith

Bakura just licking stuff that came off walls

"Zorc" this is a Name thing right? Where you don't say the True Name for Fear of Invoking or Giving Power to the Entity

Don't worry Tristan the Ring is still in it's Cheezy Prison...Not that that's stopping it's current occupant

The Counting

For the love of everything Tristan! he's not a Werewolf!

I'm doing the squinty eyes of suspicion "were-rabbit" why are rabbits so important?

Socially Awkward Brit or Vampire? It's hard to tell

"Fae ancestors".... Is the Spooky Bunny one of the Fae???

"Sunnydale syndrome" Does Buffy exist in this world?

Poor Tristan's Mom

It's so interesting that there are PSAs and awareness things about it

"Forks Syndrome" The Sparkly vampires exist here too?

The Parasite was such a dick

Yami... doesn't know what a vampire is...Concerning....

Does Seto also have Thorin-itis?

He's treating Mai as an informative podcast? Lol

...Ah tangenting in your head only to completely derail conversations. You know how you got there but everyone else quite is confused

Well... I'm glad they've found some common ground to talk about?

Oof Mai

Ah Anubis you've returned... I think

He's found someone to carry him!

Ah naturally chatty people who train their friends and associates, even if you're too tired to verbally respond just make an acknowledging noise every now and then and I'll be happy

Pegasus was basically Mai's parent, oh now I'm having a sad

Trans bonding

Does Seto have Hyper-mobility? My Friend has it and from what he's saying about how he grew too quickly it sounds like something he could have

Anubis The Emotional Support Animal

Yugi O....

I'm glad Téa's self aware of the Goddess like nature of her quads

I think Osiris maybe... Grandpa did spend a lot of time in Egypt

Yami making life difficult for Yugi

Téa not minding at all

Lol "It's very cozy" Yami get your mind out of the gutter

I wonder what is the dumbest way to conduct a seance that Bakura's ever heard of

Bakura is not a fan of his family. Which honestly understandable

Oof

Right Téa's Mom is definitely in the Bad Parent Box

Tristan's Brother-In-Law sounds awesome

Time sounds screwed

lol "Thoths Hangovers"

...Tristan Bakura's not likely to beat on someone for making out with his sister, he's seems like the kinda guy who'd let his sister decide that for herself

Aw Tristan

Poor Bakura's sister

Tristan you also did not kiss a ghost

Lol He's not offended cos your a dude he's offended cos you could have been "making out this whole time"

Joey and Yugi are just on the same wavelength

"Serenity Fucking Krieger" I feel like Bakura could tell stories about her

"You seem a nice young man and she threw a nun out a window" Bakura so confused by how they're related

It's only the knowledge that Joey once mugged Yugi that helps him grasp their relation

The Cards tried their best to help but Joey was Having a Moment. and also knew nothing about Zombie cards

"Leather Goth Knows No Gender" Nice

Hex Girls! Yass

Yami wants his skirt back

Muahahahah prepare to go down Pegasus

I don't think a shellfish allergy makes you sneeze

"Those kids problems have problems" How right you are Keith

"The Autism" ... I don't think they cancel each other out Joey, you can have both

Joey misses the PSAs, that's not good

..."accident" how much you wanna bet his fucked up Dad did something?

...Yami is there something about melons you'd like to tell us?

You should never try to force someone to open up if they're not ready

Yikes wouldn't want to be God on the day Téa finds him

I love the descriptions "rippling a bit like an over-animated Ghibli character" I can envision it perfectly

"more loose screws that a discount whorehouse" very nice

Just asking random kids if they know what a propane tank looks like.

Mokuba why don't you and your brother have any sense of Self Preservation?

Mokuba also know how to use his child-like charms (tm)

Mokuba has Realised!

Yes Shad-Key be concerned by this child

"Do you have a Twin?" Not that he knows of

Oh hey Croquets not Stoned anymore!

...Pegasus you're sounding very invested in your appearance

..."fell down a hole and vanished" actually surprisingly accurate description of what has happened to Kemo

Just list the problems fast enough and he may miss one...Nope he even brings up one you didn't mention

Whats up with Dukes father? Clow...Clown thing? Clow as in Clow Reed? What is Happening???

Scaly-Shadi is confused and possibly irritated? Definitely annoyed

Pegasus now Super Offended "How Dare you Forget Me?!"

"I didn't sleep with you did I?" "No" "Thank the Gods" Pegasus now even More Offended

And Duke just enjoying Brunch and a Show

#fanfiction #rereading #review-ish #tpofatgif #The Power of Friendship (And This Gun I Found!)#gallusrostromegalus #spoilers #YuGiOh #ygo #Chapter Nine

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rickybowensfever · 2 hours

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borrowed hoodie - sicktember 2024

Hello! I was struck with a sinus infection last week. I get chronic sinus infections and oh my god they are the WORST.

Anyway, I got some inspo last night to write this for the "Borrowed Hoodie" prompt for Sicktember 2024! I'm not going to have too many Sicktember fics left bc I got sick :( but I'm hoping to spark some dopamine and get at least another out for you.

I have been thinking about Susannah's role when her boys get sick and since she has cancer, obviously they'd want her far away from any illnesses. But this is fiction so let's just pretend that she can't get sick from them bc she's a Mom and her immune system isn't as bad as I make Conrad's mwahaha lol I always put Laurel in these situations bc she's more nurturing and has a stronger bond w/ Conrad. But, I'd like to add Beck in and show off her maternal side.

This fic is inspired/set after the episode "Summer Heat" and I took out some scenes that happen in that episode.

LMK what you think & happy reading!

Sicktember 2024 Prompts @sicktember

Borrowed Hoodie

Alt.

Flushed Cheeks

AO3 Link

BELLY POV

Belly woke up wearing Conrad’s hoodie and she was on cloud nine.

She smiled wide, showing all of her pearly whites. Lying in her warm bed, she hugged herself, sniffing the hoodie that smelled of him; salty and sweet like the ocean. She didn’t want the moment to last, but she had to head over to the country club for dance rehearsal for the Ball.

Last night was The Fourth of July. At the end of the night, she shared a special moment with Conrad as they both watched the fireworks shooting in the night sky over the ocean. It was breezy which made her jump in place as a chill came over her. Conrad stood by her wearing a zip-up hoodie and when he heard her yelp, he didn’t hesitate to offer her his hoodie. He took it off revealing his gray t-shirt. Belly’s stomach fluttered with butterflies as he placed the jacket over her, holding it out for her to put her arms into the sleeves. She couldn’t stop smiling, her teeth began to hurt.

Belly turned over and grabbed her phone, unlocking it and composing a text to Conrad.

Good morning :)

She smiled a big, toothy grin. Nothing could bring her euphoric mood down.

—

After showering and changing into a dress, she headed over to the club. Of course, she wasn’t leaving the house without the hoodie. The light blue zip-up hoodie with white strings was now her security blanket. She left it unzipped as it was baggy on her, making her hands disappear and coming down to her thighs.

Belly walked into the hall where all of the debutante girls mingled waiting for rehearsal to start. Nicole grabbed Belly as soon as she saw her, then looked her up and down. “Is that Conrad’s hoodie?” Nicole asked, furrowing her brows in suspicion.

Belly’s stomach dropped. She was so giddy this morning and her head was in the clouds that she didn’t even think about seeing Nicole. Belly paused, fumbling a response, “Oh my God! Yesterday was so wild, I must’ve taken his by mistake. I didn’t even notice!” her stomach turned with anxiety, she nervously laughed, lying through her teeth. She shrugged her shoulders and took the hoodie off, placing it down off to the side on a couch by the wall.

After rehearsal, Belly ran over to her car with the hoodie lying over her arm. She threw it in the backseat and got into the driver’s seat. She pulled out her phone to view her new messages, hoping to have one from Conrad. Her notification bar didn’t reveal any new messages, only a few notifications from her Instagram followers and of friends going live. Her stomach sank as she re-read her last message to Conrad with the “Delivered” text underneath. She rolled her eyes and turned on the car, hitting play on the radio to shuffle a song on her Spotify playlist. She pulled out of the parking lot and drove home, hoping Conrad would be there.

—

When she got home, the house was quiet. Susannah walked in from the front of the house and greeted her, “Good morning, my love” she said, smiling wide.

Belly returned the smile. “Morning! Hey, Susannah? Have you seen Conrad?” she asked, anxiety fluttered in her stomach as she awaited the answer.

Susannah frowned and her shoulders slumped. “He’s in bed with a nasty headache. Let him sleep” she explained. “I’m painting some portraits if you’d like to join me” the blonde haired woman said with a smirk, glancing toward the back door.

Belly fake smiled at her. At least she knew Conrad wasn’t ignoring her, but she was hoping to spend the day with him. Belly gripped the hoodie in her hands and declined, “I’m okay” she replied laughing.

Suddenly, Jeremiah came in from the back door in his usual chipper mood holding a beach towel over his arm and a backpack on his back. “Hey Bells! I’m going to the beach, want to join?” he asked.

Belly immediately nodded her head, not even thinking twice about it. “Yes! Let me go get changed” she said assessing her outfit that was not suitable for the beach.

Belly walked through the hallway toward her room but stopped once she got to Conrad’s door. One side of her conscience was telling her to open the door and tend to him but the other had Susannah’s voice playing in her head. Let him sleep. Belly hesitated, assessing her options, hoping for a sign that never came.

The hall was quiet. She groaned and marched toward her room.

—-

CONRAD POV

Conrad woke up that morning with a splitting headache and the chills. No matter how much alcohol they had the day before, he knew this was not a hangover. He groaned, pulling his arm out from under the warm covers and placed his palm on his forehead. His hands were cold, preventing him from getting an accurate read on if he was running a fever or not.

He pulled the covers out from under him and looked around the room for his zip-up hoodie. He scanned the room twice, and realized it wasn’t on the chair where he usually put it. He sighed, waiting a couple of seconds, pulling his aching body off of the bed and walked out of the room.

Conrad entered the kitchen in search of some Advil and water. Susannah sat at the dining table typing on her phone, but stopped when she heard footsteps.

She immediately frowned when she saw her oldest son’s pale complexion and rosy cheeks. “Aw, honey. You don’t look too good” she said, placing her phone on the table and getting up.

Conrad put his hand out to stop her, creating distance between them. “I’m fineee” he croaked, opening the cabinet and grabbing a bottle of Advil which he unscrewed and poured out two tablets on the counter.

“It’s just a bad headache, really” he said, composing himself not to worry her, taking a glass of water, chasing it with the medicine.

“Mom, I’m fine. It’s really just a headache” he yawned, “I’m going to sleep it off” he shrugged, putting the medicine back in the cabinet and shutting it.

Susannah sighed, knowing from his rosy cheeks that he wasn’t telling the truth. “Alright, if you say so. I’ll be just by the pool, if you need anything” she replied, giving him a thin-lipped smile before he disappeared up to his room.

—-

Luckily thanks to modern medicine, he was able to get some sleep. But when he woke hours later to the sun shining in through his blinds, Conrad felt 10x worse and the chills from earlier re-emerged for an encore. It was absolutely unbearable. His body was heavy and achy but fortunately, his headache was gone.

After lying in bed awake for what felt like twenty minutes, Conrad mustered up the energy to get out of bed, knowing he needed to take more pain relievers. One thing about Connie is he hated feeling like a burden, so of course he always downplayed his symptoms when he was sick. Therefore, walking back into the kitchen, he silently hoped the coast would be clear.

But his wishes were crushed when he and Susannah walked in at the same time. “Any better?” she said, her voice in a high pitch.

“A little” Conrad muttered, going back to the cabinet where they last ran into each other.

“Honey, why don’t you lie on the couch and I’ll take care of you?” she suggested, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm.

Conrad nodded, declining her request. “I’m okay, really,” he answered in a low voice. He really didn’t need anyone to fuss over him. Let alone, he’d feel guilty if he got his mother sick.

Susannah crossed her arms, putting her foot down. “Con. You’re shivering, I really don’t mind” she said, noticing her son shivering in place, goosebumps forming on his arms.

Conrad silently walked over to the couch in defeat. His brain was foggy and with his lack of energy, he was simply too tired to keep protesting. Susannah smiled, glad that he wouldn’t fight her on this anymore.

Conrad curled up with a blanket on the couch and closed his heavy eyes. Suddenly, he was being woken by a gentle nudge. He opened his glassy blue eyes to see his frail mother sitting by the edge of the couch with a forehead thermometer in her hand. She gently leaned over to feel his forehead, despite feeling the heat radiating off of him from where she sat.

Susannah frowned at her son as she felt his boiling hot forehead, “Oof, you’re burning up, babe” she looked down, turning on the thermometer. She placed the thermometer up to his forehead and waited momentarily for it to beep.

Susannah’s eyebrows raised and her eyes grew big as she read the alarming temperature. “101.4” she recited, in a broken voice, “I don’t know how you got this sick” she declared, slowly getting up from the couch.

Conrad batted his eyelashes. He didn’t even realize he was that sick. He truly had himself convinced that he did just have a headache and mild symptoms that would soon disappear, not persist.

As the chills continued, Conrad felt himself striving to get warm. He pulled the light blanket to the side and got up, walking toward a basket where they stored their blankets.

Susannah immediately nipped that in the bud. “What’re you doing, honey?” she asked, making him freeze in place.

He turned toward her and replied, “Getting a blanket” he answered slowly.

“I’ll get that and I found your hoodie in Belly’s room when I was dropping off her laundry” she said looking over at the piles of laundry on the dining room table that she was folding before he came down, the hoodie lying next to them.

Conrad nodded and slowly walked back to the couch. Susannah put down her supplies; a wet rag, a glass of water, and a dose of pain reliever. She walked over to the basket and grabbed a light blanket. When she closed the wicker basket, she placed the blanket on the arm of the couch. Then, walked to the dining room to grab his zip-up hoodie.

When she got back to the couch, she handed over the hoodie. Conrad sat up and she helped him get each arm through. He zipped it up and lay his head back on the pillow, pulling the blankets up toward his chin.

Susannah frowned at him, turning toward the coffee table and grabbed the medicine. Conrad sighed when he realized he had to sit up again. He complied and took the medicine with the glass of water, then lay his head on the pillow again.

He closed his heavy, tired eyes as he simply felt the fatigue settling in. The cold rag hit his steaming hot forehead and he sighed in relief.

“Get some rest” Susannah whispered, patting the mountain of blankets. Those were the last words he heard before drifting off to sleep.

BELLY POV

When Belly returned from the beach, she was in better spirits. Thanks to Jere, he always knew how to cheer her up. It was like he could sense her sorrow even if she put on a brave face and a fake smile.

The two walked into the house laughing but were soon reprimanded for their volume. “Ssh!” Susannah held up her index finger to her closed lips, looking at the two teens with wide eyes. “Connie’s sleeping on the couch. He’s not feeling too hot” she whispered.

Jeremiah put his hands up in defeat. “Sorry” the two whispered.

When Belly got back to her room to shower from the beach, her heart stopped. She could’ve swore she left the hoodie on her unmade bed. But now her bed was made and there was a pile of clean clothes folded on top of her comforter. She frantically scanned the room looking for the hoodie. She looked under the bed, under the comforter, and in her closet but it was nowhere to be found.

“Hmpf!” she expressed in frustration, whoever came into her room while she was out must’ve taken the hoodie. She left her beach towel and belongings on the floor of her bedroom and stormed down the stairs to find the hoodie.

When she got to the border of the living room and the kitchen, she froze. Out the window, Susannah was lounging by the pool reading a book. Besides Conrad sleeping on the couch, the coast was clear. She walked closer to the couch, slowly trying to be as quiet as she could be so as not to wake him. Her heart melted as she saw him; snoring softly, his cheeks flushed with a light pink tint. Then, her eyes lit up as she saw the light blue and white string of the hoodie peeking out under the blankets.

She smiled, her lips turned up in a crescent moon, glad to know the hoodie was back with its rightful owner, even if it did sting a little to know her time with it was up.

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