#going farther to the right is not winning you any races

[mooifyourecows]

don't be fooled. one good thing is going to come from this.

Democrats are going to realize that not supporting Palestine is a dealbreaker.

[percervall]

I'm not a woman (I'm a god)

Pairing: Toto Wolff x Horner!reader Words: 3194 Warnings: Greek Mythology AU, descriptions of misogyny and sexism, Christian Horner is painted the villain, implied age gap (both are legal adults), smut, masturbation, p in v, loss of virginity, no beta we die like my sanity during f1 silly season

In which you claim what's rightfully yours

---

As the meeting progresses, you can’t fight the urge to speak up any longer. Had you still been at RedBull, you would’ve; you would have bitten your tongue until it bled because your father didn’t much care for your opinions, as he called it, despite the fact you had spent years on getting your Masters and then spent another three years on studying all the strategy calls the team had ever made to see where things could improve. No, your father allowed you to sit in those meetings just so he could keep an eye on you. But you are no longer under his watchful eye and scrutiny; Toto Wolff made sure of that. Oh, people like to say that you were stolen from the RedBull garage, your father playing the role of victim like he was born to do so, but nothing could be farther from the truth. You weren’t stolen like the 2021 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix; no, you chose to be claimed by Mercedes and their team principal. Thus, here you are, part of Lewis’ team as a strategy engineer, about to do the one thing your father always reprimanded you for: speaking out against a figure of authority.

“Are you going to say what’s on your mind or do I have to make do with your facial expressions?” Toto drawls, making your decision for you. You can feel your heart beating against your ribs as nerves flutter in the hollow of your chest.

“With all due respect, sir,” you start, the room breaking out in a mocking chuckle but you will not let that deter you, “With all due respect, but this strategy will cost you points. You are all so sure that this race will lead to a safety car while experience tells us that the chances of that happening this weekend are 2% at most, and all safety cars deployed in the last six years have been due to car malfunctions. If you want to end up in the points, I would propose a two stop strategy, allocating at least two sets of mediums for the race on Sunday and forgoing softs all together seeing as how much they suffer from tyre deg at this circuit.” The room is dead silent when you finish. Toto’s eyes remain on you, his face a stoic mask.

“Check my numbers if you want,” you add, growing in your confidence the longer this staring contest continues. Toto looks at one of the other engineers, eyebrow raised with a silent command. You hear someone frantically typing as they run the numbers. Leaning back in your chair you take a sip of your coffee, willing your hands not to tremble despite how nervous you feel. Whispers of she’s right flitter around the room as more people join in with re-running your calculations. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling smugly at being proven right four times over. 

“Very well, Ms Halliwell,” Toto says, silencing the room once more. “We’ll try your set up with Lewis’ car and stick to what was already decided on by the senior members for George.” This is as much of a win as you are going to get right now, and you will gladly take it, but there’s a twinkle in Toto’s eyes that has your stomach in knots. You’re not sure whether it’s pride or awe; either way, it fills you with a feeling you can’t quite place yet you know you will crave it for weeks to come.  

When Sunday rolls around, you pray to whoever will listen that your numbers check out. You have gone over the statistics of this grand prix so often that you could probably recite them in your sleep at this point. Had it been any other race, you would have accepted whatever outcome, but this one means more. You need Mercedes to do well here in Austria, but more than anything you need your father’s team to suffer the consequences of their misogyny and ignorance. As you walk into the garage ahead of the race, your heels clicking against the cement, your eyes lock with Toto who gives you a slow smile as his eyes rake over you, taking in the way the stark white fabric of your team issued blouse and your tapered black trousers show off all your assets; you know you look delectable, and you know he knows it too. From the moment you met him for your job interview (which you landed under false pretences, using your mother’s name), there’s been an undercurrent of tension. It should’ve made you cautious, fearful even, of powerful men in powerful places, but Toto has been nothing but gracious, always indulging your retorts and meeting you tit for tat, a flirtatious game of cat and mouse that you’re enjoying immensely.

“I want you next to Bono during the race. You decided on the strategy, it’s only fair you get the recognition –whether it works or not,” Toto tells you. Nodding your head, you put on your headphones and take your place at the centre console. No more hiding in plain view, your father will see exactly what you are capable of –what you could have given him. Fighting the urge to chew the skin around your thumb, you keep your back straight and shoulders back as the race starts. You keep an eye on the weather satellite, scanning for any changes that could mess with the chosen strategy while listening to Lewis’ feedback for Bono, making suggestions for minute corrections to the set up of the car. Bono graciously forwards your ideas to the driver who slowly but surely climbs his way through the field. The RedBulls are still leading the pack, but you’re certain that your father’s confidence will be his downfall. As you had predicted, there is no need for a safety car during the race and, judging by the call to pit by your father’s golden child, they had been betting on one by using the softs at the start of the race.

“You were spot on with the tyre deg stats,” Bono tells you and you can’t help but smile wickedly back at him. There’s five laps left, and both RedBulls are on the hard tyre, which will never warm up in time to benefit from their longevity. George seems to be suffering a similar fate while Lewis is fighting with one of the McLarens for P2. Your eyes remain glued to the feed of Lewis’ on board camera as he begins the final lap. He is quickly gaining on the McLaren and in what can only be described as a masterclass, overtakes it to secure a P2 finish. Lewis’ radio message doesn’t even register; all you can hear is white noise as it dawns on you that you have shown everyone just what you’re capable of. It has whetted your appetite for more –for destruction. 

The team is celebrating a podium finish as if it’s a win, and you suppose to them it most definitely feels like one. You’re standing on the edge where the garage meets pit lane, watching them with a smile on your face when Toto comes to stand behind you.

“I want you front and centre when Lewis climbs that podium. You have earned this accolade and should be rewarded as such. Let your father see what he’s done,” he murmurs, voice low. It sends a shiver down your spine but you manage to nod in agreement.

“Good. Oh, and as part of your reward, I think we should celebrate accordingly in private, wouldn’t you agree? The choice is yours, take it or don’t. No hard feelings either way,” he adds, chest brushing against your back as he leans closer. Swallowing thickly, you nod once more, not trusting your voice as heat pools low in your belly at the insinuation. You can feel him slide something into your back pocket and you don’t have to check to know it’s the keycard to his hotel room. 

During the podium celebrations you stood front row, eyes steadfast on the podium with a smile so wide, your cheeks ached. You can only imagine the tales Crofty and Martin are spinning about you; no doubt making inferences about how distraught your father was to have his only daughter working for the rival. Let them spin their fairy tales, you had better things to get on with –or, more accurately, a better man. Sliding the key card into the lock, you enter the hotel room of your boss. Once you take this step, there’s no turning back, but you are willing to eat the proverbial pomegranate seeds. 

Toto turns around when he hears the lock click and you lean against the door. He looks incredible; sleeves of his shirt rolled up and a few of the top buttons are undone. 

“Wine?” he asks, picking up the bottle from the desk. 

“Yes, please,” you respond, accepting the glass he hands you. Toto smiles, and it’s so sly, bordering on debauched, that it has you squeezing your thighs together.

“Still some manners left in you. I wonder how long that will last,” he muses, raising his glass at you as he sits down on the edge of the bed. 

“They claim you have stolen me from RedBull, much like they claim Hades stole Persephone,” you say, straddling him before taking a sip of your wine. He can’t help but laugh when he sees the twinkle in your eyes, one of his large hands coming to rest on your hip.

“Oh, Meine Liebe, we both know you were not some prize that could be stolen. You saw the hell they created for you and thus you fled so you could set the world ablaze.” His use of a term of endearment is not lost on you, and you crave to hear more of it. 

“Stolen or not, I am here. What are you planning on doing to me?” you ask him, holding his gaze. 

“Oh, I plan on doing everything, darling. Every depraved fantasy you could think of and more,” Toto says as he puts his glass on the nightstand. You grow hot all over at his words. Despite your sharp wit –and even sharper tongue, if your father’s word is anything to go on–, you are about to enter previously uncharted waters. Of course you heard stories from your female friends while at University, devoured smutty book after smutty book, but actually doing any of it? Your father would dig himself a grave so he could roll in it if he ever knew what his little girl was about to do. The nervousness you felt earlier today is back in full swing as you try to find the words to tell him your biggest secret. 

“I-.. I’ve never done this before. I attended Oxford so I could live at home, remain under his watch,” you confess, not even able to say the words out loud. Toto studies your face, filling in the blanks with how your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. 

“No man has ever touched you?” You shake your head as you bite your lip. 

“Have you touched yourself, darling?” Toto asks and while he says nothing that could be construed as dirty, you gasp as if he has. Nodding your head, you can’t help but roll your hips against him, inadvertently grinding your pussy against the hardened bulge in his trousers. Toto swears under his breath, gaze darkening as he tightens his grip on you. 

“Will you show me, Liebling? Will you show me how you make yourself feel good?” 

Even if you wanted to, you’re not sure you could ever deny this man any request; not when he asks so caringly, as if your pleasure is the sole purpose of all of this. Breathlessly, you nod, letting Toto take your wine glass from you while you strip out of your work clothes. As you slide your blouse down your arms, you hear Toto groan as he takes in your figure clad in nothing more than your pale lilac bra and panties. It’s not the sexiest set you own, but it’s one of the few that doesn’t show through the white fabric. Before you lose your nerve, you climb back on the bed, eyes locked on Toto who leans against the footboard of the bed. He gives you a look, so openly full of desire that it makes your head spin and your pussy throb at being the object of his lust. Closing your eyes, you lean back into the pillows while your hand wanders. You can almost pretend you’re alone, your brain quickly supplying all the sordid fantasies you would never dare to say out loud. As your fingers inch under the elastic of your underwear, you can’t help but bite your lip as your hips writhe on the sheets. The tip of your pointer finger rubs against your clit and you gasp at the sensation, head thrown back. You’re already so sensitive, it won’t take much to send you over the edge. Applying the slightest bit more pressure, you begin to rub tight little circles, letting out the neediest whining noise.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” Toto groans. 

“Please,” you whisper, lifting your head so you can look at him. His legs are spread and he palms his bulge while he watches you pleasure yourself, and that sight alone sends your head spinning. 

“Let go for me, darling,” Toto orders gently, and who are you to disobey him? Your body arches, head thrown back as you come undone under his watchful eye. 

When you open your eyes, you can see movement to your right. Sitting up on your elbows, you watch how Toto strips down to his underwear, and walks into the ensuite. You can feel your cheeks heat up when you spot the foil packets and the bottle of lube in his hands. Toto drops them on the bed before climbing on. Hovering over you, he brushes a strand of your hair back behind your ears.

“I want this to be enjoyable for you. Please tell me when you feel uncomfortable, tell me when something makes you feel good.” You nod, breath caught in your lungs. Toto smiles so tenderly at you that it makes you forget about everything else. He moves his hand from your cheek, down your neck to your bra strap.

“Can I take this off, Liebling?” he asks quietly. You can only nod, too enthralled by him to form words.

“Need to hear you say it, darling. I will always need to hear you,” Toto murmurs.

“Yes,” you whisper, swallowing down your nerves about him seeing you naked. He gently unclasps your bra, moving the straps down your arms before pulling it away completely.

“Beautiful,” he says softly, his eyes taking you in and you fight the urge to cover yourself up. Toto’s hands caress your skin, as if he is trying to commit every line and curve to memory. You arch up into his touch as he cups your breast, his thumb rubbing over your nipple and it sets something alight in your core. Toto’s hands move lower, fingers curling around the elastic of your panties.

“What about these?” 

“Yes,” you reply quietly, lifting your hips to help him. He sits back on his knees, hands sliding down your thighs and his fingers are so close to where you’re aching for him, it makes you whine. Toto chuckles, moving his body over yours once more.

“You want it so bad, don’t you Liebling?” he murmurs in your ear, and the only reply you can form is a quiet uhu. He smiles against your skin, pressing a chaste kiss to your jaw before moving away to fully strip. Biting your lip, you watch him tear open one of the foil packets and roll it down his hard cock. Anticipation and nerves flitter low in your stomach; he’s definitely bigger than the vibrator you have hidden away in the back of your closet.

“We’ll take it slow, okay? You decide how far we go, you’re in control,” Toto reassures you, moving closer so he can lean down to kiss you.

“Okay,” you whisper before his lips are on yours. Your fingers tangle in his hair while he drags his cock through your folds and over your clit. Toto moves his lips down your neck, kissing and sucking gently, sure to leave marks. Your body seems to have a mind of its own as your hips grind against him and you feel a desperation taking hold of you.

“Please,” you sigh.

“Tell me Liebling, what do you want?” Toto murmurs.

“Please.. Need you- need you in me,” you all but whimper, “Fill me Toto, please..” He groans against the skin of your neck at your request. Toto fumbles blindly for the lube and applies a generous amount to his cock and your pussy. Biting your lip, you lean up and watch as he slowly, so very slowly, sinks himself inside of you. The stretch has you panting and you feel how you clench around him. He holds you close, letting you adjust to the sensation of being filled completely. 

“Need you to move, Toto,” you moan, fingers clawing at his back. 

“Doing so good for me, darling. Taking me so well, fuck..” he groans against your skin as he sets a languid pace, and while it’s slow, his thrusts are so deep. 

“Ha-harder.. I can take it.. Please..” you whine, Toto eagerly complying with your demand. The only thing you’re able to do is cling to him as he keeps fucking you, whimpering every time he hits a spot inside of you that brings you just that teeny bit closer to the edge.

“Need you to cum, darling. Can you do that for me?” he asks as rubs his thumb over your clit. 

“Uhu,” you whisper meekly, unable to form a single coherent thought as you feel your orgasm approaching.

“Close.. Toto… Please.. Need.. Need to-..” 

“That’s it. God, you look so beautiful, just taking my cock like this. Come for me, darling.” And with that something snaps, your body arching as you feel your pussy clenching around him in waves. Toto keeps fucking you through it, chasing his own release, but you’re too far gone to pay attention. He keeps pressing kisses to your temple and hairline as he carefully pulls out, making sure the condom stays on. The loss has you whimpering.

“I know, I know,” Toto coos, “I’ll be right back. Did so good for me, so proud of you.” He gives you one last kiss before getting up to dispose of the condom and returns with a flannel to clean you up best he can. He throws it down by the side of the bed, and takes you in his arms. Your body feels completely boneless and you try to stifle a yawn. 

“Take a nap, Liebling. We’ll get properly cleaned up in a bit.” Nodding you allow sleep to pull you under as Toto whispers sweet nothings against your hair. 

written as part of @footballffbarbiex’s kink bingo challenge

It's not the 10k fic I joked about, but I finally managed to write the Greek Mythology AU I've been thinking about since early last year. Wanted to get this done and up before more information comes out during this delayed silly season, so if things feel rushed, it's because they are. This fic was heavily influenced by Bea Fitzgerald's Girl, Goddess, Queen; if you love retellings of Greek mythology, please check it out

Please let me know what you think; you comments, tags and likes mean the absolute world to me! 💜

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Drink With Me (Part 2)

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 6. self-sacrifice Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Jake "Hangman" Seresin, f!reader, Vampire Apocalypse AU Summary: Two years after Jake was forced to watch you ripped apart by the creatures that now terrorize the world, he is a shell of the man he once was. However, a familiar voice calling to him in the dark may give him a second chance. Word Count: 5911 TW: Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Vampires, Character Death, Murder, Grief, Biting, Mention of Suicidal Thoughts, Drinking (alcohol and blood), Language Notes: Not beta read so sorry for any mistakes! Part of @ailesswhumptober's event! 💗

Series Masterlist

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist

“No….No!” 

He tries to race to your side, to stop the torment playing out before his eyes, but he is held back by hundreds of hands wrapping around him, pulling him away. Fighting against them with every ounce of his strength, he screams, “Get the fuck off of me! We need to help her! No! What the fuck are you doing?” 

“She’s gone, Hangman,” dozens of disembodied voices whisper in unison from the darkness behind him. “I’m so sorry, but there’s nothing else anyone can do for her now. It’s over. It’s been over for years. You failed. Just as you continue to fail every night.”

“No! I can save her! Please, let me save her this time!” Jake sobs as he continues to struggle against whatever is holding him back. “Please!”

But it’s no use. He’s not strong enough. As he is dragged farther and farther away, he sees you lift your head one last time, panic and pain etched across your face. You lock eyes with him and just have time to scream a terrified, “Jake!” before one of the creatures rips your throat out with its teeth—

Jake bolts upright with a deep gasp, only to immediately collapse back onto his mattress with a pitiful moan. He grabs his head as it throbs painfully with every beat of his racing heart and he squeezes his eyes together tightly in an attempt to stop the world from spinning around him. But it does little to help. His nearly naked body feels sticky and gross tangled in his soiled sheet and he wonders if it’s just sweat from the nightmare, or if he vomited in his sleep again. Maybe both…probably both. 

At least he is fairly certain he hadn’t pissed himself this time if the intense pressure in his bladder is any indication. However, he doesn’t have the faintest desire to crawl to the bathroom so he’ll worry about those consequences later. Instead, he rolls over and tries to push your final agonized scream from his mind so he can go back to some semblance of sleep.

Just as he begins to pass out again, he hears the curtain hanging around his small space being pushed back and the toe of a boot digs into his side. Without opening his eyes, he swats at the foot, trying to shove it away. “‘uck off, Phe,” he mumbles somewhat coherently. “‘s too early.”

“Tell that to the rest of us who have already been awake for several hours,” Phoenix snaps, driving her boot deeper into Jake’s ribs. When he tries to roll away, she sighs, “Do we really have to do this every morning? I’m not your fucking babysitter. Get up! Bob and I need your help setting up the trap while the light’s in the right position.”

There is nothing in the world that Jake wants to do more than ignore her and go back to sleep. However, she’s right. They do go through this every morning and by now he has accepted the fact that he can not win this argument. So, reluctantly, he peels open his eyes and squints up at her.

Seeing that some progress is being made, Phoenix removes her boot from his side and takes a few steps back. In doing so, she almost slips on the drink Jake had spilled the night before. Looking around his small space, she shakes her head. 

“Jesus, Hangman,” she grumbles as she kicks a few empty wine bottles out of the way, sending them clinking across the floor only to crash into piles of more. “How the hell are you still consistently finding this much alcohol? We’re barely finding enough food.”

Heaving himself up until he’s sitting on the edge of his mattress, Jake rests his head heavily in his hands as the world continues to spin around him. Still slurring slightly, he mutters, “‘s not enough. Two bottles a night aren’t helpin’ anymore. Nightmare’s back.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve all got our own nightmares that haunt us and you don’t see the rest of us pickling our livers to deal with it.” She hurls a half-empty backpack at him which smacks into the side of his head, nearly knocking over his unsteady form. “Now get your shit together and meet us out front in thirty minutes. We’ve got work to do.” She stomps out of his little alcove to give him some privacy but then pivots to add, “And for fuck’s sake, take a shower.”

Forty-five minutes later, Jake steps out of the shower stall, a thread-bare towel wrapped low on his hips. He shivers slightly as he pads across the cold tile floor towards the sinks. The water heater broke a few months ago and with no one left in their dwindling group who knew how to fix it, freezing showers had become the norm. While they should be grateful they even had any water at all, Jake can’t help but recall a time when a hot shower was the best part of his day. 

A soft gasp leaves your lips as he presses his bare body against yours, pinning you to the cool tile wall. Your eyes sparkle in the muted light filtered through the shower curtain as you gaze hungrily at him. Warm water flows over his back as he sinks into you—

No. No memories. Not now. Not when he doesn’t have the luxury of going back to his “room�� and drowning them in booze. 

Instead, Jake quickly dresses, trying his best not to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Half the time—when there is still enough lingering alcohol in his system—he sees your mangled corpse standing behind his reflection. The other half, he left staring at the shell of the man he had become. In some ways, that’s worse because he knows it would break your heart to see what losing you has done to him.

Even though sanitation supplies had only really become a scarcity in the last few months, Jake had given up the will for self-grooming long before that. The tangled beard covering his sunken cheeks is a clear indication of that as is the long greasy strands of hair hanging limply in front of the dark circles surrounding his bloodshot eyes. You had always preferred him clean-shaven and with shorter hair. But you were gone so he didn’t give a fuck.

Exiting the bathroom, Jake heads toward the front of the church. He averts his eyes as he passes the bulletin board that had been converted into a memorial shrine for those they had lost. He remembers the days when there had only been a few names and pictures up there. Now, the fallen takes up every inch of the board and spills out across the wall. Jake used to use the board as his motivation to keep fighting, to not let more names be added to the list. But now that it contains so many faces of the people he cared deeply for or respected—you, Coyote, Iceman, Cyclone, Payback—it has become a constant reminder of all the ways he failed.  

Once, this rag-tag group of survivors who had dubbed themselves The Daggers had numbered in the dozens. But now, there are only a handful left. And with supplies and food dwindling quickly, there is no telling how long it’ll be before the rest of them earn a place on the board.

As he pushes his way through the church doors, Jake recoils as he is hit with the full brightness of the sunny day. His headache which had previously dulled slightly in the cold shower came rushing back with a vengeance. Groaning, he digs his sunglasses out of the backpack Phoenix had thrown him earlier and places them on his face. They were a cheap plastic pair Coyote had picked up for him on one of his runs to the pharmacy over a year ago, but they at least cut out some of the glare.

Phoenix is leaning against the fence with her arms folded across her chest, a scowl carved deep into her face. Now that most of those originally in charge were no longer with them, the title of leader had fallen on her shoulders. For the past few months, she had done everything in her power to hold the group together despite the increasingly dire conditions—and one jackass of a drunk who makes her life that much more difficult.   

Next to her, Bob scans the area just beyond the fence, his blue eyes alert behind his cracked glasses. With his unusual prescription, it’s been impossible to find a replacement after they slipped off his face running from a pack of creatures. He made it safely to the church in one piece—one of his lenses did not. Yet, he has never once complained or made excuses for his impaired vision. 

They were the best of the remaining survivors and had become the only real hope the Daggers had left. Yet they spent most of their days dragging Jake’s sorry ass around to ensure he didn’t drink himself to death.

Jake had been like them once: always stepping up when volunteers were needed, doing what he could to fix what was broken, protecting the people within their group. But he hadn’t been that person for the past two years. Not since he had watched you devoured before his eyes as he stood on these very steps.

It was that moment he tried desperately to avoid every night in his dreams. Reliving that day over and over again. Knowing all the moments he could have done something differently or acted faster that would have saved you yet being unable to change anything. Just forced to hear your agonizing final screams before catching his last glimpse of you whispering his name…

He needs to find more alcohol.

“About fucking time,” Phoenix mutters under her breath, pushing herself off the fence.

Bob shoots her a stern look, one that softens as he turns his attention to the new arrival. “Thanks for helping us out, Jake. We appreciate the extra hands.”

“Not like she gave me much of a choice,” Jake mutters under his breath. But seeing the way Bob’s shoulders slump at his words, he does his best to smile at him. “But I’m here now so let’s do this.”

Bob’s smile returns and he nods happily at the other man. As he turns to exit the churchyard, Phoenix shoots Jake another dirty look. He knows despite Bob’s insistence that she keeps dragging Jake along with them, she’s afraid Jake’ll screw up and cost her or Bob their lives. And it’s a fair concern. After all, it’s his fault Bob was almost killed the time his glasses were damaged. Jake had been drunk on patrol and hadn’t seen the creatures until it was almost too late to warn the rest of the team. While Bob never blamed him, Phoenix did. She tried to be as supportive as possible when Jake first began to spiral, but after the incident with Bob, she only tolerated his antics for the sake of her partner. Though not even she despised this version of Jake as much as Jake despised himself. 

Jake knew what a failure and a screwup he had become. Yet as much as he wished he could pull himself together and become the man he used to be, he also knew that there was only one person who could help him do that. 

But you were never coming back.

It’s amazing how much the world can change in such a short amount of time. In the three short years since the creatures first appeared, the center of town is now virtually unrecognizable. Vines and various foliage scale the sides of all the buildings. Cars are abandoned in the middle of the street, some with their doors still open as their passengers fled from them. Every window has been dark since the power grid failed. And without the constant upkeep, everything is starting to decay.

The warehouse is no exception. Once bustling and full of life, it has now is a shadow of its former self. With very few windows save those by the entrance and no interior lights left to brighten the space, the interior becomes a black hole after walking just a few feet into it. However due to a collapse in the roof, at certain times of the day, a single shaft of light shines all the way down to the ground floor creating a small illuminated circle on the floor. 

It is in this small safe haven that Jake finds himself. Echos bounce off the walls of the cavernous space as he puts the finishing touches on the trap in front of him. Four months ago, a few survivors passing through had shared what they had discovered with The Daggers—a way to kill the creatures. Jake still doesn’t understand how it works, something to do with converting normal light into an artificial sunlight of sorts, but luckily there were those smarter than him around who understood and harnessed this knowledge into weapons. Since then, The Daggers had managed to take out a few of the creatures. However, they quickly learned that attacking the creatures in the large packs they usually hunted in resulted in costly casualties on both sides.

It was Phoenix’s brilliant idea to take the stealth approach instead of the head-on one. They began setting traps in the area using motion lights in the hopes of eliminating some of the creatures stalking near their hideout in the middle of the night when they were at their most active. So far, they have had promising results. 

Jake is almost done setting this trap. Then he can test it and use his flashlight to get himself from this shaft of light back outside. Hopefully, he’ll then have time to sneak off to try to find more alcohol before Phoenix and Bob return for him. He hasn’t checked the houses a few blocks to the east yet and maybe—

“Jake…”

Jake’s head snaps up as his heart freezes in his chest, the trap instantly forgotten. His eyes dart around the room searching for the source of the sound. But there’s no one else there. He’s alone…he’s always alone.

Yet, just as he begins to return to his job at hand, he sees something. Squinting, he peers deeper into the heart of the building and just makes out the faint outline of a single figure within the darkness.

Instincts kicking in, Jake draws his knife from his boot and drops into a defensive stance in the center of the beam of light, waiting for the attack he knows is coming. His eyes flicker around the space, searching the darkness for signs of the rest of the swarm, yet for now all he can see is the one in front of him. But he knows that can’t be it. The creatures hunt in groups, using their numbers to overwhelm and incapacitate their victims so escape is nigh on impossible. The only few loners they had come across over the years were ones that had been injured or were too malnourished to contribute to the next hunt.

But the figure standing before Jake doesn’t seem injured or blood-crazed. It stands straight and still, completely unmoving. For several moments, nothing happens. Though still cautious, Jake begins to relax his stance a little, wondering if his eyes or mind is just playing tricks on him.

But then, a voice cuts through the silence. “I was three blocks away when I caught your scent. I don’t know how, but I immediately knew it was you.”

The knife slips from Jake’s fingers, the clatter of metal on tile echoing around the cavernous room. The voice that he had not heard outside of his dreams for the past two years punches him in the chest, nearly bringing him to his knees as tears welled up in his eyes. “B-baby?”

There is a pause before the voice continues, unemotional and flat. “I should have bolted in any other direction, put as much space between us as possible but…I couldn’t. I’m selfish enough that I had to risk seeing you one last time.”

“Oh my god,” Jake breathes. “It’s really you.”

He takes a few stumbling steps towards the figure—towards you—but you draw back further into the shadows. “No! Stop! Stay in the light.” There is a panicked edge in your tone, the first sign of emotion you have let slip in, and it is enough to make Jake listen.

As much as he longs to launch himself into your arms, he reluctantly does what you ask. He lingers just shy of the darkness, the toes of his boots resting at the point where the last of the sunbeams fade on the tiles. 

“How are you here?” he asks, his voice breaking. 

“You know how.”

He did. It was a fear that had nestled in the back of his mind these past two years that he didn’t dare consider. Whether that was out of the fear of falling into despair or building up false hope, he didn’t know. But he had never let himself imagine this moment and, now that it was happening, he didn’t know what to do. 

Swallowing the lump forming in his throat, he says, “You said you caught my scent…Do I smell as sexy as you remember?”

A surprised snort of laughter echoes throughout the room as you are taken aback by his question. But when you speak, he hears tears in your voice, “Yeah, Jake. As sexy as always.”

Whatever cold, distant shell you had put in place when you first arrived crumbled and Jake can now hear the real you behind the words. Swallowing, he murmurs, “Please…let me see you.”

Your outline shifts in the darkness. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please, baby. For the last two years, all I could see was that last memory of you. I need this.”

“No. Seeing me like this is not going to be any better than seeing me like that. I’ve changed.”

“So have I. But I love you and I’ll still love you no matter what.”

For a moment, there is only silence. Then you whisper, “Step to the other side of the light.”

Jake immediately scrambles backward, almost falling as he stumbles over the long-forgotten trap. But he makes it to the outer rim of the circle of light and waits. 

Slowly, your shape edges closer to the light. At first, Jake still can’t make out any details of the person in front of him. But when he does, his heart clenches in his chest. 

There is no denying that it is the woman he loves standing before him but yet it’s not the you he remembers. Your skin has been drained of its color and now resembles that of a corpse, cold and lifeless. Sharp, pointed teeth jut out your mouth over bloodless lips and your fingers end in claw-like talons. You are still wearing the same clothes you had on the day you were attacked but they are shredded and stiff with dried blood in various colors ranging from bright red to rusty-brown. Jake wonders how much of it is yours and how much is your victims.

Any lingering doubt he had about how you are here, any sliver of hope you had escaped your fate, is shattered instantly. This isn’t a miracle. It is a nightmare, a curse. 

But based on the gasp that escapes your trembling lips, you must be thinking the same thing as you get a good look at the man he has become. 

“Oh, Jake…” Your hands fly up to cover your mouth as your eyes continue to roam over his body. Yet even covered, he can see your jaw trembling as you cry, “Baby, what…We promised if something ever happened to the other, we wouldn’t give up. We would keep fighting.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Jake snaps. But then he wilts under the weight of your gaze. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he whispers, “I almost ended it—a few times. Drugs, booze, even thought I’d take my nickname literally. Made a noose and everything. But the thing that always stopped me was that promise. So, yeah, I–I’ve been a bit of a mess since you—” he gestures at your transformed self “—and I’m sorry. I tried to be strong but losing you was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. We were supposed to face this hellscape together and I didn’t know how to cope without you so I let myself become someone that I hate. But now that you’re back—”

“I’m not back, Jake. That’s not why—” You shake your head, letting your hands drop. “I shouldn’t be here. This was a mistake and I never should have come. I should have just let you think I was dead. I-I have to go.”

“No! Please–” As Jake takes a few steps across the circle of light, you cower back, retreating further into the darkness.

“Stop!” There is a pained quiver in your voice. “I’m barely controlling myself as it is. If you get closer…I can’t hurt you, Jake. I can’t. But I know if you get any closer, I will and there’ll be nothing I can do to stop it.”

Jake shakes his head. “No. I don’t believe it. You would never hurt me.”

“You don’t get it. It’s not a choice, it’s an undeniable force. It’s hard enough to control myself when I’m fully satiated, but I haven’t fed in almost a week. Your blood—” You squeeze your eyes closed tightly. When you open them again, they have darkened significantly. There is still some color in them, not the pitch-black orbs Jake is used to seeing when the creatures were attacking, but the change still makes him inhale sharply. “The venom doesn’t just turn us into these…these things. It drives us to hunt, to kill. And that need is neverending.”

It breaks Jake’s heart to hear the pain in your voice and he can’t imagine what you’ve been dealing with the past two years. However, as much as it horrifies him, he also wants to know more. “Wh-what does it feel like?”

You turn to gaze into the darkness surrounding you. “It’s like acid in my veins, a constant burning fire in my gut that only grows stronger if it’s not satisfied. Blood’s the only thing that soothes the pain for even a few hours, but it’s never enough. I’ve tried to stop myself, I have, but each time I drink it gets hard to fight. And with every life I take, I feel a little more of myself slip away. I’m not the woman you loved anymore, Jake. I’m just a monster with her face.”

Jake shakes his head with a firm set in his jaw. “No. I don't believe that. It's still you. Why else would you have looked for me? The woman I love is still here and she needed to see me just as much as I needed to see her.”

“Jake–” 

“And I don’t care what you think.” Without hesitation, Jake crosses the remainder of his little haven of sunlight and steps forward to join you in the inky darkness. You cower back again but he takes another step to maintain the same distance between you. “You're not going to hurt me. I know that. Because you're so strong and brave and you can fight this–”

“It’s not that simple—”

“Yes, it is.”

“Jake, stop—”

“No. Not until you believe that—”

“I've killed Daggers.”

Your admission hangs like a dense fog between you. Obviously, Jake had realized what being turned into a creature meant for your feeding habits, but he had been trying not to focus on that. However, now faced with the truth, Jake suddenly connects a few horrifying dots in his head. 

He swallows before asking, “Coyote?”

Last year, he had gotten there just a moment too late. There was nothing he could do but watch as what was left of his best friend was ripped apart by a mass of creatures. But then, just for a second before Fanboy grabbed his arm and pulled him away, he caught a flash of one of the creatures and he could have sworn…

Your eyes widen, clearly not expecting him to know that, but you nod slightly. Then, in a small voice, say, “And Rooster.”

“Roo….Rooster?” The truth about Coyote had been painful, yet regardless of who killed him, Jake had come to terms with his best friend’s death months ago. But Rooster…

He had left the group a few weeks ago after hearing a rumor of someone sounding suspiciously similar to his godfather leading another group out in the desert. They all knew it was dangerous but if anyone could make it, it would have been Rooster. Yet if what you said was true…

“I never wanted you to find out.” Tears begin to stream down your cheeks, thick, black goo that leaves streaks in their wake. “I tried to stop myself but I couldn't. Coyote was already being attacked when I found him and the blood…this thing took over. And the worst part was he…he recognized me just before I tore his throat out. There was this mix of elation I was ‘alive’ and horror at what I had become. I still see it when I close my eyes. With Rooster it was different. I was alone when I found him. We’ve been starving since you found a way to destroy us and I needed blood so badly. He was dead before he even knew I was there.”

This newest revelation is the last straw for Jake. A man can only process so much trauma at once before he reaches his breaking point. Falling to his knees, he hangs his head, tears dripping off his face onto the dusty tile beneath him as his shoulders shake with stifled sobs. 

“Jake…I…” Your voice is brimming with tears as Jake sees your feet take one hesitant step closer to him. But then, you stop. 

For a moment, there is only the sound of his soft cries echoing through the empty space. However, when you finally speak again, your voice has more of the defiance and strength he loves most about you. “You don’t understand what it’s like. When I slip into a frenzy, nothing in this world exists except for blood. Faces…names…past relationships…none of it means anything at that moment. All that’s left is the pure animalistic need to feed. It’s only after I’ve been sated that I come back, that I can remember what happened or what I did. Standing over what’s left of a person, realizing I’m to blame, knowing I’ve murdered them or I’ve forced them to become a monster just like me. I couldn’t stop myself from killing Coyote and Rooster, but I made sure neither of them could turn. They may not have deserved their deaths, but more than that, they didn’t deserve this afterlife. It was the least I could do for them. And I’m sorry it wasn’t more.”

You fall silent again, but Jake just continues to cry with no acknowledgment of what you said. After a moment of this, you plead, “Jake, talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking. If you want me to go—” 

“Please…” Jake breathes, the weight of the past two years pressing down on him. “Please let me hold you.”

“W-what?” Based on the utter shock in your voice, that is not what you were expecting him to say.

It takes everything in him, but Jake lifts his eyes so they meet yours. “Baby, I need you in my arms again. To feel you, touch you, prove this is real. I have dreamed about you every night for two years. Horrible, bloody nightmares that have destroyed my life. I need you to chase those nightmares away.”

“Jake, have you not heard a word I’ve said? I’ve killed our friends and I’ll kill you too. Or worse, I’ll turn you.”

“I want you to,” he whispers.

“Jake!” Normally when discussions became this heated between you and you resorted to that sharp tone, your chest would be heaving as you became worked up. Yet this time, your heart isn’t beating and your lungs aren’t huffing air so it remains deathly still. “I can’t do that to you. I won’t condemn you to this life.”

“Please…” Jake sobs loudly, too emotionally and mentally drained to get to his feet and walk to you. “I can’t live without you anymore. I need us to be together, whatever that looks like.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“You’ve made it pretty clear. But I’m willing to bear the pain, the…the consequences of this choice if it means I can be with you. So, please, don’t make me spend one more second without you. Either kill me or turn me, but I can’t do this anymore.”

You stare at him for a long time, your darkened eyes not giving any hint as to what you are thinking. Then, slowly, you nod. “I don’t want to kill you or turn you, but I need you too. I think…I think I always knew when I came here that this is how it would go and I’m so sorry I wasn’t strong enough to stay away.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t.” Jake opens his arms, still kneeling on the floor. “Come here, baby.”

With stilted, hesitant steps, you begin to walk towards him. You balk a little as you get closer, fighting against the instinct to avoid the sunlight, but Jake is far enough in the shadows that you can reach him without crossing into the light. Slowly, you lower yourself to your knees in front of him and reach out. 

Jake can’t wait any longer. He grabs your hand and pulls you into his chest, squeezing you as tightly as he possibly can. Your skin is icy beneath his touch, but he doesn’t care. He’s holding you in his arms again and nothing else in the world matters. 

However, you apparently don’t share the same outlook. Your entire body goes rigid beneath him, every muscle tensing as he draws you in. He can feel you begin to tremble as an animalistic growl rumbles in your chest.

“Ja—I can’t—Let me go. Don’t wanna hurt—” You manage to choke the words out through a clamped-shut jaw. As your eyes turn completely black, your teeth begin to grow longer until they resemble true fangs. Several poke through your lips as you press your mouth firmly closed. You are still trying to save him despite everything.

Squeezing you tighter, Jake mutters, “No. It’s okay, baby. I want this. Just let go.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, black tears falling on his chest. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

And you sink your fangs into his neck.

Living up to your promise, there is only a small sting as your teeth break his skin. However, in seconds, your venom enters his bloodstream and Jake tries to jerk away from the searing pain. However, your clawed hand clamps firmly on his shoulder, forcing him to remain in place. The venom spreads throughout his system until every cell in his body is screaming out in agony. He wants to black out but his body won’t let him. The change is already occurring and he is being forced to be conscious for every last second of his human life.

As you drink, small sounds begin slipping out between your lips, reverberating against Jake’s skin. Soft moans and gasps that have Jake flashing back to all those times you were beneath him as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. And for just a second, he can bear the pain knowing he is giving you some semblance of pleasure.

However as a vice of white-hot agony squeezes around his lungs and heart, Jake begins to jerk in your grasp as he begins to suffocate. Feeling his distress, you slide your teeth out of his neck and press your blood-soaked lips to the wound. Running your hand through his hair, you coo, “It’s okay, baby. It’s almost over now. I can already taste the change beginning in your blood. But this next part is the worst. Fighting it just makes it harder. Try to relax and let it happen. And I’m right here, my love, forever.” Then you sink your teeth back into his neck.

The choking suffocating feeling only intensifies, but against every self-preservation instinct in Jake’s body, he tries to listen to your advice and just gives in. Closing his eyes, he begins to slip into a sort of meditative state. While the pain or pressure doesn’t lessen, the panic and tension ease slightly. And even once he feels his heart take its last beat and his lungs go still, he tries to remain in this headspace until you are finished.

He isn’t sure how long he is kneeling there before—

“No…”

Jake picks up the soft sound as it is breathed across the empty warehouse, his ears already tuning into sounds humans shouldn’t be able to hear. His eyes flutter open and just over your shoulder, he can see Bob and Phoenix bathed in sunlight standing at the entrance to the building. Bob has tears in his eyes, his lips whispering your name in horror as he watches the growing gory mess you are making of Jake’s neck. He glances back and forth between Jake and Phoenix, silently pleading with her to find a way to fix this.

But Phoenix just stares at the pair of reunited lovers, her jaw set tightly. And Jake knows she understands. Phoenix always understands. 

Jake is weak from blood loss and pain, but he manages the slightest of nods. Lifting two fingers to her forehead, Phoenix gives Jake a small salute in return.

Then she raises her flashlight.

As the beam of light strikes your shoulder, your mouth instantly disappears from Jake’s throat with an agonized hiss as you try to flee from the pain. But using what strength he has left, Jake holds you in place. 

The betrayal on your face as you turn to look at him almost outweighs the pain. Jake knows you must think this was a trick, that he must have been stalling you all along just for this moment. Yet, he had meant every word he said.

Smiling as every cell in his body begins to burn differently from before, he whispers, “Together.” And he holds up his hand which is cracking and disintegrating in the light just like yours.

Though still pained, your face softens as you realize what he is doing. Transformation or death, those had been his choices. However, it turns out it wasn’t an “or” but an “and”.

Reaching out, you link your fingers with his, your skin flaky and fragile in his grasp. You snuggle your head against the unbitten crook of his neck, whimpering slightly as the light does its job, and you whisper back, “Together.”

Jake wraps his other arm around you and holds you close, silently vowing to never let go again.

The last thing he sees before his world slips away is the strangely beautiful swirl of particles of your two disintegrating bodies intermingling in the beam of sunlight. 

Taglist: @ohtobeleah, @green-socks, @lorecraft, @heart-0n-fire, @mayhem24-7forever,

@blue-aconite, @the-untamed-soul, @inglourious-imagines, @airhogger, @piscesvancouverite,

@straightforwardly, @bonnieelizabethparker, @srry-itshockeyszn, @flyinlove, @fandomhopped,

@yjwnoot, @wanderdreamer, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @callsign-phoenix, @shanimallina87,

@forever-sleepy-sloth, @notroosterbradshaw, @dezthegeek, @blessupblessup, @cherrycola27,

@phoenix1389, @nicangelinee, @smells-like-perfect-senses, @boringusername3, @petlaufeyson,

@cycbaby, @footprintsinthesxnd, @fantasticcopeaglepasta, @writercole, @onebigfangirlworld,

@wkndwlff, @ravenmoore14, @clancycucumber230, @slightly-psycho-multifan, @kmc1989,

@deppresseddyslexic, @horneybeach1, @mandylove1000, @aczhang777, @lovelyy-moonlight

@winterassassin1804, @seresinhangmanjake, @seitmai

[all-mirth-no-matter]

Time After Time | Chapter Fifteen

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: You and Tommy head to the races.

Warning: language, assault (again, nothing explicit just not fun), death, ethnic slur

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 15: Left Hand Free

Well, your left hand’s free, and your right’s in grip, with another left hand, watch his right hand slip towards his gun. Oh, no.  – Left Hand Free, alt-J

What you knew about horse racing could be counted on exactly one hand. You knew there were horses. That their riders were jockeys. That rich people owned and trained the horses. That the fastest horse won. And that most of the horses had really weird names. 

That was it.  

You’d never been to a race. Hell, you weren’t even sure you’d even seen a real race on tv outside of movies or shows. 

The drive to the racetrack wasn’t long. You knew you were still in Birmingham, but that was the extent of your whereabouts. You pretty much stuck to Tommy’s side as the two of you entered the track, your eyes taking in all of your surroundings. 

“So,” you’d started as you made your way inside, “this is a Kimber track, yeah?” 

Tommy nodded, looking around slightly at the people around you. 

“And you said someone was giving him trouble?” you asked, this time a little softer. 

“Aye, the Lees,” he replied, more comfortable with your volume level. “They run Kimbers chalkers.” 

Your brow creased, “And that means?” 

“The men taking the bets. They gang up on them in the rouse of selling them chalk. Steal their money and leave them with a stick.” 

You hummed in understanding. Before you could ask any more, he distracted you by leading you through a side door and approached a man. He shook his hand and gave you both a tight nod as he opened the gate and let you through. Your feet met a floor of gravel and hay, and you realized you must be down in the stables. A row of stalls lined with horses caught your eye. 

“What do you think?” 

You turned back toward Tommy, brow knitted confused at his question. “Of the horses? They’re beautiful,” you replied. 

He looked down with an amused huff, the action reminding you of the black horse in front of you. “Yes, they are. But which do you think will win?” 

You nearly scoffed, “Pff, how should I know?” 

“Take your time.” 

You rose your brow, but he nodded toward the line up, the smirk on his face not yet convincing you that he was serious. But you took his challenge, starting from the end closest to you and moving slowly down the lineup. 

At first glance, they all looked the same to you aside from the color of their coats. They were big, intimidating creatures. But as you took a closer look, you began to see some differences. You began to weigh the pros and cons of size and muscle mass, whether that would make them faster or weigh them down. If taller horses could go farther distances than those with shorter legs. Soon you were even wondering if their hair ever got in their faces while they raced, and if that would eventually cause a problem. 

And yet still, you had absolutely no idea. 

When you reached the black horse again, he pushed his head over the railing and huffed, stomping his foot. You chuckled, reaching out to give him a pet. 

“I don’t know, Tommy. Does it even matter?” 

Tommy, who’d been watching you quietly at the end of the line, furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?” 

You shrugged, running your hands along the horse’s hair. “Aren’t all the races rigged?” 

He breathed out another amused scoff. “Not all of ‘em, love.” 

“That’s not fair, is it?” You asked the horse in the same voice you used on dogs. As if understanding you, the horse shook his head. “See, he agrees.” 

“These horses are up for sale. One of the dealers owes me, so he’s given me early access to take one off the lot.” He walked a few stalls down until he stood in front of a speckled beast, one on the larger end of the spectrum. “I was considering this one. He comes from good breeding and has a good chance to rank.” 

You hummed in acknowledgement, looking up at your horse. He blinked at you and leaned his head against your shoulder, causing you to stumble a little and laugh. “I like this one. He’s got a little attitude.” 

Tommy made his way back to you, his hands in his pockets as he reexamined your horse. “Attitude doesn’t make for good competitors. We want a winner.” 

“Well, you’ve got attitude,” you teased while keeping your focus on the horse. 

“And what does that mean?” He asked, turning all his attention now on you. 

As you met his eyes, you could tell his cheeks were fighting off the smile that his eyes conveyed as he peered down at you. The sight of it made you smirk as you turned your body toward him. “Are you planning to lose?” 

You watched those pale blues move between each of your eyes before dropping to your lips. “Not today.” 

You pulled your lip between your teeth before you replied with, “Neither will he.”

“Hmm,” the battle against his cheek muscles finally lost as he matched your smirk with one of his own, looking back finally toward the horse. “Well, he won’t be racing today, anyhow. None of these horses here will. They’re just prepping for the auction.” Tommy clicked his tongue and the horse turned his attention toward him. He reached out and pet him, “You are a beautiful beast.” 

You smiled as you watched him press his forehead against the horse’s, his voice low as he talked kindly to him. 

“How about a bet?” He asked, this time to you. “We go upstairs and watch the races. We each place a bet. If your horse wins, I’ll buy this boy here. If yours doesn’t win, I’ll buy my first choice.”

“So it’s me against everyone else? That hardly seems fair,” you said with a chuckle before pausing. “Hold on, you said we both place a bet. What if your horse does win?” 

Tommy rose a challenging brow, “You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Again, not fair,” you pressed. 

“That’s the weight of gambling, love. You want the horse?” He nodded to the black horse who was nudging you for attention again. “That’s the cost of your faith.”

“Should we do it?” You asked the horse, giving it your most serious face. He neighed playfully, causing you to giggle. “I may not know a thing about horses, but I know a keeper when I see one. Deal.” 

You shook Tommy’s hand, very reminiscent of that first night in the Garrison when you played your first game. He smiled as he squeezed your hand, telling you to say goodbye to the beast before pulling you back toward the crowds of people. 

——

Tommy’s horse won. 

“You knew,” you demanded, nudging a laughing Tommy as he led you down the corridor with the rest of the drone of people. “I’m never gambling again.”

“I did say I wasn’t going to lose today, didn’t I?” He countered. 

You rolled your eyes and he chuckled again, leading you to the bar and grabbing two champagne flutes. 

“Maybe that’s what you should do,” you quipped, taking a sip of your drink, “fix races.” 

“Now, now — that would be illegal.” 

You chuckled, the drink calming you slightly as the room began to fill with dancing. Ever since you and Tommy left the stables and joined the rest of the crowd, you’d begun to feel uneasy. 

At first you thought it was the crowd itself. Even in your own time, you hadn’t been the biggest fan of high-traffic places. The chaos of it all caused you anxiety, especially when it was a place you weren’t familiar with. And while this place wasn’t anything like some concerts or sporting events you’d attended, it was still a whole group of strangers who knew what they were doing far better than you did. 

On top of that, you felt yourself revert slightly back to how you felt when you first arrived at Small Heath. Like everyone could tell you didn’t belong, that you were different. You could feel yourself trying to hide, much like you had in the first few months of being here. 

Though this time, you had Tommy. 

That reassurance for some reason made you feel a little more comfortable. And yet, here again, as you stood on the outskirts of the dance floor, an anxious chill ran down your spine. 

“Remember what I taught you?” 

Tommy’s question pulled you back to yourself. You met his eyes, sparkling uncharacteristically as he gestured toward the dance floor, offering his hand to you. 

You smiled, forgetting your uneasiness for a moment and letting him pull you. This time, when he wrapped his arm around you, you didn’t take your eyes away from his as he took the lead. And surprisingly, you did remember a good bit of what he (and Johnny Dogs) had taught you that night with the Delphi. 

“A bit different than a gypsy camp, eh?” He jested. 

You shrugged, “I mean, besides the attempted assault, I kind of preferred it. This all feels a little, I don’t know… staged. There it felt,” you met his eyes, “real.” 

His eyes moved down to your lips again as you felt his grip at your back tighten. 

You heard someone call for him, demanding his attention behind you. 

He huffed slightly before turning back toward you. “Will you be alright without me for a moment? It’s time for me to go collect my horse.” 

You nodded as he promised not to be long and found yourself on the outskirts of the room, grabbing another flute. 

The band wrapped up their song as the MC took the mic and introduced the players. With all eyes forward, you gasped as you felt a hand wrap around your arm. 

“Not a sound,” a gravelly voice whispered against your ear, “or this blade goes in all the way.” 

You suppressed a whimper at the sharp tip pressed against your waist, the hand around you tightening. The band roared to life again as the room jumped back into formation, giving the stranger behind you an opportunity to pull you backwards and through the back doorway. 

Squinting into the daylight, the man who’d grabbed you pushed you forward, causing you to stumble into the empty alleyway. 

“Tsk tsk, Tommy should have known better.” 

Your eyes adjusted to see another man walking toward you, gasping slightly when you recognized him. “Benji–”

“Shut up!” He smacked you across the face, sending you backwards. You caught yourself on the ground, chancing to look back up and clutching your bag. 

The door flew open with a frantic Tommy. He ran toward you, lifting you up. “Y/N, you alright?”

Benji chuckled darkly, “The great Thomas Shelby,” he taunted. “Did you think I was going to let that bitch get away with stitching me up? After everything I did for you— for your family! I was a Peaky fucking Blinder!” 

“You tried to steal from us, and you got caught. You know what we do to those who double cross us, Hancock,” Tommy said calmly, trying to subtly position his body between you and the two other men.

“Well, now you’ll get to see what I do to those who threaten me!”

Tommy pushed you backwards just as he grabbed for his gun. You hit the wall as you heard a shot, then the sound of one of the men running toward Tommy, tackling him to the ground and knocking his gun away. Quickly, you reached within your purse and grabbed Polly’s handgun. In an instance, all the training your father had instilled in you came back as you turned, your gun ready. 

The man who had grabbed you was lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Benji had Tommy by the hair and a blade to his throat, Tommy’s gun kicked to the side. 

“Drop it, Benji!”

He pressed it harder, enough for blood to begin to trickle down his skin. “The only thing this bastard understands is blood and money. You think he cares about you? Nah, love. You’re just another pawn in his payroll, just like the rest of us.” 

Tommy snarled, struggling against his hold.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for years,” Benji said, emphasizing the word in Tommy’s ears. “First I’m going to finish you, then I’m going to take my time with her.” 

“Let him go!” 

Benji laughed, “What do you think, Tommy boy? Think she has the guts?”

You shared a look with Tommy, who barely nodded before pushing away from Benji’s grasp. Not a second to waste, you pulled the trigger. 

—-

Your hands were still shaking by the time you and Tommy returned to Small Heath. You attempted to calm them by playing with the tattered hem of your dress, but it was just another reminder of the horrible events that’d just occurred. You looked over toward Tommy, the strip of your dress wrapped around his neck to stop the bleeding from Benji’s blade when he’d pushed him away. 

“This is why.” 

Aside from some reassurances that each other were okay (physically), the two of you had been relatively silent for most of the evening. So Tommy’s words made your brow furrow as you questioned him. 

“You wanted to know why I pushed you away— what was the phrase you used?” 

“Ghost. I said you ghosted me,” you replied, slightly amused despite your seriousness to the conversation. 

“This is why. I was worried about putting you in this exact situation. When I couldn’t find you in the hall tonight, I–” he shook his head. “Death seems to come for everyone but me, and I can’t bare to think of you dying because of me–” 

“What happened back there wasn’t because of you,” you rationalized. “He was coming after me. If it hadn’t been for me, you’d be safe–” 

“But you were only in that situation because of us. As long as you work for us, you’ll never be safe.” He took a deep breath and met your eyes. “Though I’m a little less worried about you being able to protect yourself now. Where did you get the gun?” 

“Polly.” 

He scoffed, “Figures.” 

You looked down at the gun, sitting on top of your bag in between you and Tommy on the seat.

You’d killed someone. It’d felt like an almost out of body experience, watching yourself pull the trigger, and the bullet flying through into another man’s chest, ending his life.

Shaking, you took the gun and shoved it back into your bag. 

Tommy pulled over and moved your bag, pulling you across the bench and wrapped his arms around you. “I’m sorry you had to do that. It’s never easy, deciding to take a life.” 

Despite the tears that’d begun to fall as soon as Tommy pulled you in, you sniffed and shook your head. “I’m not sorry,” you surprised yourself. He let go of you enough to see your face as you continued. “He wasn’t going to stop. He was going to hurt me, he was going to hurt you.” You swallowed hard, nearly afraid to say your next thoughts out loud. “I would do it again to protect you, or your family.” 

Tommy watched you as you said your words carefully. Instead of responding, he lifted your chin to meet him and kissed you. 

It was dark when you returned to town. Tommy said he had a couple more items to take care of that night and asked if you wanted him to drop you off. You declined, asking if you could accompany him. Truthfully, you didn’t want to be alone after the events of the day. He seemed to understand and agreed, telling you that he needed to drop the car off at the Yard and check on an expected delivery.

“Evening, Miss,” Charlie greeted you, with Curly offering a big smile as you and Tommy drove into the Yard. 

“My delivery?” Tommy asked as he helped you down from the car. 

“Aye, this way.” 

You followed the trio through the yard as the rain began to fall lightly. Luckily, Ada had forced you to purchase a hat to go along with your outfit tonight, keeping the rain away from your face. You were wrapping Tommy’s jacket around you tighter as they approached a huge crate. 

“Geeze, what’s in there?” 

Tommy didn’t answer you as he examined the crate, his brow creased. “This isn’t right. Crowbar?” 

Curly and Charlie opened the crate and pulled out one of the many smaller crates inside. He lifted the item inside and your mouth involuntarily fell. 

“Tommy, that’s—”

“A machine gun.” 

The three men looked at each other, equally as dumbfounded as you felt. 

“Thought you said these were supposed to be motor bikes and petrol?” Charlie asked Tommy. 

“They were. Must have picked up the wrong fuckin’ crate.” He looked at the crate for a moment as you watched, curious what was going through his mind. 

“Tom,” Charlie said cautiously. “This says it’s destined for Lybia. This is– what are we going to do?”

Tommy took a deep breath and finally turned back toward his men. “Get it out of the rain. Put it in the stables for now.” 

“In the stables– you can’t be serious–” 

“That’s what we’re going to do for now. You, me, and Y/N are going to inventory the crate. Curly, prepare for a new horse.” 

—-

A week went by, and you hadn’t said a peep about the crate sitting in Charlie Strong’s Yard. The crate bound for Lybia that contained 25 Lewis machine guns, 10,000 rounds of ammunition, 50 semiautomatic rifles, and 200 pistols with shells. Tommy had sworn you all to secrecy, even from Polly. 

So when Tommy invited you to the Yard after an early shift, you were slightly nervous. 

“Thought you’d want to meet the newest Shelby racehorse,” Tommy finally said when you got to the stables. 

Honestly, you’d completely forgotten all about the horse Tommy had purchased at the races with all the other stuff going on. Between the sleepless nights dreaming of a gun in your hands, and the looming sword of those rifles hanging over your head, you felt like you’d collapse if one more disaster struck. 

But instead, you were pleasantly surprised when you walked through the arch to see the black horse you’d befriended at the track. 

“Hey,” you greeted sweetly as you began to pet him. He neighed a greeting to you before pushing his nose against your shoulder. “What is this, Tommy? You won the bet.” 

He shrugged. “I changed my mind. He has his first race Monday. I’m going to take him down to Garrison Lane tomorrow.” 

“Why?” 

“Gonna have a Chinese woman do the powder trick. Apparently she’s a fortune teller as well,” he smirked at you, causing you to roll your eyes. “Whether it’s true or not, it’ll convince everyone to place bets on him.” 

You still didn’t completely understand, but you went with it. “Will he win?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good,” you smiled up at the horse. “What did you decide to name him?” 

“Monaghan Boy.” 

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

Tag list: @cillixn @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @cillmequick @swordofawriter @sweetmilkshakeluminary @nataliewalker93 @ttae-yong @topstory21 @cole-silas @moral-terpitude @optimisticsandwichgladiator @reallysparklychaos @enrapturedbythemoon @bat-shark-repellant @kpopslur @skxawngs @musicsweetie21 @invisiblexcth @whoisf4yryl0v3r @laylasbunbunny @lordofthunderthr @luvstylesz @roseanimelover @lostgirl219 @berarenado @akemiixx01 @mulletmcghee @jasminxts @oneboygenius @piceous21 @xoprincessmel @the-blueatlas @regatoni1 @goblinjnr @gentyleman @xxbeckybeexx-blog @tanyaherondale @sometimes-i-sing @littlewhiterose @ja-4-leyvam @rubyxx16 @allie131313 @pet1t3 @globetrotter28 @woofgocows @radrouda @wildernessflora @jeysbae @lilianashomaresparza @himikotoga101 @a-asterias @sourholland @samywhale @thecityofspareparts @ponyboys-sunsets @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @vastseamind @optimisticsandwichgladiator @booktvmoviefangirl @drquinnzel0217qqqqqqqqqqq @zodiyack @ofkilljoysandslytherins @bluevenus19 @ce1iat @mgajdaaa @babyotileeblog @arcanebabe @iamtrashsry @snowtargaryen @mottergirl99 @sinarainbows @belledawnidk @laneyspaulding19 @warrior-of-justice @kkrenae @ryswritingrecord @qtkat @monifaagha @avidread3r @mysticalfuncollectorus

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Drink With Me (Part 2)

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 6. self-sacrifice Fandom: Top Gun, Top Gun: Maverick, Jake "Hangman" Seresin, f!reader, Vampire Apocalypse AU Summary: Two years after Jake was forced to watch you ripped apart by the creatures that now terrorize the world, he is a shell of the man he once was. However, a familiar voice calling to him in the dark may give him a second chance. Word Count: 5911 TW: Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Vampires, Character Death, Murder, Grief, Biting, Mention of Suicidal Thoughts, Drinking (alcohol and blood), Language Notes: Not beta read so sorry for any mistakes! Part of @ailesswhumptober's event! 💗

Series Masterlist

“No….No!” 

He tries to race to your side, to stop the torment playing out before his eyes, but he is held back by hundreds of hands wrapping around him, pulling him away. Fighting against them with every ounce of his strength, he screams, “Get the fuck off of me! We need to help her! No! What the fuck are you doing?” 

“She’s gone, Hangman,” dozens of disembodied voices whisper in unison from the darkness behind him. “I’m so sorry, but there’s nothing else anyone can do for her now. It’s over. It’s been over for years. You failed. Just as you continue to fail every night.”

“No! I can save her! Please, let me save her this time!” Jake sobs as he continues to struggle against whatever is holding him back. “Please!”

But it’s no use. He’s not strong enough. As he is dragged farther and farther away, he sees you lift your head one last time, panic and pain etched across your face. You lock eyes with him and just have time to scream a terrified, “Jake!” before one of the creatures rips your throat out with its teeth—

Jake bolts upright with a deep gasp, only to immediately collapse back onto his mattress with a pitiful moan. He grabs his head as it throbs painfully with every beat of his racing heart and he squeezes his eyes together tightly in an attempt to stop the world from spinning around him. But it does little to help. His nearly naked body feels sticky and gross tangled in his soiled sheet and he wonders if it’s just sweat from the nightmare, or if he vomited in his sleep again. Maybe both…probably both. 

At least he is fairly certain he hadn’t pissed himself this time if the intense pressure in his bladder is any indication. However, he doesn’t have the faintest desire to crawl to the bathroom so he’ll worry about those consequences later. Instead, he rolls over and tries to push your final agonized scream from his mind so he can go back to some semblance of sleep.

Just as he begins to pass out again, he hears the curtain hanging around his small space being pushed back and the toe of a boot digs into his side. Without opening his eyes, he swats at the foot, trying to shove it away. “‘uck off, Phe,” he mumbles somewhat coherently. “‘s too early.”

“Tell that to the rest of us who have already been awake for several hours,” Phoenix snaps, driving her boot deeper into Jake’s ribs. When he tries to roll away, she sighs, “Do we really have to do this every morning? I’m not your fucking babysitter. Get up! Bob and I need your help setting up the trap while the light’s in the right position.”

There is nothing in the world that Jake wants to do more than ignore her and go back to sleep. However, she’s right. They do go through this every morning and by now he has accepted the fact that he can not win this argument. So, reluctantly, he peels open his eyes and squints up at her.

Seeing that some progress is being made, Phoenix removes her boot from his side and takes a few steps back. In doing so, she almost slips on the drink Jake had spilled the night before. Looking around his small space, she shakes her head. 

“Jesus, Hangman,” she grumbles as she kicks a few empty wine bottles out of the way, sending them clinking across the floor only to crash into piles of more. “How the hell are you still consistently finding this much alcohol? We’re barely finding enough food.”

Heaving himself up until he’s sitting on the edge of his mattress, Jake rests his head heavily in his hands as the world continues to spin around him. Still slurring slightly, he mutters, “‘s not enough. Two bottles a night aren’t helpin’ anymore. Nightmare’s back.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve all got our own nightmares that haunt us and you don’t see the rest of us pickling our livers to deal with it.” She hurls a half-empty backpack at him which smacks into the side of his head, nearly knocking over his unsteady form. “Now get your shit together and meet us out front in thirty minutes. We’ve got work to do.” She stomps out of his little alcove to give him some privacy but then pivots to add, “And for fuck’s sake, take a shower.”

Forty-five minutes later, Jake steps out of the shower stall, a thread-bare towel wrapped low on his hips. He shivers slightly as he pads across the cold tile floor towards the sinks. The water heater broke a few months ago and with no one left in their dwindling group who knew how to fix it, freezing showers had become the norm. While they should be grateful they even had any water at all, Jake can’t help but recall a time when a hot shower was the best part of his day. 

A soft gasp leaves your lips as he presses his bare body against yours, pinning you to the cool tile wall. Your eyes sparkle in the muted light filtered through the shower curtain as you gaze hungrily at him. Warm water flows over his back as he sinks into you—

No. No memories. Not now. Not when he doesn’t have the luxury of going back to his “room” and drowning them in booze. 

Instead, Jake quickly dresses, trying his best not to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Half the time—when there is still enough lingering alcohol in his system—he sees your mangled corpse standing behind his reflection. The other half, he left staring at the shell of the man he had become. In some ways, that’s worse because he knows it would break your heart to see what losing you has done to him.

Even though sanitation supplies had only really become a scarcity in the last few months, Jake had given up the will for self-grooming long before that. The tangled beard covering his sunken cheeks is a clear indication of that as is the long greasy strands of hair hanging limply in front of the dark circles surrounding his bloodshot eyes. You had always preferred him clean-shaven and with shorter hair. But you were gone so he didn’t give a fuck.

Exiting the bathroom, Jake heads toward the front of the church. He averts his eyes as he passes the bulletin board that had been converted into a memorial shrine for those they had lost. He remembers the days when there had only been a few names and pictures up there. Now, the fallen takes up every inch of the board and spills out across the wall. Jake used to use the board as his motivation to keep fighting, to not let more names be added to the list. But now that it contains so many faces of the people he cared deeply for or respected—you, Coyote, Iceman, Cyclone, Payback—it has become a constant reminder of all the ways he failed.  

Once, this rag-tag group of survivors who had dubbed themselves The Daggers had numbered in the dozens. But now, there are only a handful left. And with supplies and food dwindling quickly, there is no telling how long it’ll be before the rest of them earn a place on the board.

As he pushes his way through the church doors, Jake recoils as he is hit with the full brightness of the sunny day. His headache which had previously dulled slightly in the cold shower came rushing back with a vengeance. Groaning, he digs his sunglasses out of the backpack Phoenix had thrown him earlier and places them on his face. They were a cheap plastic pair Coyote had picked up for him on one of his runs to the pharmacy over a year ago, but they at least cut out some of the glare.

Phoenix is leaning against the fence with her arms folded across her chest, a scowl carved deep into her face. Now that most of those originally in charge were no longer with them, the title of leader had fallen on her shoulders. For the past few months, she had done everything in her power to hold the group together despite the increasingly dire conditions—and one jackass of a drunk who makes her life that much more difficult.   

Next to her, Bob scans the area just beyond the fence, his blue eyes alert behind his cracked glasses. With his unusual prescription, it’s been impossible to find a replacement after they slipped off his face running from a pack of creatures. He made it safely to the church in one piece—one of his lenses did not. Yet, he has never once complained or made excuses for his impaired vision. 

They were the best of the remaining survivors and had become the only real hope the Daggers had left. Yet they spent most of their days dragging Jake’s sorry ass around to ensure he didn’t drink himself to death.

Jake had been like them once: always stepping up when volunteers were needed, doing what he could to fix what was broken, protecting the people within their group. But he hadn’t been that person for the past two years. Not since he had watched you devoured before his eyes as he stood on these very steps.

It was that moment he tried desperately to avoid every night in his dreams. Reliving that day over and over again. Knowing all the moments he could have done something differently or acted faster that would have saved you yet being unable to change anything. Just forced to hear your agonizing final screams before catching his last glimpse of you whispering his name…

He needs to find more alcohol.

“About fucking time,” Phoenix mutters under her breath, pushing herself off the fence.

Bob shoots her a stern look, one that softens as he turns his attention to the new arrival. “Thanks for helping us out, Jake. We appreciate the extra hands.”

“Not like she gave me much of a choice,” Jake mutters under his breath. But seeing the way Bob’s shoulders slump at his words, he does his best to smile at him. “But I’m here now so let’s do this.”

Bob’s smile returns and he nods happily at the other man. As he turns to exit the churchyard, Phoenix shoots Jake another dirty look. He knows despite Bob’s insistence that she keeps dragging Jake along with them, she’s afraid Jake’ll screw up and cost her or Bob their lives. And it’s a fair concern. After all, it’s his fault Bob was almost killed the time his glasses were damaged. Jake had been drunk on patrol and hadn’t seen the creatures until it was almost too late to warn the rest of the team. While Bob never blamed him, Phoenix did. She tried to be as supportive as possible when Jake first began to spiral, but after the incident with Bob, she only tolerated his antics for the sake of her partner. Though not even she despised this version of Jake as much as Jake despised himself. 

Jake knew what a failure and a screwup he had become. Yet as much as he wished he could pull himself together and become the man he used to be, he also knew that there was only one person who could help him do that. 

But you were never coming back.

It’s amazing how much the world can change in such a short amount of time. In the three short years since the creatures first appeared, the center of town is now virtually unrecognizable. Vines and various foliage scale the sides of all the buildings. Cars are abandoned in the middle of the street, some with their doors still open as their passengers fled from them. Every window has been dark since the power grid failed. And without the constant upkeep, everything is starting to decay.

The warehouse is no exception. Once bustling and full of life, it has now is a shadow of its former self. With very few windows save those by the entrance and no interior lights left to brighten the space, the interior becomes a black hole after walking just a few feet into it. However due to a collapse in the roof, at certain times of the day, a single shaft of light shines all the way down to the ground floor creating a small illuminated circle on the floor. 

It is in this small safe haven that Jake finds himself. Echos bounce off the walls of the cavernous space as he puts the finishing touches on the trap in front of him. Four months ago, a few survivors passing through had shared what they had discovered with The Daggers—a way to kill the creatures. Jake still doesn’t understand how it works, something to do with converting normal light into an artificial sunlight of sorts, but luckily there were those smarter than him around who understood and harnessed this knowledge into weapons. Since then, The Daggers had managed to take out a few of the creatures. However, they quickly learned that attacking the creatures in the large packs they usually hunted in resulted in costly casualties on both sides.

It was Phoenix’s brilliant idea to take the stealth approach instead of the head-on one. They began setting traps in the area using motion lights in the hopes of eliminating some of the creatures stalking near their hideout in the middle of the night when they were at their most active. So far, they have had promising results. 

Jake is almost done setting this trap. Then he can test it and use his flashlight to get himself from this shaft of light back outside. Hopefully, he’ll then have time to sneak off to try to find more alcohol before Phoenix and Bob return for him. He hasn’t checked the houses a few blocks to the east yet and maybe—

“Jake…”

Jake’s head snaps up as his heart freezes in his chest, the trap instantly forgotten. His eyes dart around the room searching for the source of the sound. But there’s no one else there. He’s alone…he’s always alone.

Yet, just as he begins to return to his job at hand, he sees something. Squinting, he peers deeper into the heart of the building and just makes out the faint outline of a single figure within the darkness.

Instincts kicking in, Jake draws his knife from his boot and drops into a defensive stance in the center of the beam of light, waiting for the attack he knows is coming. His eyes flicker around the space, searching the darkness for signs of the rest of the swarm, yet for now all he can see is the one in front of him. But he knows that can’t be it. The creatures hunt in groups, using their numbers to overwhelm and incapacitate their victims so escape is nigh on impossible. The only few loners they had come across over the years were ones that had been injured or were too malnourished to contribute to the next hunt.

But the figure standing before Jake doesn’t seem injured or blood-crazed. It stands straight and still, completely unmoving. For several moments, nothing happens. Though still cautious, Jake begins to relax his stance a little, wondering if his eyes or mind is just playing tricks on him.

But then, a voice cuts through the silence. “I was three blocks away when I caught your scent. I don’t know how, but I immediately knew it was you.”

The knife slips from Jake’s fingers, the clatter of metal on tile echoing around the cavernous room. The voice that he had not heard outside of his dreams for the past two years punches him in the chest, nearly bringing him to his knees as tears welled up in his eyes. “B-baby?”

There is a pause before the voice continues, unemotional and flat. “I should have bolted in any other direction, put as much space between us as possible but…I couldn’t. I’m selfish enough that I had to risk seeing you one last time.”

“Oh my god,” Jake breathes. “It’s really you.”

He takes a few stumbling steps towards the figure—towards you—but you draw back further into the shadows. “No! Stop! Stay in the light.” There is a panicked edge in your tone, the first sign of emotion you have let slip in, and it is enough to make Jake listen.

As much as he longs to launch himself into your arms, he reluctantly does what you ask. He lingers just shy of the darkness, the toes of his boots resting at the point where the last of the sunbeams fade on the tiles. 

“How are you here?” he asks, his voice breaking. 

“You know how.”

He did. It was a fear that had nestled in the back of his mind these past two years that he didn’t dare consider. Whether that was out of the fear of falling into despair or building up false hope, he didn’t know. But he had never let himself imagine this moment and, now that it was happening, he didn’t know what to do. 

Swallowing the lump forming in his throat, he says, “You said you caught my scent…Do I smell as sexy as you remember?”

A surprised snort of laughter echoes throughout the room as you are taken aback by his question. But when you speak, he hears tears in your voice, “Yeah, Jake. As sexy as always.”

Whatever cold, distant shell you had put in place when you first arrived crumbled and Jake can now hear the real you behind the words. Swallowing, he murmurs, “Please…let me see you.”

Your outline shifts in the darkness. “I-I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please, baby. For the last two years, all I could see was that last memory of you. I need this.”

“No. Seeing me like this is not going to be any better than seeing me like that. I’ve changed.”

“So have I. But I love you and I’ll still love you no matter what.”

For a moment, there is only silence. Then you whisper, “Step to the other side of the light.”

Jake immediately scrambles backward, almost falling as he stumbles over the long-forgotten trap. But he makes it to the outer rim of the circle of light and waits. 

Slowly, your shape edges closer to the light. At first, Jake still can’t make out any details of the person in front of him. But when he does, his heart clenches in his chest. 

There is no denying that it is the woman he loves standing before him but yet it’s not the you he remembers. Your skin has been drained of its color and now resembles that of a corpse, cold and lifeless. Sharp, pointed teeth jut out your mouth over bloodless lips and your fingers end in claw-like talons. You are still wearing the same clothes you had on the day you were attacked but they are shredded and stiff with dried blood in various colors ranging from bright red to rusty-brown. Jake wonders how much of it is yours and how much is your victims.

Any lingering doubt he had about how you are here, any sliver of hope you had escaped your fate, is shattered instantly. This isn’t a miracle. It is a nightmare, a curse. 

But based on the gasp that escapes your trembling lips, you must be thinking the same thing as you get a good look at the man he has become. 

“Oh, Jake…” Your hands fly up to cover your mouth as your eyes continue to roam over his body. Yet even covered, he can see your jaw trembling as you cry, “Baby, what…We promised if something ever happened to the other, we wouldn’t give up. We would keep fighting.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Jake snaps. But then he wilts under the weight of your gaze. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he whispers, “I almost ended it—a few times. Drugs, booze, even thought I’d take my nickname literally. Made a noose and everything. But the thing that always stopped me was that promise. So, yeah, I–I’ve been a bit of a mess since you—” he gestures at your transformed self “—and I’m sorry. I tried to be strong but losing you was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. We were supposed to face this hellscape together and I didn’t know how to cope without you so I let myself become someone that I hate. But now that you’re back—”

“I’m not back, Jake. That’s not why—” You shake your head, letting your hands drop. “I shouldn’t be here. This was a mistake and I never should have come. I should have just let you think I was dead. I-I have to go.”

“No! Please–” As Jake takes a few steps across the circle of light, you cower back, retreating further into the darkness.

“Stop!” There is a pained quiver in your voice. “I’m barely controlling myself as it is. If you get closer…I can’t hurt you, Jake. I can’t. But I know if you get any closer, I will and there’ll be nothing I can do to stop it.”

Jake shakes his head. “No. I don’t believe it. You would never hurt me.”

“You don’t get it. It’s not a choice, it’s an undeniable force. It’s hard enough to control myself when I’m fully satiated, but I haven’t fed in almost a week. Your blood—” You squeeze your eyes closed tightly. When you open them again, they have darkened significantly. There is still some color in them, not the pitch-black orbs Jake is used to seeing when the creatures were attacking, but the change still makes him inhale sharply. “The venom doesn’t just turn us into these…these things. It drives us to hunt, to kill. And that need is neverending.”

It breaks Jake’s heart to hear the pain in your voice and he can’t imagine what you’ve been dealing with the past two years. However, as much as it horrifies him, he also wants to know more. “Wh-what does it feel like?”

You turn to gaze into the darkness surrounding you. “It’s like acid in my veins, a constant burning fire in my gut that only grows stronger if it’s not satisfied. Blood’s the only thing that soothes the pain for even a few hours, but it’s never enough. I’ve tried to stop myself, I have, but each time I drink it gets hard to fight. And with every life I take, I feel a little more of myself slip away. I’m not the woman you loved anymore, Jake. I’m just a monster with her face.”

Jake shakes his head with a firm set in his jaw. “No. I don't believe that. It's still you. Why else would you have looked for me? The woman I love is still here and she needed to see me just as much as I needed to see her.”

“Jake–” 

“And I don’t care what you think.” Without hesitation, Jake crosses the remainder of his little haven of sunlight and steps forward to join you in the inky darkness. You cower back again but he takes another step to maintain the same distance between you. “You're not going to hurt me. I know that. Because you're so strong and brave and you can fight this–”

“It’s not that simple—”

“Yes, it is.”

“Jake, stop—”

“No. Not until you believe that—”

“I've killed Daggers.”

Your admission hangs like a dense fog between you. Obviously, Jake had realized what being turned into a creature meant for your feeding habits, but he had been trying not to focus on that. However, now faced with the truth, Jake suddenly connects a few horrifying dots in his head. 

He swallows before asking, “Coyote?”

Last year, he had gotten there just a moment too late. There was nothing he could do but watch as what was left of his best friend was ripped apart by a mass of creatures. But then, just for a second before Fanboy grabbed his arm and pulled him away, he caught a flash of one of the creatures and he could have sworn…

Your eyes widen, clearly not expecting him to know that, but you nod slightly. Then, in a small voice, say, “And Rooster.”

“Roo….Rooster?” The truth about Coyote had been painful, yet regardless of who killed him, Jake had come to terms with his best friend’s death months ago. But Rooster…

He had left the group a few weeks ago after hearing a rumor of someone sounding suspiciously similar to his godfather leading another group out in the desert. They all knew it was dangerous but if anyone could make it, it would have been Rooster. Yet if what you said was true…

“I never wanted you to find out.” Tears begin to stream down your cheeks, thick, black goo that leaves streaks in their wake. “I tried to stop myself but I couldn't. Coyote was already being attacked when I found him and the blood…this thing took over. And the worst part was he…he recognized me just before I tore his throat out. There was this mix of elation I was ‘alive’ and horror at what I had become. I still see it when I close my eyes. With Rooster it was different. I was alone when I found him. We’ve been starving since you found a way to destroy us and I needed blood so badly. He was dead before he even knew I was there.”

This newest revelation is the last straw for Jake. A man can only process so much trauma at once before he reaches his breaking point. Falling to his knees, he hangs his head, tears dripping off his face onto the dusty tile beneath him as his shoulders shake with stifled sobs. 

“Jake…I…” Your voice is brimming with tears as Jake sees your feet take one hesitant step closer to him. But then, you stop. 

For a moment, there is only the sound of his soft cries echoing through the empty space. However, when you finally speak again, your voice has more of the defiance and strength he loves most about you. “You don’t understand what it’s like. When I slip into a frenzy, nothing in this world exists except for blood. Faces…names…past relationships…none of it means anything at that moment. All that’s left is the pure animalistic need to feed. It’s only after I’ve been sated that I come back, that I can remember what happened or what I did. Standing over what’s left of a person, realizing I’m to blame, knowing I’ve murdered them or I’ve forced them to become a monster just like me. I couldn’t stop myself from killing Coyote and Rooster, but I made sure neither of them could turn. They may not have deserved their deaths, but more than that, they didn’t deserve this afterlife. It was the least I could do for them. And I’m sorry it wasn’t more.”

You fall silent again, but Jake just continues to cry with no acknowledgment of what you said. After a moment of this, you plead, “Jake, talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking. If you want me to go—” 

“Please…” Jake breathes, the weight of the past two years pressing down on him. “Please let me hold you.”

“W-what?” Based on the utter shock in your voice, that is not what you were expecting him to say.

It takes everything in him, but Jake lifts his eyes so they meet yours. “Baby, I need you in my arms again. To feel you, touch you, prove this is real. I have dreamed about you every night for two years. Horrible, bloody nightmares that have destroyed my life. I need you to chase those nightmares away.”

“Jake, have you not heard a word I’ve said? I’ve killed our friends and I’ll kill you too. Or worse, I’ll turn you.”

“I want you to,” he whispers.

“Jake!” Normally when discussions became this heated between you and you resorted to that sharp tone, your chest would be heaving as you became worked up. Yet this time, your heart isn’t beating and your lungs aren’t huffing air so it remains deathly still. “I can’t do that to you. I won’t condemn you to this life.”

“Please…” Jake sobs loudly, too emotionally and mentally drained to get to his feet and walk to you. “I can’t live without you anymore. I need us to be together, whatever that looks like.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“You’ve made it pretty clear. But I’m willing to bear the pain, the…the consequences of this choice if it means I can be with you. So, please, don’t make me spend one more second without you. Either kill me or turn me, but I can’t do this anymore.”

You stare at him for a long time, your darkened eyes not giving any hint as to what you are thinking. Then, slowly, you nod. “I don’t want to kill you or turn you, but I need you too. I think…I think I always knew when I came here that this is how it would go and I’m so sorry I wasn’t strong enough to stay away.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t.” Jake opens his arms, still kneeling on the floor. “Come here, baby.”

With stilted, hesitant steps, you begin to walk towards him. You balk a little as you get closer, fighting against the instinct to avoid the sunlight, but Jake is far enough in the shadows that you can reach him without crossing into the light. Slowly, you lower yourself to your knees in front of him and reach out. 

Jake can’t wait any longer. He grabs your hand and pulls you into his chest, squeezing you as tightly as he possibly can. Your skin is icy beneath his touch, but he doesn’t care. He’s holding you in his arms again and nothing else in the world matters. 

However, you apparently don’t share the same outlook. Your entire body goes rigid beneath him, every muscle tensing as he draws you in. He can feel you begin to tremble as an animalistic growl rumbles in your chest.

“Ja—I can’t—Let me go. Don’t wanna hurt—” You manage to choke the words out through a clamped-shut jaw. As your eyes turn completely black, your teeth begin to grow longer until they resemble true fangs. Several poke through your lips as you press your mouth firmly closed. You are still trying to save him despite everything.

Squeezing you tighter, Jake mutters, “No. It’s okay, baby. I want this. Just let go.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, black tears falling on his chest. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

And you sink your fangs into his neck.

Living up to your promise, there is only a small sting as your teeth break his skin. However, in seconds, your venom enters his bloodstream and Jake tries to jerk away from the searing pain. However, your clawed hand clamps firmly on his shoulder, forcing him to remain in place. The venom spreads throughout his system until every cell in his body is screaming out in agony. He wants to black out but his body won’t let him. The change is already occurring and he is being forced to be conscious for every last second of his human life.

As you drink, small sounds begin slipping out between your lips, reverberating against Jake’s skin. Soft moans and gasps that have Jake flashing back to all those times you were beneath him as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. And for just a second, he can bear the pain knowing he is giving you some semblance of pleasure.

However as a vice of white-hot agony squeezes around his lungs and heart, Jake begins to jerk in your grasp as he begins to suffocate. Feeling his distress, you slide your teeth out of his neck and press your blood-soaked lips to the wound. Running your hand through his hair, you coo, “It’s okay, baby. It’s almost over now. I can already taste the change beginning in your blood. But this next part is the worst. Fighting it just makes it harder. Try to relax and let it happen. And I’m right here, my love, forever.” Then you sink your teeth back into his neck.

The choking suffocating feeling only intensifies, but against every self-preservation instinct in Jake’s body, he tries to listen to your advice and just gives in. Closing his eyes, he begins to slip into a sort of meditative state. While the pain or pressure doesn’t lessen, the panic and tension ease slightly. And even once he feels his heart take its last beat and his lungs go still, he tries to remain in this headspace until you are finished.

He isn’t sure how long he is kneeling there before—

“No…”

Jake picks up the soft sound as it is breathed across the empty warehouse, his ears already tuning into sounds humans shouldn’t be able to hear. His eyes flutter open and just over your shoulder, he can see Bob and Phoenix bathed in sunlight standing at the entrance to the building. Bob has tears in his eyes, his lips whispering your name in horror as he watches the growing gory mess you are making of Jake’s neck. He glances back and forth between Jake and Phoenix, silently pleading with her to find a way to fix this.

But Phoenix just stares at the pair of reunited lovers, her jaw set tightly. And Jake knows she understands. Phoenix always understands. 

Jake is weak from blood loss and pain, but he manages the slightest of nods. Lifting two fingers to her forehead, Phoenix gives Jake a small salute in return.

Then she raises her flashlight.

As the beam of light strikes your shoulder, your mouth instantly disappears from Jake’s throat with an agonized hiss as you try to flee from the pain. But using what strength he has left, Jake holds you in place. 

The betrayal on your face as you turn to look at him almost outweighs the pain. Jake knows you must think this was a trick, that he must have been stalling you all along just for this moment. Yet, he had meant every word he said.

Smiling as every cell in his body begins to burn differently from before, he whispers, “Together.” And he holds up his hand which is cracking and disintegrating in the light just like yours.

Though still pained, your face softens as you realize what he is doing. Transformation or death, those had been his choices. However, it turns out it wasn’t an “or” but an “and”.

Reaching out, you link your fingers with his, your skin flaky and fragile in his grasp. You snuggle your head against the unbitten crook of his neck, whimpering slightly as the light does its job, and you whisper back, “Together.”

Jake wraps his other arm around you and holds you close, silently vowing to never let go again.

The last thing he sees before his world slips away is the strangely beautiful swirl of particles of your two disintegrating bodies intermingling in the beam of sunlight. 

[onskepa]

Hello! Can i get a part two of maleficent reader? She gets used to the omaticaya and one day they are arguing on who's the best at flying. And they make a competition. Neteyam on his ikran and reader with her wings

Of course sweetie! Hopefully this is good to yours and everyone's satisfaction! Sorry if this comes out short! Enjoy!

Pt 1

----------------

Take flight

To introduce and welcome someone who is not a na’vi nor a human, it can be tricky. The omatikaya were wary of the young girl with mysterious horns and wings. But with reassurance from neteyam and proving she was of no threat, the na’vi were slowly warming up to her. The little ones were mostly interested in her wings, and kept insisting that she would fly around to show the young ones. 

While the mothers gently scold their children, the girl promises to one day show them how she flies. Since her wing was terribly injured, it took time to heal properly .And with great help from tsahik mo’at, the healing was going by fast. So, in no time the young fairy would keep walking. 

“Your ikran is so beautiful” the young fairy praises as she gently pets neteyam’s ikran. Neteyam smiles in appreciation, “thank you, I think he likes you” he comments. And true to it, his ikran nuzzles gently against the fairy’s cheek. She giggles a bit at the ikran’s affectionate display. 

Neteyam was happy to see the fairy become less shy and more confident and talk more. Ever since their first meeting at the forest, a lot has changed between them. From silent and shy talking, to more comfortable casual chats. Which is something the boy has come to look more forward to. 

Looking at her wings, the injured one has fully healed meaning the fairy can freely move them without feeling any pain. Which has given him an idea. 

“Let’s have a flying race”. 

Near the edge of a floating mountain, neteyam and his fairy friend were at the top. Feeling the high winds hitting their faces as they see the beautiful view of the sky. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” the fairy girl asks a bit worriedly. Neteyam sees her expression and tries to reassure her. 

“Yes, don't worry. It is safe up here. Why? Are you scared?” he teases. The fairy girl playfully rolls her eyes. Giving out a little chuckle, she replies. “I'm not scared, I am just worried that you will be falling behind”. Now this got interesting. 

“Falling behind? Well sorry to disappoint my friend, but my ikran and I are the best. If anything, it will be you who will be struggling to catch up” neteyam replies a bit smugly. With back and forth of cocky words, new found confidence grew in both individuals. 

“You did say you wanted to race right? I think we should see who really is the fastest. Your ikran against my wings” the fairy girl challenged. Liking the display of confidence, neteyam accepts. 

“Alright, you see those stone arches?” neteyam points out. The fairy girl looks at where neteyam was pointing at. Nodding, neteyam continues. “We start here, go through the other floating mountains to make it to the stone arches. First one to make it there wins. Simple enough” he states. 

The fairy girl takes a moment to think it through and nodds. “Alright neteyam, challenge accepted. Be ready to eat your words”. 

Neteyam chuckles at her words. “I should be telling you that” 

With the roar of neteyam’s ikran, standing at the edge, neteyam and his fairy friend both dropped and began to fall high from the sky. By natural instinct neteyam had his ikran pull up, extending its wings farther out and floating above. He looks and sees his fairy friend still falling down. But with sharper observation, he noticed that she extended her wings the same way but instead of floating, she made a sharp turn to go up. 

Releasing a little whistle of impression, neteyam lingers his gaze at her. “Incredible” he whispers to himself. Shaking his head, going back to focus mode, he has his ikran fly towards his friend. Neteyam observes her flying style, it looks similar yet different. Her movements are sharp yet hold an elegance to it. Seeing her face, it shows how much his friend loved the feeling of the air, touching the sky and the rush of it. 

“Come on now neteyam! Already slowing down on me?” She teases as she flies above his head, smiling down at him. Laughing loudly to his heart's content, “as if! I am just getting warmed up!”. 

The floating mountains became their obstacle course. Going under, through, above, so many tricks was done with great joy yet determination holding strong. Going closer and closer to the arched stones. Victory is close at hand. 

“Is that all your ikran can do?” The fairy girl asks, her teasing smile being a pleasure to see. “Better than those you call wings!” Neteyam yells through the howling winds. The girl laughs loudly, her smile still bright. 

“Oh please, this is a true flight! Oh! Seems I am going to win!” The girl noticed the arch stones getting closer. Now it was time to get serious. Neteyam was zeroed in on the stones, his ikran sharing the same goal. His fairy friend changed the angle of her wings to go as fast as she can. The ikras nose leveling with hers. So close they were arriving! It's head to head! Nose to nose! 

The last flaps of their wings giving boost! 

And…and…! 

The arched stones were crossed.

Aaaaaaaaaand that is all for this one! Did my best to describe the actions! I let it up in the air on who one. Until next time! see ya!

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

👀👀👀💪🏻💪🏻💪🏻💪🏻💪🏻💪🏻💪🏻💪🏻💪🏻💪🏻👀👀👀

🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼🔼

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞(i'm so excited for this i can hardly stand it😩)

Also yay new cranberry fic🤗

🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮

Thanks so much cal!💋

Yay thank you!!!!!!!!!!

30 for 💪🏻:

---

And before Eddie can sneak away and come up with literally any other plan, Buck sees him. 

Buck catches Eddie standing outside the gym area, having stopped dead in his tracks on his way to the locker room, practically staring holes into Buck’s biceps. Which are currently engaged in rather distracting curls. When he notices Eddie, Buck grins. He sets the weight down, straightens back up, and turns towards Eddie. 

Sweat is making his shirt stick to his chest a little more than it normally would. Which is already a lot. The outline of his chest is very… Well, it’s outlined. 

“Hey, Eddie,” Buck grins. “You’re here early.”

Shit. Fuck. Eddie feels like he’s been caught looking at a dirty magazine or something. Because the thing is, Eddie has only ever come early to do this one before and Buck knows why. Buck has to know that he’s feeling… Sexually complicated. 

“Uh… Yeah. Thought I’d get a workout in before shift,” Eddie says. Technically the truth. “Guess I wasn’t the only one with the idea.”

“Guess not,” Buck agrees. There’s a wolfish sort of look in his smile. Like he’s sizing Eddie up.

Eddie swallows. 

“I can go,” he offers. 

“Why would you do that?” Buck asks.

Fuck. Fuck.

“If you wanted to be alone,” Eddie explains.

---

36 for 🔼:

---

Buck sits and shivers and waits and hopes that they aren’t too late.

At least they got to Shannon and Chris first. That’s the main thing. He hopes they’re both okay. That they didn’t get injured in his absence. And what about the baby? Surely a tsunami has got to have consequences on fetal development. What if there’s something wrong with her? Buck couldn’t live with that. 

He’s getting sleepy, kept awake mostly by the anxiety and the cold gnawing at him, when Bobby finally calls out to him. 

“Okay, Buck,” he says, voice fuzzy and farther away than he really is. “We have a solution.” 

“A solution?” Buck asks. 

“Yeah,” Bobby confirms. “We’ve got a way to keep the Jeep elevated using the boat and some chains. But it’s only going to last a few seconds.” 

Oh. Buck has to move fast. He’s feeling kind of slow, though. 

“What do I do?” Buck asks. 

“Just get as close to the opening as possible, and when we move the dumpster, I’m going to grab you, and we’re going to move quick, okay?” 

“Okay,” Buck says. “I can do that.”

“Alright,” Bobby says. “That’s good. Count of five, okay?” 

“Okay.”

Buck shuffles right to the crack of light, leaning into it as much as possible. 

“Five, four…” 

Buck takes a deep breath. 

“Three, two…”

He braces himself. 

“One.”

---

75 for 🪞:

---

Buck’s pretty sure he was explicitly told not to let Chris win every game they ever played together. What will that teach him? Had been the logic. Buck sees how it is. Not so easy when it’s not your kid.

“I’m really good, Eddie says,” Dove announces proudly. 

“I bet you are,” Buck smiles at her. “Hey, maybe you can kick my butt at Go Fish later, but right now, I need to talk to Eddie for a second. Is that okay?”

Dove nods. “Okay. Can I watch TV?’

“Yep, go for it,” Buck replies. 

She heads to the living room and Buck asks Eddie to step out onto the porch with him for a second. He doesn’t want Dove to overhear them.

“Thank you for watching her, Eddie,” Buck starts. “I really appreciate it.”

Eddie shakes his head. “God, Buck. Of course. I don’t just owe you one - I owe you potentially a hundred.”

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Buck replies. “I was panicking. Watching Chris was never transactional.”

“I know,” Eddie says. “Seriously, I know.”

Buck takes a deep breath. He still feels like his heart is racing. He doesn’t know why. 

“She’s a great kid,” Eddie says. 

Buck relaxes a bit. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

“Totally meant to be yours,” Eddie says.

Buck’s cheeks heat. “Uh, you think?”

“Weird about animals, competitive, and sweet? Yeah. Your kid.”

Buck could cry. 

“I really miss you,” he says.

Eddie looks at his feet. “I miss you, too. And I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” Buck says. “I didn’t even think… I know it’s got to be really hard to be around other kids right now. I… If I pressured you, or-”

“That’s not it,” Eddie interjects.

“It’s not?” Buck asks. 

“I mean, kind of,” Eddie concedes. “But it’s not the only reason.”

“Okay,” Buck mumbles. “Uh, did something happen?”

Eddie shakes his head. His eyes look a little misty.

“I just don’t want this to get fucked up for you.”

Buck blinks. “Wait. What?” 

“Buck… My kid left me. Still hardly talks to me. Christopher… It’s my fault he’s gone. Maybe… I mean, maybe it’s better if-”

“No,” Buck nearly snaps. 

Eddie closes his mouth.

“Eddie, no. Are you insane? You’ve known her for an afternoon and she’s already more comfortable with you than most adults she’s met. You’re amazing and… And, no offense? You can’t fuck this up for me, Eddie. Only I can do that.”

---

21 for 🦮:

---

There’s a long pause after that, where no one seems to know what to say. Albert, bless him, jumps in. 

“What’s it like driving that far in an RV?” He asks. “That sounds exciting!”

“Statistically speaking, it seemed the safest way to travel right now,” Phillip says. Which really doesn’t answer Albert’s question at all. But that would involve accessing human emotions.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to take any chances, given Maddie’s condition,” Margaret adds. “And it being a high-risk pregnancy.”

Eddie shifts a little uncomfortably. From what Buck gathers, he has some experience with judgmental parents criticizing a pregnant woman. 

Maddie frowns. 

“Well, no,” Chimney says. “It’s not really high-risk-”

“Oh, she’s over thirty-five,” Margaret doubles down. “That puts her at a higher risk. So we all need to be extra careful.”

“The baby’s fine, Mom,” Maddie says. 

“But you don’t want to take any chances,” their mother continues. “Not when you’ve waited this long.”

[huuuuughes]

Chills - Chris Driedger x Reader

Pairing: Chris Driedger x Fem!Reader

Summary: You just can't seem to stay away. Good news is, neither can he.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: angst. this is v angsty and im so sorry!!! but its not all bad i swear

A/N: posting before he possibly isnt with the birds/kraken lololol. also i know the birds didn't win the cup this year but this is my fic and my dream so just pretend shhhh

also thank you to the lovely @knivesareout for being my beta for this and for being my bff ilysm. this is for and dedicated to you <3

also (again lol) this is lightly inspired by the song Chills by Down With Webster linked here

Chills

My hearts racing trying to catch up to you

The light that you give off is gold

I can’t shake this feeling it fills the room

These chills didn’t come from the cold, they came from you…

You told yourself you weren’t going to come after what happened. You weren’t exactly part of the WAGS anymore after your most recent breakup with ‘he who must not be named’, but you were still friends with a few. Watching hockey felt bittersweet, knowing it was your happy place but also the reason you’d experienced such a rollercoaster of emotions in your personal life.

You just couldn’t stay away. No matter how hard you tried to, the thought of him was always in the back of your mind. You were just tired of coming in 2nd place to him. Of course you knew hockey came first during the season, but you should be next in line. You were supposed to be planning your life together- the ring on your finger still stared back at you. You couldn’t get yourself to give it back. He hasn’t asked for it, but you knew it was the right thing to do. 

Staying away from the arena and the game was the smart option, but part of you, for lack of a better term, just wanted to feel something. So you packed up your stuff, and got in the car. You called Coach, knowing he knew what had transpired. He understood- you wanted to be there, just under the radar. Just because your future with him was uncertain, didn’t mean you didn’t want to be there to support your friends. Playoffs meant everything to the Firebirds, they had so much to prove and everything to gain with this series. There was a ticket waiting for you. On the glass, right behind him. You wore everything you could to disguise your face, and covered your hair. 

You didn’t want him to know you were there but you couldn’t bear to be farther away. You just wanted to matter, and be supported as much as you gave. He had the kindest heart and you felt like the intent was there, but you knew athletes weren’t the brightest in the love life department. He didn’t want to admit his wrongs and you could tell the frustration was building up in his game play. 

You took your seat among the crowd, blending in and sinking into your seat behind the goal. You watched as he did his creases into the ice, his normal pregame routine. The arena filled with chants of his name, the name you once proudly wore on your back to every game. Driedger. 

Chris Driedger. Number 60 and starting goalie for the Coachella Valley Firebirds. You’d met soon after he moved to the Valley. He accidentally picked up your drink at the coffee shop and the rest was history. You were inseparable. Your job was work from home and that allowed you almost too much freedom, letting you become immersed in the world of minor league hockey. With his gear on he looked larger than life, but underneath the goalie mask were the most beautiful eyes and stunning smile you’d ever seen. He was like a magnet, sucking you in any time you were remotely near. 

Lucky for you he didn’t spend much time turning around and hadn’t noticed you sitting in your normal spot. You couldn’t help but wonder if he had looked anyway, knowing the secret part of his routine. There were the parts everyone knew, and then there were the ones just for you. Every time he came out into the ice you made sure he saw you. You always made sure that he knew that even if he felt unsupported or alone that you were right there behind him. Sometimes all it took for athletes was knowing that at least one person in the room was there just for them. 

Transfixed on the game, you almost jumped out of your skin when an arena employee you recognized tapped you on the shoulder. 

“Sorry to bother you Miss, but he wanted you to have this.” They handed you a paper bag, and nodded their head in sympathy before walking away. It wasn’t like the breakup was very public but somehow every person who worked at Acrisure knew already. You opened up the bag, and it was his jersey. Not just a jersey from the shop with his name, but his jersey. It was his normal away game jersey which was so big it was essentially a dress on you. This told you one thing: he knew you were there. Either Coach had ratted you out, or that sixth sense he always claimed he had began working. You didn’t draw attention to yourself but yet, in your lap, the jersey sat like a weight. 

Taking it out of the bag, a note began to fall from the sleeve. 

Thank you. Meet me after, win or lose. - C.

His handwriting was instantly recognizable. He loved to leave you random love notes all over your apartment together. He wasn’t always the best at saying how he felt out loud, so the notes were his way of telling you how he felt. This one felt different- he liked to remain in the zone before and after games. This told you all bets were off. Putting the jersey on you felt a wave of relief come over you. You were the only two people in the room, or at least that’s how it felt. He was your home base and safe haven. You knew you were first in his heart but you needed him to show it. He had to fight for the two of you just as hard as he did. This jersey was his version of a white flag, so to speak. The break up was supposed to be good for the both of you. It was the worst kind of breakup. The kind where you were still in love but you were supposed to be letting them go.

My world came crashing down right under you,

These chills didn't come from the cold,

They came from you.

It was kind of incredible when you thought about it. Someone who is a stranger one day, can walk into your life and turn your world upside down. The center of your universe changes, and the feeling in your chest doesn’t want the center to change. It was never going to. You couldn’t ask someone to change overnight. 

He was playing so well. He remained one of the best goalies in the entire AHL but there was something about him today. If you didn’t know him well, one might not even notice it. His movements were a second too slow, almost too late. The game remained tied at 0-0, but that wasn’t going to be enough, something had to give. It was frustrating that they weren’t making any progress halfway through the second period. With one minute left in the period, the announcer shared with the crowd that there was such a time remaining. The buzzer sounded a minute later, and he didn’t even look back. The team made a beeline for the locker room and you didn’t even hesitate to get up. You made your way to the tunnel where you could access the facilities underneath the bleachers. Flashing your ID that you were supposed to give back, the security guard recognized you and let you pass.

You didn’t even know what your plan was. You just needed to get to him. Now was probably not a good time to try and get to him, they should all be focused on the game. You were going to have to beg Coach in front of the whole team to let you speak with him, which was going to be embarrassing enough. Except when you reached the end of the tunnel and turned the corner, there he was. Still in full gear, helmet still on. His head is bowed down, but at the sound of your shoes his head bolts in your direction. You can feel his gaze through the mask, his eyes like daggers following you as you got closer to him. 

“What are you doing out here?” You asked, after finally managing to speak. 

“I could ask the same question about you being here.” He was hiding the emotion in his voice as best he could.

“You and I both know I wouldn’t miss this game, whether we’re together or not. This team is still my family.”

“Then why did you sit in your normal seat? You could have sat anywhere else in this arena. You didn’t even need to be here. Why there, when you know I can see you?” 

“You should be watching the puck Chris, not me. You have an entire team you’re supposed to be working for.”

“How can I focus when you’re right behind me? Do you think that it’s been easy for me, being without you? I knew the moment you walked into this arena. The moment you sat down. You have been the only thing on my mind for weeks. You are the only light that I notice when you’re in the room. It is maddening to think I am not with you or have you because I can’t seem to get my shit together.” His tone had gotten louder the more he spoke, filling the empty hallway you were occupying.

“You have me! That’s what I came down here to tell you. I thought being apart was the better thing for us. I thought you needed to get it together and so did I. But all of those problems seem small now. I want you to be the best version of yourself. You have earned that cup, you and I both know that. So stop making stupid mistakes. I know you’re holding yourself back. You’re hesitating. I know you’re tired. I know it’s been a long road, but you have 20 more minutes between you and the cup. Do what you do best, please.”

“I- what?” Based on the expression on his face, he wasn’t expecting that response. 

“I will be right here at the end of this game, win or lose. Regardless of the outcome, I am proud of you and I love you. But I know your team would appreciate it if it was a win.” You smiled, and he finally took off his helmet. You could see him, truly, for the first time since you walked into the tunnel. 

“You’ll be right here? You love me?” He smiled and stepped closer to you. 

“Your team needs you now. I suspect Coach will come out here and have my head if you don’t get back in there.” He didn’t need to hear the confirmation, but you could tell in his eyes that he wanted it. He put on a protective shell for everyone else, but only you were the one who could see the little breaks where he let people in. 

“Driedger get your ass back in this damn locker room before I die of old age!” 

You were really gonna miss him next season.

“That’s my cue.” Before you could say no, he leaned in and placed his hand on the side of your face bringing you closer to him so he could place a kiss on your forehead. “See you in 20 minutes.” 

The rest of the game was absolutely electric. You could almost feel the arena vibrating beneath your feet. You wore his jersey proudly, bragging any time he made a save that he was your man. You could almost feel your heart beating out of your chest with every second that passed on the clock. 30 seconds left, a tie score, and the only thing between the Firebirds and a win was just a single goal. 

It was like the next 30 seconds passed in a blur. Hershey pulled their goalie in a desperate attempt to get an extra skater on the ice. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Chris leaving his goal like he was going to the bench but that wasn’t what he did. Shore passed him the puck from down the ice, the goal was left unattended, and the next thing you knew the arena exploded. The entire team jumped from the ice and you couldn’t see him anymore.

“ITS OVER ITS OVER, COACHELLA VALLEY IS A CITY OF CHAMPIONS FOR THE FIRST TIME IN THEIR TEAMS HISTORY WITH THEIR FIRST GOALIE GOAL!” 

The scoreboard read 3-2. 

If you could have jumped the boards you would have. But you ran to the tunnel as fast as your legs would allow. You had to wait for the trophy ceremony and pictures and all of the other hockey politics before it was just the players and their families on the ice. Everyone on the team was telling him how well he did but the only person he had eyes for was you. 

“Were you saving that goal for a special occasion?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I gotta keep them on their toes.” He crossed the remaining space between you, and kissed you differently than he had before. This one said he wasn’t letting go.

“AYEEE DRIEDGS GET A ROOM MAN!”

“GOALIE GOAL’S GOT HIS GIRL!” You knew it was Stezzy just from the accent. You continued kissing Chris but also managed to give Aleš a very nice middle finger out of love of course. 

“Oh, and I love you too.” This man would be the death of you.

[spiderlegsmusic]

Biden isn’t an ideal candidate. We’ve established that. But these people telling us Biden should drop out don’t give us any alternatives. Who are they going to run instead of Biden? The democrats don’t have anybody. Ok, say you get Biden to drop out of the race. Then what?

They don’t have another Obama or Clinton lying around. They have to outrun a cult of psychos. One thing Trump has exposed since 2016 is exactly how many people in the electorate are mentally ill. The Trump cult including their big orange daddy, is a large population of crazy racists. It’s embarrassing that there are so many deranged people in this country.

It’s embarrassing the democrats don’t have a viable candidate to replace Biden. The only one i would accept is Bernie or or maybe Elizabeth Warren. And who knows if they can defeat the army of crazies?

The world should tremble in their shoes that the dominant superpower in the world is full of crazy people who are running a convicted felon, rapist, racist to be president who has promised to dismantle democracy and withdraw from NATO.

And that the democrats can’t get behind anyone but old Joe. The only person who’s beaten Trump in an election. The democrats are this amorphous pusillanimous group of non-charismatic lumps of playdough who yell that Biden should drop out without giving us an answer for who should replace him.

Kamala Harris? No. I don’t believe in her as anything but a credible VP. So we are going to go down swinging and missing because the democrats have no one who can beat a convicted criminal in an election knowing everything we know about him.

We are going to lose our democracy. Our economy is going to fail. Our standing in the world will fall farther than it ever has. We are going to become the 4th Reich. Do you understand that, people of the world? Do you understand that, people on the left? Democrats?

I will be honest. I will vote for any piece of shit the democrats throw out there because I’m a more or less sane individual who recognizes what Trump is after having lived through the disaster of his last term, while living in Texas which is a state full of insane christofascists.

I don’t want to lose democracy. I don’t want America to become an authoritarian autocracy led by the single worst person to ever live during my lifetime: A bulbous turd who worships Hitler and wants to be a dictator like his buddies.

And then I look at the democrats full of these back biting weak career politicians calling for Biden to drop out without giving us anyone to replace him with. And I hang my head. Literally the most important US Election in my lifetime and it’s going to be a clusterfuck which leads to civil war.

These are dark days in America. Darker than the days after 9-11, Pearl Harbor, because democracy was still going strong after those events. Democracy is on life support right now. And there are no heroes. No one can save us from the big orange criminal turd and his army of insane cultists who are racist and hate women. It is for all the women in my life that I mourn. All my closest friends are women. I love my friends dearly. And I’m watching a bunch of rich crazy racists flush the rights of all women down the toilet while all the rest of us watch it happen with our thumbs up our sad asses.

And these are people that will then fight our civil war? The strength of women will not have have ever been needed like it will be in these coming years starting in 2025. Project 2025 wants all women pregnant, submitting to husbands and worshipping an imaginary cloud guy—sky cake!

To the women of America: please have a plan to leave this country if trump wins. Do not get trapped here. America is sinking and democracy is in its death throes and the crazy racist misogynists have blood in their eyes and the devil in their hearts. Not one of these christofascists has Jesus in their hearts—they’re insane.

Hope gets beaten and raped before it gets murdered. This is a colossal disaster. God damn convicted felon Trump and his cult on insanity. God damn broken down old Joe. God damn the weak democrats who can’t come up with anybody who can beat an overt racist rapist wannabe dictator and his cult on insanity. And god damn the United States and the 4th Reich which will put the 3rd Reich to shame.

And god damn me for not having a cyanide pill…

[effy-writes]

DISCLAIMER: I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT BROOK AND ONE PIECE I MADE THIS FOR A DEAL SO DONT COME AT ME FOR GETTING FACTS WRONG 😭😭 @thefoxiestboy here you go

Brook x GN! Reader: A Flustered Bet

It’s been a day since the storm dismantled your small ship. You managed to save some of the canned foods but you need to ration it. You have no idea on how long you’ll survive out here, especially not knowing if somebody can save you and bring you back to your home island.

You drifted for miles and miles, not knowing if you’re drifting closer or farther away from any sort of help. Maybe your parents were right you thought, this indeed was a bad idea.

Up ahead you saw dense fog and your heart began to race. Is this another storm? You were grateful you survived the first one, but your percentage of survival is slim from this point on.

As you drifted closer to the fog (you would fight back but you’re so weak due to the lack of nutrients and dehydration), a ginormous, vintage boat came in your line of sight. With a sudden bolt of hope you swam to the boat and called out for help. Nobody answered, so you called out even louder.

A 9ft skeleton stepped out and looked around for that pleading voice until finally noticing you.

You must’ve thought you were hallucinating from fatigue, but this doesn’t feel like a hallucination.

“Why are you screaming, dear?”

“Because you’re a talking skeleton why else?” You stammered.

“I take offense to that.”

“Can you help me or something i’ve been floating on here for a day and I’m starving.” You groaned, not caring about this talking skeleton pirate since you only care about food right now.

“Why should I?”

“Because you’re a kind person.” You sweetly smiled as you hoped he could see you since he’s so high up in the boat.

“I’m not a person.” He gave a cheeky grin.

You dropped the smile. “Oh you know what I mean.”

Brook threw a rope over so you could climb on it. At first you hesitated, is this skeleton dangerous? This debate felt like forever but really it was 5 seconds before you finally climbed up the rope.

You groaned as you made your way up to the top and swung your legs over the hedge.

“You’re very wet, dear.”

“Ew.”

“I’m serious, you’re dripping.”

“Enough, we need to get out of here there’s a storm coming.”

“Yo ho ho, that’s no storm.”

You listened (kind of impatiently) as he told you about this fog and why he’s an 88 year old skeleton. You felt awkward as the story went on and how he lost all of his crew mates. All you wanted was food.

“Oh shit, sorry to hear that…anyway can we please head up East? That’s where I live. I would’ve done it while I was drifting around on that plank but didn’t have a compose.” You stated the obvious.

“I can’t sail.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t know how.”

“I know how.”

“You said your ship crashed due to the storm, hm?” He leaned down where his face was directly across from yours.

“Oh fuck you.”

He stood back up, “If you pleased.”

“What? Ew no just stop.”

“What? You’re getting flustered.” He said with smug.

You laughed at his attempts, “The opposite of that.”

“You’re just lying to yourself. I see the way you look at me with them seductive eyes of yours.”

“You know what? You suck at this, I bet I can make you flustered before you can make me.” You crossed your arms.

“Oh ho ho, we’re making a bet? I always win.”

“Oh really? If you get flustered first I can sail the ship.”

“And if you get flustered first you have to stay with me for the rest of your life.”

You uncrossed your arms, “Hey now that’s not fair.”

“What? Scared that I’m going to beat you at your own game?”

“No, I just don’t want to live the rest of my life with a perv skeleton.”

“Maybe I want to live with a mortal, stubborn, little pirate who gets off to me talking.”

You slowly walked closer, “Oh you would love that wouldn’t you? A stubborn pirate that degrades a skeleton who seems very into it.” You smirked.

Brook wanted to deny, but he didn’t want to lose this bet. “You’re at my mercy right now. Trying to get me flustered so you can swallow.”

You almost made a reaction, “Looks like you’re enjoying this. You enjoy when I try to flirt,” You gently caressed his hips, “Seductively.”

“Looks like you can’t keep your hands off of me.”

“Looks like I’m at the perfect height right now.” You remained eye contact with him while your hands gripped his belt.

“Oh look at you, so needy. Sorry darling, there’s nothing there.”

A wave of embarrassment flooded your face as you backed up. “Oh.”

“Does that count?”

“No! I didn’t know!”

“Oh ho ho! You were so into it that you didn’t even use context clues.”

“I was trying-”

“You were trying to suck me off weren’t you?” He leaned down as you kept silent. “Cat got your tongue, looks like I won.”

“Fuck you.”

He leaned back up, “Oh ho ho, too bad you can’t.”

At this point you didn’t even care. Maybe later you’ll start to care, but you were on a mission for some food right now. Real food, and not canned beans.

“Can I least get some food? Please?”

“I like it when you beg. Set sail, but deal is a deal, once you get your food you have to come back on this ship, forever.”

You thought to yourself how this doesn’t seem like a bad idea. You like adventure, and you really didn’t like the place you grew up at. Plus, you get to sail with a perv skeleton who is actually kind of fun to be around with. Maybe deep down you lost on purpose.

[tathrin]

Been doing some world-building for the Gimli Dark Lord of Erebor AU, and I think I have the general background events figured out at last. Anyone want to read way too many sloppily-written words of backstory for this unhinged canon-divergence nightmare fic? Boy are you in luck if so!

Note that any of this is subject to change until and unless actually directly referenced in the fic itself. This is very much proto-rough-draft stuff right now, just sort of brainstorming-via-prose. (Also obviously potential spoilers abound, in the sense of “things that have already happened but haven’t been revealed or discussed by the characters,” although it does stop some considerable amount of time before the day the story actually opens.) But I know there are a few folks who’ve expressed interest in knowing more about this AU, and I would love to know people’s thoughts on what I’ve come up with so far. Especially if you see a logistical issue or plot-hole that needs to be paved!

Also it’s probably less than wholly coherent (this was largely typed on my phone at work, shhh), but do let me know if you hit any part that’s just completely unfathomable and I’ll try to clarify it.

Anyway...

We start with Boromir taking the One Ring from Frodo on Amon Hen. He runs off in something of a panic (at this point in his own mind he sees himself as too far gone to do anything else, and the Ring runs with that—they'd never forgive you now!—and he goes racing off pell-mell), unaware that the others are about twenty minutes away from being ambushed by uruk-hai—although it is that fight which will give him the necessary lead-time to escape.

Frodo was injured (hand broken, knocked out) in the struggle over the Ring. The others find him after the orc fight just waking up, having been hidden by his cloak from the battle. Aragorn tends his wounds while Legolas and Gimli search for Merry and Pippin; can't find them. The others join the search: nothing. Too much ground, too many footprints, too few clues. They search for hours, but—but the Ring gets farther away with every minute. They must pursue it, must pursue Boromir. But to do so means abandoning Merry and Pippin who may or may not even be alive. What do they do?

Sam of course wants to keep looking, but will defer to Frodo. Frodo would like to search more, but his duty (and the Ring) tug at him to chase Boromir, even though all he wants to do is find his friends and make sure they're all right. Loyal Gimli of course is aghast at the idea of abandoning his friends until he knows for sure that they are dead; Legolas, warrior of Mirkwood, understands both the stakes and the bitterness of such sacrifice all too well, and votes to do what they must and chase the Ring. Aragorn is torn…but duty to the Quest wins in the end, at least in part because he is sure that they must be dead already and their hacked bodies lying somewhere in the brush of Amon Hen. (They are not: they are being carried into Rohan on the backs of uruk-hai. They will escape to Fangorn, and the Ents, and join the march to Isengard. But their friends will not come there to find them. They will not see the Fellowship again.) 

The rest chase Boromir, but they are too far behind. They will not catch him. The Ring will go to Gondor, and to Denethor, and hope will not come again to the White City.

Gandalf will go to Edoras alone. He will meet Merry and Pippin in Fangorn, but the rest of the Fellowship will not know that he returned until the moment when he leaves again. In Meduseld, he will pull Théoden out from Saruman's spell, and at the Hornberg he will bring Erkenbrand to save the survivors of Helm's Deep as they huddle in the keep beneath the unflinching assault of the White Hand. Éomer is dead, with no dwarf there to save him. Théoden lives, but as a broken man: he lost his son and he lost his nephew, and he could not save his people, but rather had to be pulled from the trap of his walls by saviors led by the White Wizard. It does not matter: his death will find him on the plains outside the White City regardless.

But before that: Boromir arrives in Minas Tirith on March 2nd. Théoden has just been healed; the Entmoot has not yet concluded. The rest of the Fellowship are at most two days behind Boromir. Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas could ostensibly travel faster than him, but they have two Hobbits to bring with them, one of whom was injured, and they lingered long in search of Merry and Pippin; also the Ring, far from being a burden that drags at his feet as it does with Frodo, speeds his steps and strengthens him when he might otherwise seek rest, because he is doing what it wants. They have made good time, but not good enough to overtake him; not good enough to stop him.

Gandalf, as a Ringbearer, senses the moment that Denethor claims the One Ring…and so does Frodo.

"Wait," he cries, staggering to a halt. He drops to his knees clutching his head, his heart; trying to clutch his very soul. His shoulder burns like ice. "Wait," he says, "it's too late."

Aragorn stares at him in horror. "Sauron has the Ring?"

"No," Frodo says. "Someone else…a Man, I think. A tall Man, he looks old. He feels very old. I don't think he is, though. I think he…I think he is someone very important. Not a king, but something like a king, I think," he says, and Aragorn sinks to the ground beside the Hobbit. His face is gray and grim. Frodo tries to offer him a reassuring smile out of instinct, but he cannot quite manage it; instead his face curls in a thoughtful frown. "He reminds me of you, a little, Strider," Frodo continues, "but…but not, also. Very much not like you, in some ways, I think. But I saw a White City, and a dead tree, and the Ring was on his hand, and…and it is his. Aragorn, the Ring is his."

"Denethor, " Aragorn says, and his voice is a lament. He bows his head. "Alas for Gondor, then, for Denethor has claimed the One Ring."

"What does that mean?" Legolas asks. "What do we do next?"

"What can we do?" Aragorn shrugs, and stands, and he looks older than he ever has as he turns his face south towards Minas Tirith. "The choice has been taken from us. Now all that is left is to stand with Gondor in the war that will come, or flee before Sauron's victory."

"But Gondor cannot defeat him," Gimli says.

"No," says Aragorn. "They cannot. But I will pledge them my sword nonetheless."

In the end, they all decide to go on with heavy hearts to Minas Tirith. Denethor welcomes them with smiles and poorly-concealed suspicion. (He does not want them here, but it is better to have them under his eye, where he is the one in control.) Boromir swaggers to cover his feelings of shame. (He does not want them here; he does not manage quite to meet their eyes.) Faramir is fascinated by the Halflings especially, and it is he who manages to coax the truth out of Frodo and Sam about exactly how Boromir really got his hands on the One Ring. (He is grieved, but less surprised than he wishes he was; Faramir knows his brother, and he knows furthermore that he has been acting strangely since he returned from Rivendell. This truth explains much.) 

The Beacons have now been lit, although it will be some days before Rohan arrives, if they can come at all; if they had come sooner, perhaps Gandalf would have stopped Aragorn and Frodo from passing the gates of the White City and placing themselves in Denethor's power. But Gandalf was not there, and his friends still think him dead. So Aragorn and Frodo enter Minas Tirith, but they do not bring hope with them when they do. Denethor is already lost to the Ring, and to the visions of glory and dominion that it feeds him.

Sauron, of course, also knew the moment someone claimed his Ring. So Mordor marches to war against Minas Tirith…but Sauron is not committed to this war. He knows where the real battle is being fought, and he has already decided that he will win it by agreeing to lose. This is merely the necessary process to make his surrender convincing. So he sends an army, and Minas Tirith fights, and the Maker of the One Ring strives in his mind against the Master of the One Ring, and Aragorn can do nothing to stop Denethor from dooming them all.

Boromir rides at the head of Gondor's army, and Aragorn rides beside him with Andúril in hand, and the people whisper; but Aragorn makes no move to claim the kingship. Gondor's army stands against Mordor, but slowly they are pushed back to the gates of the White City. Their lines are beginning to falter on the third day of battle when dawn finally breaks to show the Riders of Rohan coming up over the grass, the Grey Company (who came to Rohan seeking Aragorn, and found Théoden instead, and were persuaded by Gandalf that the most likely place to find Aragorn will be Gondor) with them—but there are many orcs yet, and the Corsairs of Umbar are coming up the river, too, and there are Nazgûl flying out of the east towards the battlefield. Three of them converge on Théoden—but it is not the king they seek, but rather the counselor riding beside him: Gandalf Greyhame, wielder of the Ring of Fire.

Gandalf yells for Rohan's forces to flee from these foes which are beyond their strength. Many do; Théoden stays. He masters the bitter fear the Nazgûl bring and defends Gandalf from their blades, until one pierces his shoulder. He goes down to his knees with a cry, and still he raises his blade one last time…and so he dies beside the wizard when Gandalf uses all the power within him to destroy the three Nazgûl Lords and a goodly portion of the armies around him, too.

The surviving Rohirrim are rallied by a young soldier they knew as Dernhelm, who throws off her helmet and reveals herself to be Éowyn of the House of Eorl. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she leads her people back into battle. They follow her with a roar and the strength of their spears and shields sends many orcs of Mordor running.

Then Denethor stands on the battlements and holds his hand aloft in a blaze of fiery light, and he commands the forces of Mordor to cower before him. And they do.

It is in that moment that Aragorn knows hope is lost. 

The battle ends with most of the orcs slain, the rest fleeing either back to Mordor or into the wild. The Easterlings and Corsairs are taken prisoner, or strike out on a desperate flight for their distant homes. (Denethor will deal with them, he decides, once his business with Sauron is finished; for now, let them flee.) Aragorn walks alone through the ashes of the Wizard's fall, which none other will dare brave. He retrieves the Rings left behind by Gandalf's inferno and takes Narya for his own: not because he wants to, but because he trusts no other there to wield it, and he does not believe that it will be left unclaimed if he does not. He means to bring it to Rivendell, and to give it to Elrond to bestow upon one of his advisors (most likely Glorfindel, he thinks; Glorfindel would be a good choice for that Ring, if he can brace himself to face fire on such close terms once again)…

But Denethor does not approve. He demands all the Rings; Aragorn refuses to give him any. He says that those of the Ringwraiths were born by Kings of Men once, and while they do not know which kings Gandalf burned, still Aragorn has thus the closest claim to those Rings than anyone there, for he is descended from Kings of Men, including some who once ruled Númenor and were lured into becoming Ringwraiths by Sauron's words. He will not give up those Rings; and as for Narya, he will return it to the elves, for it was an elvish ring before it was gifted to the Wizard.

Denethor declares that he is the Master of all the Rings now, and Aragorn will hand them over; Aragorn refuses. They match wills, and for a moment seem almost evenly matched: Denethor has the One Ring, which was built to command all the others, but Aragorn is mightier than Denethor, and he has not worn his spirit low contending with Sauron, and the Three were never fully dominated by the Dark Lord. They are evenly matched, for a moment… Then while they strive, on Denethor's quiet command, Boromir murders Aragorn. (He is horrified, later, to realize that he struck from behind; horrified to realize that he slew a friend. But in the moment, all he could feel was the compulsion of the Ring and the bloodlust of his own fury that Aragorn would dare defy his father, the Steward who ruled the land which the descendants of the kings abandoned.) Denethor takes the four Rings in triumph, and he gives to Boromir the Ring of Fire still wet with Aragorn's blood.

The secret of Aragorn's death is one they will not keep for long, but for now, none know what happened in the great hall between the Steward and the man who might have been his king.

Meanwhile, Merry and Pippin are back at Edoras; they left Isengard with Gandalf and the Rohirrim, but were not carried to battle with the rest of their forces. Frodo and Sam have decided to go there to seek their friends, since they will be of little use in the battle at the Black Gates, they figure—but Denethor has something else in mind for the Hobbit who once carried the Ring. He asks Frodo to stay at his side while the end of the war is fought, and Frodo cannot find a polite way to decline and Sam will not leave Frodo's side. So they stay in Gondor, while the survivors of the army ride out to break the Black Gate and throw Sauron down from his Dark Tower.

Boromir, with Narya on his hand, leads their forces; Faramir, now wearing one of the Nine, rides with him. Legolas and Gimli notice that Aragorn is not with the army, and the Ring he briefly claimed is now worn by Boromir, and they are distressed—but what can they do? The war is here at hand, and there is no time for questions now (just as Denethor arranged, of course). The army rides to the Black Gates, and Sauron's forces pour forth to battle…

And then Sauron himself strides onto the field. Terror grips the forces of Gondor and Rohan…and then Sauron kneels. His Nazgûl kneel beside him. He surrenders his forces and offers himself a prisoner to Gondor; a prisoner to the Lord of the Rings.

No one wants to go near him, to touch him. Even bold Boromir quails, the Ring in his mind shrieking in terror of the maia who would have mastered it. Eventually it is Faramir who walks forward, and the sight of his little brother showing such bravery stirs Boromir's courage and he follows, and together the two Captains of Gondor take Sauron prisoner.

The army rides back to Minas Tirith in escort, while Faramir and a smaller force stay to claim and investigate Barad-dûr. One of the Nazgûl stays with them to play (terrifying) guide; the other three go back with Sauron as prisoners, although no one wants to bind them or go near them, and in the end they march back under their own power and by their own will, or at least that of their master, rather than under guard or bindings (three Nazgûl died to Gandalf and there are two currently stationed in Dol Guldur leading the war against Mirkwood, Dale, Erebor, and Lórien, so there were only four left in Mordor). Sauron is brought to Minas Tirith as a prisoner, but he walks in with a faint smirk on his face and his head unbowed, with three Nazgûl framing him in escort, and there are some who cannot help but think he looks more like a conqueror than a captive when he crosses through the white stone gates that once held back his Shadow and kneels politely before the Steward.

Sauron is no longer fair to look at, no; he lost that seeming in the wreckage of Númenor. But there is a grim beauty to his fell features nonetheless, the sort of cruel and regal beauty of hatred and power. He does not look fair, he does not look good—but he looks strong, to be sure. In a way, he even looks faintly kingly standing there before the unclaimed throne of the king. A tyrant of a king, yes; but a king, to be sure. It will be Sauron, in fact, who eventually convinces Denethor to claim that throne, since the kings will never be coming home now, and does not the Lord of the Rings merit a throne, even if he is not (never will be) a king?

It will also be Sauron who, having flattered the story out of Denethor, spreads the truth of what happened to their would-be king through the White City…although it will not be he who tells Faramir. That will be Boromir himself, in the cold hours one night, wracked with guilt and trying to invent excuses to lift the weight of it from his mind. Faramir will be horrified, but he will not speak out against his brother's actions then; he will have already learned, by then, when to keep silent under the weight of Denethor's dominion. There is a reason his father gave him a Ring, after all, and it was not because he thought Faramir deserved its power.

But that is later; for now, there are the few remaining members of the Fellowship to consider.

Frodo, having carried the Ring so far, has fallen under Denethor's sway. He will fall farther, soon: Denethor will gift him with the second of the three Nine Rings taken from the charnel of the battlefield, and will send him back west to rule the Shire and all its surrounding lands in Gondor's name. Sam will go with him, of course, because Sam is loyal and will remain loyal; even as Frodo falls deeper and deeper under the sway of the Ring, and becomes more and more of a wraith—more and more of a monster—at Denethor's hand, heartbroken Sam will always be loyal. Even as he grieves for what the Shire becomes under Frodo's increasingly merciless rule, and for the ever-growing distance and cruelty of his corrupted master, he cannot help but stay loyal.

Aragorn's friends and kinsmen do not know exactly what happened to him, but they know that some foul play must have been involved; they know, too, that their own lives are under threat in Gondor. They know too much, and their loyalty is not and has never been to Denethor. He is busy now with Sauron and with Frodo, but he will not stay busy forever. They need to go now, while they still can—but none of their attempts to politely take their leave are accepted, for while Denethor has more important things to deal with right now he also does mean to deal with them eventually, and intends to keep them cooling their heels in his city until he can spare them the proper attention. So he plans victory feasts, and pretends great grief at the notion of their parting, and says that they must stay until after Aragorn is laid in state in a great funeral as befits Isildur's Heir, and so on and so forth; one excuse after another after another, all fairly-couched and on the surface far too noble and justified to balk at. But they know it is a pretense, and they know they are running out of time.

(And Sauron is in the city, too. And if he is in chains…well, he has been in chains before. It did not stop him working evil then, and the Dúnedain know those stories well. They need to leave.)

So one night the survivors of the Grey Company leave Minas Tirith under cover of darkness. They go on foot for all that it pains the Dúnedain to abandon their loyal steeds, because they know they would not be able to sneak out with the horses. Legolas and Gimli go with them—or at least, Gimli was supposed to be with them. But Gimli stayed, because he feared that he would slow them down. Worse, he feared that he would slow Legolas down. He remembers how tireless the elf was during the pursuit of Boromir; remembers thinking that if Legolas had been unfettered by mortal limitations, he would have been able to outpace him, and perhaps all this would have gone differently. He thinks about the fact that Mirkwood is not so far to the north, and how Legolas could probably cover that distance in a little more than a week if he were alone; he thinks of how much slower he would go, if he had a dwarf in tow, and how likely that delay would get him killed, and so Gimli stays.

The rest of them disappear into the night in their grey cloaks, fading into the wilds as only those who walk with the light tread of Rangers or elven-kind might do.

Gimli begs the sons of Elrond to lie for him, and so it is not until they are many miles from the White City that Legolas discovers his friend did not come with them, and by then it is too late to go back—and even if he did, what would he do? Drag Gimli away with him? The dwarf chose to stay, and chose not even to say farewell. Well, that was his choice to make; Legolas cannot unmake it for him.

So Legolas returns to Mirkwood, bereft and bewildered by Gimli's betrayal, and throws himself into the doomed fight against the Shadow there. Galadriel did not throw down the walls of Dol Guldur, after all; she, too, knew the moment that Denethor claimed the One Ring for his own, and she knew what that would mean for Lothlórien. She and Celeborn did not lead their forces across the river to aid Thranduil; they stayed in their forest, and prepared for the end.

Without Lórien and Nenya to dwindle the forces of the Enemy, Erebor fared poorly in the war. The dwarves nonetheless held out long in the siege against the orcs and goblins of Mordor, but when Denethor sent forces from Gondor to aid the armies that had once been Sauron's and were now his, the dwarves thought that the Men were coming to their assistance. They sallied forth from the mountain, meaning to trap the orcs and goblins between the two armies…and were instead subjected to a vicious slaughter, as Mordor and Gondor fought side-by-side against them.

Denethor told Gimli, who had stayed in Minas Tirith with the thought that he would act as a delay on whatever pursuit would inevitable follow Legolas and the Grey Company, that his people's army has been decimated and the surviving dwarves are trapped in their mountain under a siege they have no hopes of either outlasting or escaping. He tells him that Dain is dead, and all the line of Durin, and every person living in the Lonely Mountain will be slaughtered if they continue to defy Gondor…or he can claim lordship of the mountain, and make peace with Gondor on Erebor's behalf, and so save them from destruction.

Gimli accepts the terms, because he sees no other choice. He accepts the Ring that Denethor insists he take (the Ring that once belonged to Durin, and which was reclaimed from Barad-dûr by Faramir's scouts, and brought to Denethor as Master of the Rings), if he is to be a vassal-lord of Gondor, for the same reason: he has not choice. He does what must be done, and he goes to Erebor, and he saves his people by damning them to Gondor's rule.

Dale was sacked and devastated, and Denethor declares it to be a vassal state of Erebor now, under the dominion of the dwarves. The farms of Dale deliver their crops to the Lonely Mountain, which disperses a share of the harvest back to them according to Denethor's will. Mirkwood belongs to the Nazgûl in Dol Guldur, but still has bands of elves in its trees, fighting and dying.

(As for Lórien…that story is told elsewhere.)

Merry and Pippin were in Edoras, and do not learn of what happened to everyone else until Queen Éowyn returns with the few survivors of Rohan's army. She will not be bound by a Ring yet, but in less than a year Denethor will demand more obsequience than he thinks Rohan is offering. (Partly this will be due to his own paranoia, earned under long years of striving against the Shadow with the palantir; part of this will be due to the bold temperament of Rohan in general and Éowyn in specific, and their dislike of all things that reek of the Shadow; the last part will be due to Sauron whispering in his ear, sowing division between the realms of Men.) Éowyn will be forced to take a Ring, the third of the three Nine Rings that was found in the ashes of Gandalf's death, and Rohan will now fall fully under Gondor's domination.

But that is later; for now, there is Saruman to consider. He slips out of Isengard, when the Ents tire of watching him. Knowing that he cannot oppose Gondor now that Denethor has claimed the One Ring and a victory over Sauron as well, he slips away to his fallback position in the Shire. That goes well enough for him, at first—but then Frodo and Sam come back from Gondor with a Ring on Frodo's hand and no mercy in his heart. Saruman does not know what to make of this quasi-wraith of a Halfling, and he makes the mistake of treating him like an ordinary Hobbit. Frodo is no longer someone who can be cowed, at least not by anything less than the One Ring itself: in his wrath at what the wizard has done to the Shire, he destroys Saruman using the power of his Ring, and so tips his soul entirely into its domination.

Sam remains loyal, though. Sam will always remain loyal to his Frodo.

[cerenemuxse]

TGR but There's a Roleswap - Chapter 10

Chapter 10 - The Mixed-Traffic Challenge

Pouty James (Season 20 Episode 8)

Word Count: 2,137

The story can be found at @tgr-2x5-roleswap-au for easier access.

~

As James lined up with the other engines, he was pumped with confidence. Pulling coaches and trucks was what James did for a living. This is easy, he thought, distracted enough that he was startled when a diesel shunted an extra set of coaches behind him.

With an "Omph!" James was reign back from his mind, and that's when he heard him.

"James?"

With a quick hum and his attention caught, James peered to his left and saw Edward on the other side, at the very end of the line of engines.

"It was you!" Edward exclaimed joyfully.

"I did!" James replied with surprise. He didn't recall Edward saying he was joining the competition among the many things they'd talked about two days ago.

Meanwhile, on the sidelines, the North Westerners were nervous. Though they wouldn't dare admit it to the red engine, they knew James had it. They were just concerned about James' tendency to mess up at any point.

"Come on, Jimmy," Emily whispered hastily. "You've got this! If there's any-engine that can win this, it's you."

Back in the arena, the engines and coaches just had their couplings checked over, making sure they weren't weak. When the yardmen gave the ready signal, the announcer spoke.

"Let's give one final round of applause to the participants of the first Mixed-Traffic Challenge!" the announcer exclaimed, followed by loud cheers and roars from the crowd. "Engines and crew, are you ready?"

Whistles of all different tunes shrilled throughout the arena, overpowering the obnoxious hollers that some of the crews bellowed out.

"Ready!"

James wheeshed heavily, ready to loosen his brakes.

"Set!"

His driver released the brake, along with the other drivers of other engines. All eight engines slowly crept forward, some slightly farther than others.

"Go!"

Regulators were open and the engines were off. Some had a slow start while others had a quick one. James started right smack in the middle, quickly catching up to the ones up ahead. He surpassed two engines as the engine furthest away, the Caledonian Railway Single No. 123, pulled ahead the curve and stopped once their train went past the first line, followed by a blare of a horn.

"The Caledonian Railway's ex-Number One-Twenty-Three has finished first in heading a passenger train! An impressive performance from a single!" the announcer exclaimed, his voice booming in the area. "Who will roll in second and third?"

And as soon as he finished that sentence, Edward rolled in, his line right next to the Caledonian, and came to a halt.

"One-Twenty-Three has been followed by the Furness Railway's ex-Number Twenty-One, taking second place for the Furness Railway Trust! A grand example of what 'shy steamers' are capable of!" he announced, running on the adrenaline from The Great Race and The Shunting Competition. "Followed by in-service BR Number D-S-Two-Thirty-Nine, the Southern Eastern and Chatham Railway's ex-Number Five-Twenty-Nine, taking third place for the Southern Region of British Railways! Looks like the four-leader-four-driver engines are taking their title as the most powerful engines once again!"

The announcer continued to ramble on, announcing each engine's arrival. James had landed fourth place, four spots away from last place.

"Ladies and gentlemen, that's the first section! Engines, leave your passenger trains and get your goods trains ready!" the announcer exclaimed, followed by the sound of points switching in unison.

The referee of the first checkpoint blew his whistle and waved his flags forward, walking towards the engines. All eight engines eased backward, all pumping with adrenaline.

"Ye're catching on!" hollered Edward once he set his coaches on their designated track. The Furness fella pulled forward and switched points. The exhaustion could already be heard in his voice.

"I'll catch up to you!" James exclaimed proudly amongst the noises of couplings clanking and buffers bumping into one another.

"Like tae see it!"

Quickly and smoothly, the engines were coupled to their goods train. A repeat of the callouts and signals happened, and the engines soon stormed down the tracks again.

The distance was greater than the first section, allowing slower engines to catch up to others who were pumping their pistons fast as their boilers struggled to continuously steam so strongly. The Caledonian had fallen behind quite quickly, letting James and DS239 push ahead, along with Pennsylvania Railroad No. 1223. A New South Wales Z26 class and a Bavarian G 3/4 H, both still in service, were falling behind with Edward, though the latter was able to retain fourth place when all eight engines crossed the next finish line.

The crowd roared as the voice boomed throughout the speakers. "First is D-S-Two-Thirty-Nine, followed by James and Twelve-Twenty-Three taking second and third respectively! What a fallout for One-Twenty-Three and Twenty-One, dropping four places! But, oh dear! One-Twenty-Three has dropped another placement, losing to Twenty-One. Here comes the Australian engine in sixth place, followed by the Bavarian G in seventh and Five-Twenty-Nine in eighth!" As soon as the announcer spoke his last word, DS239 whistled brightly as it began to pull its train backward, having gotten into position as swiftly as possible.

James was thrown off, having expected to wait as they did first. It was enough leeway for the other engines to take advantage and get ready. By the time James was coupled up, the Pennsylvania Railroad No. 1223 and Edward passed by.

"Keep goin', James! It's a race!" huffed out Edward as he passed by hurriedly and left James confused by the last sentence. Though the other red engine had gone by quickly, James noticed Edward's freckled cheeks burn. The words "shy steamer" rattled around his smokebox as he reversed with his train once he was ready, quickly catching up to the Furness fellow.

"Meet you on the other side!" exclaimed James.

"Soon enough!" huffed out Edward. "I will!"

As they stormed closer to the finish line, an air horn went off. "Stop the race!" exclaimed the announcer. The engines immediately pulled on their brakes, buffers bashing against one another as they came to a stop. "We have a-!"

BANG! went the first truck of the Caledonian's goods trains once a Canadian engine bashed it aside as it chased a tiny yellow boxcab diesel.

"Help!" cried out Philip as the referees started waving their red flags and blowing their whistles frantically.

James hollered out, flipping his smokebox door open. "Philip, what is wrong with you?"

"Ask that guy!" cried out Philip once again as he passed by James, being chased by Vinnie, the massive Canadian engine. The points had immediately been switched to direct to the center area, where a radio tower was located. Both engines headed straight for the turntable near it, where it hadn't been set and ready to use.

"Philip!" exclaimed James as the yellow boxcab diesel tettered over the edge and Vinnie closed in on him.

Philip was frightened as Vinnie neared him, rearing his front end, ready to shunt him off into the space of the turntable. But then Vinnie stopped as James jerked forward, lassoing his coupling onto Vinnie's back buffer beam.

"You better not go a single inch towards him, you Pacific bullhead!" James hollered out furiously as he reversed, only to struggle to pull the heavy streamlined Canadian Confederation engine.

Vinnie laughed mockingly, holding onto his brakes. "So… wanna play tug-of-war, don't cha?" he asked slyly.

Suddenly, Edward lassoed his coupling onto James' read buffer beam and hollered out, "Aye! Pull, James!"

Despite being startled, James pulled with all his might with Edward. Both engines were able to pull Vinnie far away from Philip. The former was still startled by the Victorian Scottish engine’s sudden appearance, so he was surprised even more when he was quickly hauled away.

"Points!" hollered James. One of the signalmen, confused, changed the points as the two engines continued to pull Vinnie back. “Go, Philip! Go, go, go!” yelled James as his chubby cheeks began to burn once Vinnie pulled back.

Philip quickly scuttled away, though not without taunting Vinnie.

The strain became too much so James’ front coupling snapped, letting Vinnie send himself rolling forward, derailing on the set of points, and crashing into the radio tower with a BANG!

"Take that, big bully!" yelled Philip.

James and Edward were shocked but they smiled at each other until Edward noticed something. With a gasp, Edward immediately pulled James backward, startling the slightly larger red engine.

“Whoa! What-?”

BANG! The radio tower collapsed to the ground, right in front of James, who almost jumped off his chassis. As quickly as the nearby yardman could, he shut off the power before anyone could get hurt.

“Thanks,” James huffed out.

“N-No need tae thank me. It’s whit friends ur for,” Edward replied cheerfully before fully realizing what he said. “T-Thon is if we ur!” he stammered. “...Ur we?”

“Of course-!”

“Hey!” interrupted the Canadian engine, getting the other two’s attention. “Can somebody get me some help?”

As quickly as help arrived, the arena was cleared of intruders, and James' coupling was promptly replaced, the race resumed. The engines stormed down the final stretch with James overtaking Pennsylvania Railroad No. 1223, Edward, and British Rail No. DS239. DS239 began falling behind, allowing Edward to steam past and fall behind James. The “break” had done him some good, allowing him to rest his aching pistons.

James laughed joyfully. “You’re catching up!”

“I am!” replied Edward.

The two red tender engines strayed further away from the others, nearing the finish line and laughing about. They pushed along and before they knew it, both engines passed the finish line, one mere seconds before the other.

"What a close call!" hollered the announcer. "Ex-Furness Railway Number Twenty-One has finished first place for the tender-first section, with North Western Railway Number Five right behind! Judges, it's time to start calculating those points!"

"No!" huffed Emily with a pout. "He was winning!"

"I knew he was trouble," said Philip.

Meanwhile, Edward's eyes snapped open in shock, having shut them from laughter. "I-"

"Congrats!" hollered James as they both came to a stop.

"But-!"

"And here comes the Pennsylvanian, followed by D-S-Two-Thirty-Nine, the Australian, the Caledonian, Five-Twenty-Nine, and the Bavarian G Three-Sub-Four! Folks, now we wait for the final results!"

The audience went silent as the judges mumbled to one another, mics having been turned off, and calculating the points. Steam wheeshing was the only sound that could be heard across the arena as both engines and people held their breaths.

After what seemed like ages, it took a few seconds for one of the judges to turn on their mic. "Ladies and gentlemen, engines and crews, we would like to announce the top three winners. Our first place winner, overall, goes to the Furness Railway's ex-Twenty-One, with twenty-six points."

The crowd cheered, the engines whistled, and the crews hollered. Edward's face burned with embarrassment from the sudden attention.

"In second place, we have the North Western Railway's Number Five engine, James, with twenty-five points."

The other North Westerners whistled sharply, the sound shrilling throughout the arena.

"Let's go, James!" hollered Thomas. "Top three, top three!"

"That's my little brother!" exclaimed Emily.

"Aw, by just one point!" pouted Philip.

"And taking third place is British Rail's D-S-Two-Thirty-Nine from the Southern region, also with twenty-five points," finished the judge. "Ladies and gentlemen, this has been the Mixed-Traffic Challenge!"

Cheers roared from the audience and whistles shrilled from the engines surrounding the area.

"Congratulations!" exclaimed James to the flustered Furness fella.

"T-Thank ye!" Edward managed to huff out. "Congratulations tae ye, too, James!"

"James!" exclaimed the Fat Controller as he approached the two engines. "What were you even doing here in the first place?" he asked.

James had seen this coming. It was a continuation of his conversation with his controller before the competition. "I came with Gordon's safety valve, sir. It hadn't been reassembled properly. That's why his boiler burst."

"Ah," replied the Fat Controller. Thank goodness the burst hadn't been worse, ending as a full-out boiler explosion. "Now that is being a really useful engine, James. I'm proud of you for doing so for your fellow engines. Even more with you joining the competition, because you've taken a top three!"

Just then, the rest of the North Westerners approached them from outside of the arena, on a set of tracks much closer to it. Cheers and whistles roared from the group, cheering their friend on.

"He was just doing what he does best, sir!" exclaimed Emily.

"Being the best Mixed-Traffic engine of the show!" huffed James with pride. "You're not that bad of an engine. There's more than what you can see~" he sang, peering over to Edward…

Only to see the space next to him empty.

"...Edward?" James was confused. Edward was just there moments ago. "Where did he go? He didn't even say goodbye…"

~

this is actually the longest chapter. oops-

[heyclickadee]

Thoughts on “Faster”

1. THAT’S MY BOY!! THAT’S MY BOY!! MY BEAUTIFUL NERDY BOY!!! 2. I love that Echo and Hunter were out delivering space door dash. I joked about that with my sister once; I didn’t think it would actually be canon. 

3. Even though I missed seeing Hunter and Echo (and Crosshair), I don’t think this episode would have worked with them in it. I’m not sure Hunter would have agreed to going with Cid in the first place, and even if he had, there’s no way he would have let Tech on that race track. They would absolutely shut down the shenanigans. I’d pay cash money to see his face when they all get back. 

4. I know a lot of people are calling this one filler, and while I don’t agree seeing as how there was plot development or at least set up for plot development as well as some lovely character development for Tech, I’m glad this one was a bit more lighthearted than the first three. You can only delve so far into the angst before the audience becomes numb to it. You need to let them (and the characters) breathe a little before going any farther with it. I’m genuinely glad they just got to have a good (albeit dangerous) time. 

5. Tech, seeing riot racing for the first time: It would appear that anything goes out there.

Tech internally: If I do not get out on that track within one standard hour I will perish.  6. I LOVE how, in contrast to the first season, which highlighted the batch as a team and what their roles on the team were, this season is focusing more on the batch as individuals. It’s less about what the team will do and more about what each member of the team might want. For Tech, that seems to mean opening his eyes to the possibility of life outside of war and combat, not just for himself but to the idea that there’s so much of the galaxy that existed before and outside of the war that he’s never thought about, as well as presenting him with the idea that he’s good for something besides fighting. And given the conflict between Hunter and Echo (who ultimately want the same thing but are looking to get there in different ways), I’d say that’s going to be really important later on down the line. 

7. Along those same lines, I’m adoring the throughline between Crosshair’s desperation to stay relevant using the only skills he thinks he has, Echo’s determination to fight back using the only skillset (being a soldier) he thinks he has, and Tech’s frustration with Cid wasting their skills on things like space door dash. They were designed to do one specific thing, and the republic they were designed to do it for no longer exists. They’re all floundering and struggling to find their own sense of purpose, the same way Hunter seemed to find his back in season one. 

8. TAY-0 was. Oh boy. 

9. Obnoxious. Eminently punchable. The irony of casting Sonic the Hedgehog as the blue racing robot was not lost on me, but besides the “Gotta go fast,” aspect of that, casting Ben Schwartz as an egotistical, aggressively dramatic theater kid always works. He always plays that part well. 

10. You could feel Tech was exactly 0.35 seconds from punching TAY-0 in his stupid metal face from pretty much the moment they met. That deadpan glare when TAY-0 told Tech to stop fixing him the wrong way? I felt that in my bones. The way Tech sighed and shook his head when TAY-0 said that Tech didn’t have strategy or skill? Dude was pissed and it’s almost like he’s had to mask his whole life. The, “Don’t try me right now, I’m done and I’m doing what I want,” look when Tech said he was going to be the one to race? Yes. Good. 

11. The way that Tech clearly didn’t know how to respond to the crowd chanting his name because he’s not used to that kind of recognition, so he gave that little awkward half salute is going to live rent free in my head for a while. As is the fact that Tech did listen to everyone giving him advice but ultimately trusted his own judgement. 

12. “Tech, you have to be in front to win!” “I know what I’m doing. It’s called strategy.” “No, it’s called losing!” I’m dying. I’m literally dead. 

13. So...Tech doesn’t trust Cid. Which, he shouldn’t, of course. Besides Millegi’s warning at the end, the way Cid was acting all the way through this episode makes me think she’s definitely got something shady in store for the boys. And the thing is, I don’t think it’s something she’s planning on doing--I think it’s something she’s already done. I suspect she actually sold them out to some extent way back, maybe back in season one, in a way that’s going to get them in big trouble this season, and that she’s maybe starting to regret it because a part of her actually likes them. 

14. Wrecker and Omega playing chess at the beginning of the episode! Omega putting things on the line to help Cid! Wrecker and Omega being so happy when Tech won! Tech with his hand on Omega’s shoulder and Wrecker doing that affectionate shoulder punch! I love them!

15. The poor guy who got shot at during the race at the beginning of the episode. I know this was a much lighter episode than the last few, but dang. That’s...kinda dark. 

16. I cracked up when the announcer lampshaded how odd clone names are in-universe, especially when they don’t have the “they’re a clone” context. 

[cutthroatcarnival]

Revered Deity, Unknown Hero (6/10)

Read chapters 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Find it on AO3 here!

Game of Fire

It was a rare reprieve week for the heroes. They had been dropped into a Hyrule between eras, allowing them to finally rest and recuperate without worrying about monster attacks.

This, of course, came with side effects- the more energetic heroes got incredibly restless. With no monsters to fight, dungeons to traipse through, or destination to arrive at, they needed some way to deplete all of the energy.

Clearly, playing with fire was the answer.

“Steer clear of the small forest, and keep yourselves to the open field. We don’t need to cause forest fires.” Time had a knowing look on his face. Wind and Wild whooped, dashing further into the open area, the two were practically vibrating with the energy. Legend and Hyrule trailed behind with Warriors bringing up the rear- he claimed to be there for supervision, but the others knew better.

Between the five of them, they had a fairly sizable repertoire of weapons, which spelled chaos (read fun). It would not only burn their energy, but satiate their want to use and play with fire.

A swirl of blue revealed that Wild had started taking out any of his fire weapons. Wind watched over his shoulder as he swiped through the slate, if the steadily growing orange glow by their feet was anything to go by, there were a lot.

“Do you guys need any weapons to play with?” Wild knew they probably didn’t, but it wouldn’t be fair if someone had to miss out on the fun. A chorus of ‘no’ answered him, so he put his slate back in place. Turning around revealed his fellow heroes holding their own fire weapons, except for Hyrule, who had a small flame flickering in his palm.

“What’s the plan exactly, champion?” Legend was leaning on his fire rod, and while his voice seemed uninterested, the veteran’s face gave it away.

Wild had not planned that far. But, on the fly improvisation was something he was good at. Taking his slate back out, he raced around and dropped bundles of wood in a shape that vaguely represented an upside-down triangle.

“Who can light up all ten wood bundles within thirty seconds!”

He didn’t like the smirks Legend and Hyrule had, and definitely not the one Warriors wore.

“Sounds like a plan. Who’s going first?” Wind jumped at the opportunity, darting to where Wild had marked the line the ranged weapon users couldn’t cross. He nocked his first arrow, and Wild gave the countdown.

Arrows were shot and nocked in no time from years of muscle memory. The younger hero was a good shot, only missing a few of the farther ones, unable to get the correct angle to do so.

“Aaand… time!” The sailor had managed to light up seven bundles. A short round of applause burst from the onlooking heroes.

“Who’s next?” Warriors sauntered up to the line, turning to face Legend with a cocky stance. The veteran raised an eyebrow in return.

“Fifty rupees say I light them all immediately.” Legend scoffed.

“You’re on, pretty boy.”

Warriors had a smug look as he turned to face the newly placed bundles of wood. Wild skidded to a stop a little ways behind, readying the timer on his slate.

“On your mark, get set… go!”

The captain let out a cry, planting the end of his weapon on the ground, angling it and himself. Wild watched in awe as the fire rod transformed and grew, a spiraling pillar of flames rising from the large, ruby red core. He felt his jaw drop open as a serpentine dragon of fire came barreling through, lighting all of the wood bundles in a split second. Wind, Legend, and Hyrule were in similar situations, and if Wild weren’t still awestruck, he would’ve laughed at the look on the veteran’s face- the expression of a man now fifty rupees poorer.

Clearly, Warriors had all the right to be so self-assured with this, as he had swept anyone’s chance of winning away with his dragon of fire.

“That was awesome!!” Wind broke out of his shock first, and barreled into the captain, causing the man to stumble and let out an ‘oof’. Hyrule and Wild snapped out of their awe next, appropriately clapping and congratulating the clear victor of their game. Warriors bowed dramatically, leaving the three to laugh at the theatrics.

Legend still had his jaw open, staring at the ten lit campfires, blinking slowly, but not yet snapped out of his awe. Ever the gracious winner, Warriors made his way over, and shut the veteran’s jaw with a finger.

“Don’t want you catching any flies, Ledge.” Wild howled, doubling over in laughter with his brothers. Legend snapped out of it then, and started chasing Warriors, screaming at him as the other laughed, taunting him about the bet.

Wild gasped for breath. Legend should know to never bet against a dragon- especially when it’s one made of fire magic.

[geometropolis]

grt3D episode 1: square up!

new days in geometropolis don’t tend to imply new beginnings… despite its name, this place was more of a town than a city; it was quaint and predictable. the monochromatic grid of every shape’s life was routine and stable, a flat, two-dimensional space where they could live out their mildest fantasies; every path in life was simple, rule-abiding, and carefully calculated.

this day, however, was different. this day was one of transformation.

in the morning, square wasn’t doing any sort of transformation at all; instead, he was sitting languidly on the couch at home, absently watching television. he was flipping through channels when his little brother, rectangle, entered the room with a smile. 

“they’re done!” rectangle announced, holding up a tray of mathematicookies – delicious, number-filled mathematicookies – square’s favorite.

square thanked him; he grabbed one and, without even looking at it, said, “these are store bought.” 

“you know i can’t bake…” his brother replied sheepishly.

as square continued channel-hopping, a striking advertisement came on – “DO YOU WANT TO GO TO THE THIRD DIMENSION?” a strange shape on screen asked. but square changed channels again before either him or his brother could answer the alluring question.

“hey wait, turn back!” rectangle exclaimed. square did so, as rectangle leaned towards the tv in interest.

“DO YOU WANT TO GO ON ADVENTURES, HAVE FUN, AND BE FAMOUS?” the ad continued, beckoning the viewer.

rectangle nodded with newfound energy. “doesn’t that sound cool?” he now leaned towards his older brother, a gleam in his eye.

“sure.”

“THEN JOIN THE COMPETITION! CALL THE NUMBER ON-SCREEN NOW! WITH A SMALL SIGN-UP FEE OF ONLY 50 DIGITS, YOU HAVE THE CHANCE TO HAVE AN EXPERIENCE OF A LIFETIME! by signing up you agree to stay on show premises for the full allotted time of 20 days.”

rectangle quickly grabbed the phone off the hook and dialed 123-456-7890. and so did many others… why, this was likely the first interesting thing to ever happen in geometropolis.

“hello? good morning… yes, i’d like to sign up for the race to the third dimension. huh? yes. and i’m signing up my brother square, too.”

after finishing the sign-up process, rectangle sighed in relief and put the phone back. he was never the biggest fan of phone calls.

RING RING RING! rectangle fell backwards in shock as the phone tormented him with its chime. 

square picked up the phone in his stead. “hello?”

“hey man!!!” it was triangle! “long time no see! lmao.”

“yeah. did you hear about this ‘race to the 3rd dimension’ thing?”

“oh yeah. crazy, right? circle and i signed up, and i’m planning on winning.”

“cool. rectangle and i are in as well.”

“nice!”

as triangle was chatting on the phone, she heard a strange buzzing coming from north of her house. she stepped outside, curious, only to be dragged towards a giant shape she had never seen before – which was surprising, considering how small geometropolis’s population was. this shape was a golden four-pointed star, like a twinkle of light.

“hey!” triangle exclaimed as she stuck to his edge – and then her limbs vanished. what was going on? the already crazy day was getting crazier by the second.

square stared at the phone in his hand. it had been a while since triangle responded. “...hello?” he glanced back at rectangle, who shrugged.

suddenly, rectangle started hearing a buzzing sound as well. he left the house, and…

“woah!” rectangle yelped as he got stuck onto this strange, other-wordly shape. his limbs vanished and he noticed many other shapes along the shape’s edge as well: a trapezoid, an oval, a heart, a hexagon, a star, a droplet, a rhombus, an octagon, a pentagon, a kite, a circle (their old friend circle!), and hey, that’s where triangle went! 

square followed his brother outside, concerned, and soon the same happened to him.

this giant shape, square newly added to his collection, flew farther north, barely missing all of the houses in the way. he abruptly stopped in a clearing only marked with a sign saying, “put contestants here!”

and, with another buzz, he did – and all the shapes flew off, the heart screaming as he did so, arms and legs still nowhere to be found.

just then, the big shape left again, and after a few moments, returned, with two rather disgruntled shapes attached: a parallelogram and a heptagon.

the group – who, apparently, were all contestants for the race for the 3rd dimension – thought that the giant 4-pointed star was the most alien sight to ever grace their eyes; but then another entity came to claim that title. 

what was he? he seemed to glitch in and out of visibility, a nigh-incomprehensible, nigh-imperceptible gray loop sitting north of them beside the other shape.

“HELLO THERE, CONTESTANTS.” he was the shape from the ad! “I AM MӦBIUS STRIP. THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR MONEY – I MEAN, THANK YOU ALL FOR SIGNING UP. YOU ALL GOT IN. CONGRATS.”

suddenly, the 4-pointed star manifested two hands out of thin air and started clapping. the hands promptly disappeared.

“but we didn’t even sign up!” the parallelogram protested, referring to himself and the heptagon. 

“WOW. GOOD FOR YOU :)”

mӧbius strip was holding a strange remote with an antenna. upon clicking it, everyone’s limbs reappeared.

“YOU HAVE YOUR LIMBS BACK NOW. GO AND MAKE 4 TEAMS OF 4. also you guys are trapped here for 20 days so you better like eating polynomial pasta. that’s, like, our only food.”

“good to have my arms and legs back, lol,” triangle said, standing up and stretching. she had never not had limbs before…

circle popped up and gathered his childhood friends together: rectangle, triangle, and square. “and it’s good to have you guys back, too!” he exclaimed, his smile making itself apparent in his voice. “we can be a team!” circle’s enthusiasm was infectious – even if they hadn’t hung out for a while, the friends were very excited to be together again. 

“OKAY,” mӧbius strip announced, “TEAM 1 IS CIRCLE, SQUARE, TRIANGLE, AND RECTANGLE.” 

heart and star, already knowing each other well from middle school, instantly gravitated to each other. they were the best of friends, and signed up for the race to the third dimension while hanging out at star’s that morning.

“i think we need two more people…” heart mumbled, even though he knew star wanted it to just be the two of them, like always.

star groaned, looking out at the array of shapes before them. “really? but they’re so uncool…..”

“w-well, i think rhombus and droplet are pretty cool…” heart suggested, showing the two to his best friend. rhombus looked ahead blankly, while the little droplet smiled sweetly. heart fluttered his eyelashes.

“well…” star started, his gaze flitting between them, “one’s a child and one’s a nerd… but they match our aesthetic. so sure.”

“TEAM 2 IS HEART, STAR, DROPLET, AND RHOMBUS.”

oval thought for a moment before slowly approaching kite, who was lost in thought. 

i wonder what this is going to be like? imagine if i could go to the 3rd dimension… but i can’t even fathom what that would look like…

“hey kite, wanna team up?”

“oh?” kite gasped, startled out of her daydream. “oh, sure!” 

“but who else should we have?”

“how about those two?” kite pointed to parallelogram and heptagon, who were busy moping around. they seemed to be very good at that.

oval nodded and translated over to the two. “hey, do you guys wanna join our team?”

parallelogram didn’t make eye contact. “we’ve got nothing better to do,” he sighed, with a resentful edge to his voice. heptagon said nothing, but knitted his brow further. 

“TEAM 3 IS KITE, OVAL, HEPTAGON, AND PARALLELOGRAM.”

trapezoid saw the remaining contestants: octagon, pentagon, and hexagon. the former two were fighting, while the latter was trying to stop them from killing each other. a perfectly tailored team, to be sure…

“i guess we’re the last ones, huh…” he said.

“AND TEAM 4 IS TRAPEZOID, PENTAGON, HEXAGON, AND OCTAGON… I GUESS. SORRY TRAPEZOID.”

“it’s okay…” trapezoid replied sheepishly.

soon enough, mӧbius strip had a list of team names: team 2 was named “the cool kids”, team 3 was “yim yum”, and team 4 was “helvetica”. 

“I HAVE THE NAMES FOR EVERY TEAM EXCEPT FOR TEAM 1. GIVE ME A NAME.”

“how about ‘the besties’?” rectangle quietly suggested.

“ew, no. that’s cringy,” triangle replied.

square, triangle, and rectangle began to argue about their team name; square in particular was annoyed that triangle should call his brother “cringy”. circle frowned and turned away from his friends, glancing at heart and star.

it looks like they’re getting along, anyway… he thought.

“YOU CAN’T DECIDE ON A NAME, SO WE’LL CALL YOU ‘GROUP TWO’.”

“but that doesn’t make sense!” triangle yelled. “we’re team 1, why would we be group 2??”

“SCREW YOU, THAT’S WHY!!” mӧbius concluded, leaving no more room for protestation or complaint. “…TIME FOR THE FIRST CONTEST, PLEBEIANS!”

after a long pause, mӧbius said it again: “…TIME FOR THE FIRST CONTEST, PLEBEIANS!”

“you already said that!!” parallelogram yelled.

mӧbius strip paused again, now holding multiple sheets of paper. “ahem. here are the rules for the game.” he gave the papers out to the contestants by sending them flying out amongst them.

octagon caught a sheet and sighed dreamily as she gazed at its convoluted procedure… 

heart, meanwhile, was not at all enamored by them. “this is so complicated!!!” he cried in exasperation.

“chill out, bro,” star replied casually, patting heart’s shoulder without actually looking at him. 

pentagon skipped toward mӧbius strip. “shouldn’t we set up our bunks first?” she asked.

“BE PATIENT, CHILD,” mӧbius replied drily. 

“it’s ‘be patient kiddo’,” trapezoid said, correcting the host’s apparently faulty terminology.

“kiddo’s not a real word.” heptagon muttered bitterly.

square, meanwhile, was having trouble reading the rules at all.

“what the heck is this??” he asked, looking in bewilderment towards mӧbius strip.

“CAN’T YOU READ THE RULES, CRETIN?”

“no i cannot,” square replied, finger guns and all. “what up, i’m jared, i’m 19, and i never heckin’ learned how to read!”

mӧbius strip did not reply further.

circle translated over to his friend. “i can read it to you!” he offered.

“thanks bromide.”

“the game is called ‘square up’. you will be put into two groups, two teams per group: the negatives and the positives. there is also an item called ‘the power of two’, which is hidden somewhere on the premises. the goal of the game is to turn everyone into your group: if you are a negative, to turn everyone into negatives, and if you are a positive, to turn everyone into positives. a negative can turn a positive into a negative by tagging them directly (as if multiplying a positive number by a negative number to get a negative number); likewise, a positive can only turn a negative into a positive by tapping them with ‘the power of two; (as if squaring a negative number to get a positive number). the game ends when either everyone is a negative or everyone is a positive – in which case the original members of that respective team win immunity.”

out of breath, circle fainted.

“heh…” star chuckled. “translation please?”

octagon scoffed. “sorry, i don’t speak IDIOT.” the rest of her team watched on in chagrin as she continued to mock star. “learn to appreciate the rules in all their glor–”

“quiet time.” trapezoid shoved a pacifier in octagon’s mouth.

hexagon came over, holding little pentagon’s hand. “why do you have pacifiers with you?”

“...i babysit.”

“aww!”

“quiet time.”

“AHEM,” mӧbius cleared his proverbial throat. “TIME FOR YOU TO GET READY OR WHATEVER.” he edged towards the large 4-pointed star. “‘THE POWER OF TWO’ IS ALREADY HIDDEN, RIGHT?”

the shape manifested a thumbs up.

“GROUP TWO AND THE COOL KIDS WILL BE THE POSITIVES. TWINKLE, TAKE THEM NEAR THE FOREST.”

“my name’s origin…” the 4-pointed star said under his breath. he started buzzing, and the two named teams floated towards him, losing their limbs in the process. he then flew to the east.

“YIM YUM, HELVETICA, YOU ARE THE NEGATIVES.”

origin let go of group two and the cool kids by the forest. moving slightly north, he used the same remote mӧbius strip had used before to give them back their limbs – before accidentally letting it go as well.

“ooh!” rhombus gasped, picking it up. they were fascinated by the mechanics of this strange machine…

but before rhombus could investigate the remote further, a speaker appeared in origin’s center, as mӧbius held a microphone.

“BEGIN!” mӧbius announced through his assistant.

“wow! i’m actually competing in a competition!” little droplet exclaimed, giggling eagerly. this was the first time she’d ever done anything really exciting in her life – but then, that applied to everyone else as well. 

heart patted her on the head, smiling warmly. “yup! now let’s go find that power of two’!” droplet hopped up over his head.

“did anyone see mӧbius hide it?” square asked.

“nope,” star replied carelessly. “but did anyone see where the cameras are? this is a show, right??”

triangle hit him lightly with her hand. “unimportant. let’s go find that dumb ol’ power thingy, whatever it is.”

thus group two and the cool kids headed into the dark forest, looking between the trees as they weaved through them…

meanwhile, despite being in the negative group, hexagon remained ever-positive. “c’mon gang!” she exclaimed, trying to rally her groupmates. “let’s go get the positives!” she lifted her fist in the air triumphantly, which pentagon cheekily mimicked beside her.

kite was sitting down next to parallelogram, thinking. “hm…” she glanced over at the forlorn polygons. “where do you think we should look? the positives probably went to hide.”

parallelogram just grunted. 

oval translated towards him. “what’s wrong?”

“heptagon and i aren’t supposed to be here!” he answered angrily. “we just got taken from our lives and forced to compete in this dumb show! it sucks!”

“yeah, i guess,” kite said, “but as long as you’re here you could give it a try! it sounds like fun to me. and until you can go home, it’s better than sitting around doing nothing.”

“hm.” 

octagon took the pacifier out of her mouth. “you should give it a try. the more forces we have, the better.”

“forces?” pentagon sat over octagon’s head. “what is this, an army?”

“it could be…” octagon replied ominously, shaking her fist.

“then let’s go!” oval smiled and led the group forward. “to the forest!”

as they headed east, trapezoid looked back and noticed heptagon sitting alone. trapezoid hurried over to him.

“hey buddy, you gonna join us?” he asked gently.

heptagon sneered. “what do you think?”

trapezoid sighed and looked away. “octagon’s not gonna like this,” he mumbled. then he ran after his group – “wait for me!!!” he yelled. 

the positives were traversing the wooded landscape under triangle’s leadership, searching far and wide for the elusive ‘power of two’.

rhombus piped up, “do you think it’s a good idea for us all to travel together?” they were fiddling with that strange remote they had picked up earlier.

rectangle looked uneasy, as did circle, who was sitting above him. “what, do you want us to split up?” rectangle asked.

“if we’re all together when they find us, they could tag all of us. game over.”

star laughed, walking on casually. “that doesn’t sound like an epic gamer move. lol.”

“hey, maybe you shouldn’t walk with your eyes closed,” heart suggested softly.

his friend’s only reply was “lmao”. 

soon enough, the negatives arrived at the forest’s edge.

“it’s safe to say they went in,” parallelogram stated. “it’d be harder for us to find them there, right?”

pentagon grinned, bearing pointy teeth. “well they can run, but they can’t hide!”

“c’mon!” kite said, leading parallelogram into the woods after the rest of the group.

as heart kept walking hand in hand with droplet, star kept walking with his eyes closed, despite the previous warnings. 

“hey!” circle called. “watch out!”

but he was too late – star bumped right into a tree, emitting a resounding “OOF!”

pentagon perked up at the sound.

“did you hear that?” trapezoid gasped, peeking around a bush. the rest of the negatives followed suit – and there, just beyond, were the positives by a tree!

as heart helped him up, star looked over to the west – and saw the negatives looking straight at him! “AIEEE!” he yelped.

the negatives all pounced towards the tree as the positives tried to scramble away. most were able to escape the other group’s clutches, hiding behind the surrounding brush – all except rectangle, who couldn’t make it out in time.

“help!” he cried, right as he was tagged by oval, turning him into a negative.

the rest of the positives sheltered behind trees, staying silently out of sight. among them was little droplet, quietly and curiously observing her surroundings. then she spotted a little white circle with a label on it saying “x²” –  it was the power of two! “aha!” she exclaimed quietly.

just then, pentagon, the little speed demon, sprung out of nowhere in an attempt to tag droplet! but droplet tagged her first with the power of two, turning her into a positive. 

square grabbed pentagon so she couldn’t run away, and smiled at droplet, pointing at the power of two. “you should throw it between the trees and try to hit the negatives over there,” he said in a hushed voice.

“but how would it come back to me?”

“it’ll bounce back.”

“i don’t think i can throw it that hard...”

“but i can!” triangle appeared, grabbing the power of two. droplet crouched behind triangle as she peeked from behind their tree and poised her arm to throw. triangle seemed so ready that it was as if she had been born to do this very task.

she threw the ball – and it hit oval! then it ricocheted off of him and hit trapezoid, and then octagon – three more negatives squared into positives! the power of two finally came flying back to triangle, who was grinning in anticipation as she snatched it.

triangle threw it again, this time aiming for parallelogram – but much to her dismay, the previously half-hearted shape was now laser focused, easily dodging her pitch.  

“nice!” kite cheered, high-fiving him.

triangle frowned and caught the ball as it returned to her yet again.

“can i try?” heart shyly asked her; she handed it over. 

“where did kite go?” he pondered, cautiously peering at the other group before throwing the ball. it hit parallelogram, octagon (causing her to spit out her pacifier), and rectangle – and heart smiled proudly as he caught the ball again.

just then kite hopped out of nowhere, about to tag heart!

but a beam of light shot out from behind him and hit kite, causing her to lose her limbs and fly back – it was rhombus, with that enigmatic remote! kite landed by her groupmates, soon hit by the power of two. “ow,” she muttered, now immobilized.

rectangle approached his groupmates and clapped with glee. “good job, guys! …now where’s heptagon?”

should i tell them? octagon considered. i can just picture the look on that useless idiot’s face when he gets hit smack in it with the ball… it would serve you right, heptagon! but then it’d make me lose… so maybe i shouldn’t.

“we’re not telling,” she finally replied, sticking out her tongue. 

still behind the tree, circle took a second to think. “aha!” he exclaimed, weaving between the trees and emerging into the light. there was origin, placid and silent as always.

“hey!” circle called. “did you ever move the negatives from where they were before in the field?”

“nope,” origin replied softly. “they were still in the field when we started.”

“thanks!” circle gave him a thumbs up before rejoining his group. he then swiftly grabbed the power of two from heart and started running out of the forest with the negatives on his tail – parallelogram was holding the limbless kite as he ran.

“is pentagon secured?” rhombus asked, as they and the rest of the positives joined him. “she’s the fastest.”

“yeah!” square answered, holding a flailing pentagon up.

the crowd approached the field, and there was heptagon, sitting there with his eyes closed, completely unaware of his surroundings. or was he just ignoring them?

“c’mon heptagon!” kite yelled. “circle’s coming!” but heptagon, as usual, did not give any indication of even hearing her…

trapezoid reached out to try and grab circle, but he missed – and circle chucked the power of two down on heptagon! everyone collapsed around him as the game ended and the ball bounced away: the positives had won!

“THE GAME IS OVER!” mӧbius strip announced, holding a pair of scissors. “THE POSITIVES WON – SO GROUP TWO AND THE COOL KIDS ARE SAVED FROM ELIMINATION.” he furtively scooched towards origin, waving the scissors at him. “twinkle, put these away.”

origin sighed and acquiesced.

“does that mean…” oval started, his brow furrowing.

“NEXT TIME, A MEMBER OF YIM YUM OR HELVETICA WILL BE HISTORY.”

“h-history??” heart cried. “what happens when we’re eliminated?”

“THAT’S FOR ME TO KNOW AND FOR YOU TO FIND OUT.”

heart gulped nervously. 

what is that supposed to mean? he thought. what’s gonna happen to me if i get eliminated? or my teammates? oh my prime, why did star convince me into joining this show???

parallelogram was sitting beside heptagon with a sour expression. the limbless kite fell against him, and he smiled.

“we lost big-time, but i still had fun!” he said. “i guess you were right.”

“well, i guess i was!” kite smiled. “i’m glad.”

“but if heptagon would’ve participated, we might’ve had a chance of winning…” parallelogram muttered, glaring at him.

“hm… hey rhombus, could you give me my limbs back?”

…

in the dead of night, origin sat by the forest. watching. waiting. 

a fuschia figure flashed between the trees.

brrr… a camera lens appeared in origin’s center, focusing…

octagon found her pacifier sitting behind a tree. her eyes darted from side to side cautiously, before she finally grabbed it, wiped it off, and put it back in her mouth. 

then, as quietly as she came, she left.

origin snapped a photo. click…

[delvinanaris]

It is impossible to elect a third-party president in the US currently.

Not merely "unlikely, but you can do it if you try real hard": impossible.

There are third-party candidates who aren't even on the ballot in enough states to add up to 270 electoral votes. For them, it's mathematically impossible to be elected, no matter how well they do.

Even for third-party candidates who are on enough state ballots, approximately no one knows their names, platforms, or parties. The strongest showing a third-party presidential candidate has ever made in modern times was Ross Perot in 1992, with ~19% of the popular vote. He received no electoral votes. Since then, some of the rules have been changed to make it even harder for third-party candidates to get attention.

But it gets worse.

A third party, generally speaking, is going to be moderately well aligned with one of the two major parties on many issues, but either has one particular issue that they champion very strongly (rather than trying to have a broad platform like the major parties), or simply stakes out a position further from the center, but in the same general political direction.

Because of this, and the fact that they cannot win, the better a third-party presidential candidate performs, the more they will harm the cause they seek to support.

To illustrate this, consider a hypothetical presidential election where the major party candidates are Davis and Roberts, and there is a third-party candidate Thompson who is doing historically well. Thompson's politics largely align with Davis's, but skew farther in the same direction. Both Thompson and Davis disagree strongly with Roberts, and do not want to see a Roberts presidency.

If we then consider a hypothetical state where there are 1 million people who will actually vote, let's say that 400k of them support Roberts. The other 600k all agree on opposing Roberts, but 250k of them think that Davis doesn't go far enough, and will vote for Thompson. This means that the final vote tally in that state will be 400k for Roberts, 350k for Davis, and 250k for Thompson.

If Thompson had not been running in that race, Davis would have won handily. All the people who supported Davis and Thompson are disappointed, and Roberts won despite getting a minority of the vote and the political makeup of the state being strongly tilted in Davis' favor.

This is the case because of our voting system: each person only gets a single vote to cast for President. If we had the opportunity to cast multiple votes in any of the various ways that are out there, it would be much, much easier for third parties to be viable, because someone who likes Thompson would be able to vote for both Thompson and Davis—thus guaranteeing that even if their first choice doesn't win, they're still not making it any easier for the candidate they strongly oppose to win.

So anyone who wants third-party candidates to be viable should, in the moment, be voting for the major party candidate that most closely matches their beliefs, while advocating hard and in every way they can for an alternative voting system, such as Ranked Choice Voting (which has some momentum behind it right now).

To bring it back to the current election, everyone who wants Trump to lose, but votes for anyone other than Kamala Harris, is actively working against their own interests.

(Hopefully that was the part you were confused on; if it's more about why voting for Kamala is not a vote for genocide, that's a whole different post, and all I'll say about it here and now is that the notion that she actively supports genocide is unquestionably propaganda, and likely derives from Russian psyops.)