#her craters? beautiful.

[cutetrilobite2]

This is NOT a bit

I LOVE THE MOON!!!

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

"photoshop/makeup culture is giving people unrealistic ideas about what normal skin looks like" yes i agree BUT: no one is doing it worse than the dark far side of the moon

[seraqhites]

the moon looked SO pretty last night :(

[reignpage]

The Other Woman

Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3

The doctors and psychologists said it’d be great for your husband’s well-being to be with friends and family. And for the most part, that’s proven true. 

Insisting on welcoming Satoru back properly, his students organised a party and invited anyone who had a remote connection with their teacher. Even Nanami had taken time off from work to be here and had given a polite pat on his shoulder and a genuine greeting. 

That brought a huge smile to the white-haired man who pounced on the poor guy without remorse, giggling about how he knew he ‘always liked him really’. It felt great to watch him be surrounded by and showered with so much love and support, the kind he deserves; you could tell it was bringing life back to him. After all, it must have been painful for him to have been cooped up in the house trying to reconcile his new reality with the one he remembers. 

You keep reminding yourself of that. 

Satoru needs this. 

He needs normalcy. The normal he remembers, the normal he went to sleep thinking about and not the one he had suddenly woken up to, years passing him by. 

Everyone knows this. He knows this. Just as you do. 

So why is every person in the party sneaking you pitying and concerned glances?

Sure, no one could possibly think this is easy for you, to be the stranger that Satoru still gets surprised to see in the morning. The one he hesitates to say goodnight to, unsure of the boundaries, the etiquette, the right thing to do. He sometimes forgets to text you if he’s going out, shocked and annoyed, you’re sure, to see the many missed calls and messages from you. And you know he studies the picture frames all over your house like a textbook that would give him all the answer he needs.

All he gets, you’re willing to bet, is the realisation that you’re both the tether he needs to keep grounded, that guides him through the sea of memories he cannot touch, and the leash that binds him to a role he doesn’t remember signing up for. 

Are they looking at you with worry because of the inevitable toll this sudden shift has taken on your mental health or because your husband is talking to his ex-girlfriend the way he used to talk to you?

It can’t be the latter, right?

Because there’s nothing to be worried about. 

Satoru is simply catching up, trying to stitch up the crater-sized hole in his memory with a familiar face. There’s no reason for your hand to shake as you sip your drink or for your eyes to keep darting back over to them, sat alone at a table like they’re the only people in here. 

He’s laughing, throwing his head back and making that obnoxious cackle you love to hear. Loved. Because this one isn’t for you. It’s for her. The woman he shouldn’t be near, the woman he shouldn’t even think about, shouldn’t let touch his arm. 

You’re the wife. 

You’ve got the ring to prove it. 

He’s wearing it. Just not on the hand attached to the arm strung over the back of her chair like he’s protecting her from the rest of the world. Hell, maybe he is. Maybe his infinity is on and covering her. But you don’t have it in you to throw something at them to find out. Either result would be just as humiliating as the other. 

There’s nothing to be done. 

You can’t interrupt. 

Because Satoru needs to know what he said goodbye to all those years ago to know what he says ‘hey, pretty lady’ and ‘good morning, gorgeous’ to now. Or used to say. Now, you’re lucky if he even looks at you without shuffling his feet. 

Eventually, the night draws to its natural end. 

People bid their farewells twice, once to him and her, and then to you. Each time breaks your heart even more until you feel it crumble inside, little shards falling to pieces he won’t pick up. She stands before you, a small, shy smile, like she knows what she’s done. And says it’s ‘lovely to meet you’, and of course you can’t say it back. 

Not when you had been introduced by your name, ‘my beautiful wife’ going nowhere near the tip of his tongue as if those words had never been uttered by your husband. And not when she had been introduced in a hastily withdrawn, stuttered freudian slip of hell. 

“This is my girlfr— Sorry, I mean, my friend. From high school. Yeah, high school.”

Satoru blushes, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he waves goodbye to her. And you can tell he finds the act lacklustre, an uninspired, unnatural way to say goodbye to the woman you woke up to and slept beside. 

“Did you have a good time?”

He nods, a soft smile playing on his lip as he casts his gaze across the room, sweeping by the empty hall like he can still see every single person that came. “It was nice to see everyone and catch up.”

You’re thankful he doesn’t ask if you enjoyed the evening because you can’t lie to him but you also can’t tell the truth, can’t burden him anymore with the reminder that he doesn’t fill the shoes of your husband, that he continues to stumble with every step, dragging you down with him. 

So, instead, you fill the silence with a question that is so harmless, so normal it slips out before you can even think to anticipate the devastating crack that goes through your very soul. 

“Ready to go home?”

Satoru nods.

But he’s looking at a seat in the back. 

A seat that’s probably still warm. A seat you could never fill because you aren’t the woman he thought, hoped, he would marry. 

You’re just the woman he did. 

[welcome-to-green-hills]

do u have headcanons of how do you think Shadow and Maria celebrating each other's birthdays now knowing they've been together for 3 years🥺

Hello, my dear!❤️✨

I’m more than happy to give you some headcanons about Shadow and Maria’s birthday!

Since Shadow didn’t necessarily have a birth, Maria has come up with possible days for Shadow to celebrate. There’s the day that he fully emerged from the meteorite, the day that he left his bio-chamber, and the day that they’ve met. Maria leans more to the day that they’ve met due to celebrate the birth of their friendship.

One of the friendship bracelet that Maria wears is one that Shadow has made for her. It took multiple attempts to make, as well as a slew of swear words trying to figure a pattern and the size of her wrist. He wanted to surprise her, but needed help with the knot. She never once took it off.

For one birthday, Maria gifted him a collector’s set of Sherlock Holmes novels to read when/if he has downtime from testing. What she didn’t anticipate was that Shadow would read the entire collection in one night with a list of questions to ask her about the characters. That’s when she knew that he had a love for books and mysteries.

For one birthday, Maria had a wonderful idea for bake Shadow a chocolate cake in the bunker’s kitchens. She made sure that she could sneak in without anyone noticing her and create the delicious cake that she envisioned in her mind (it had all the bells and whistles with every candy topping on it and sparklers). Long story short, Maria is not allowed to bake in the kitchen by herself anymore. The kitchen cannot take anymore fires and holes through the ceiling.

Shadow, being very small and having no money, tried his best to make Maria a drawing for her birthday once year. He’s not very good at drawing, but he draws excellent box-y figures that represent the two of them. Maria’s favorite drawing that he’s made was the two of them together riding a dinosaur through New York City.

Maria loves to take photographs of the two of them on their birthdays. She takes a “healthy” amount of them from the hour of her waking up, to the highly blurry photos of Shadow trying to run away from the flash, and to them devouring cakes by themselves. Shadow is very fortunate that Maria did. He keeps the ones that he found in the crater close to his heart.

For Shadow’s birthday, Maria hoped to start the tradition of getting Shadow a jacket with a patch that correlates with the year that an album came out (due to his newfound love of music). He has three that Maria made herself for him to wear on a letterman jacket.

Since Shadow can’t leave the bunker. He gets discouraged over the idea of trying to find Maria something to give on her birthday. He wants to give her something to show his appreciation for her being a great friend and sister to him, but always struggles on what to do. That is… until he noticed one of the scientists making paper stars while he was in a testing session. He made multiple paper stars to put in a jar, plucked a quill out from his head, and gifted a jar of glowing stars for her to keep. “It’s so you can continue to make wishes,” as he said to her. (This also plays off the paper stars that Maria makes for Shadow whenever he’s feeling down).

Maria’s idea birthday cake is a replica of the melting cake from Disney’s Sleeping Beauty with different flavors of cake in each tier, as well as sparklers. Shadow is perfectly content with a box of Razzles (his favorite candy), but absolutely takes chocolate cakes. Although chocolate cupcakes and dirt cups are easy to steal and are a close second.

The best birthday that the two have ever had was when they’ve spent the day together in the blanket fort. The two watched movies and ate snacks, and created a bucket list of all of the places that they would have loved to travel to. While his list may have a few lines, he appreciates her three page list of all of the places and things to do. After awakening from stasis, Shadow makes sure to fulfill all of the things on her birthday bucket list. He makes sure to especially do a few on the day of her birth to celebrate her life lived.

Post in Reference to Years that SCU!Ark Siblings knew each other for

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Whirlwind - Tyler Owens X Female Reader

Title: Whirlwind

Tyler Owens X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Reader's friends (Mentioned), Dani, Dexter, Lily, Boone, Ben, a couple of other people (Mentioned), a random kid, and the kid's mother

WC: 5,197

Warnings: Post-Twisters events, thrill-seeker reader?, teasing, banter, flirting, friends to lovers, tornadoes, italics, nicknames, slightly suggestive, F4 tornado, events before and after a tornado, injuries, blood briefly mentioned, confession, slight angst, and fluff

You and Tyler had been friends for a very long time. Three years. You first met him when you were with your friends. You were on a road trip - during the summer off of college - when you all stopped at a small town in Oklahoma for the night. You found a motel but had not been expecting so many people partying in the parking lot. You had half a mind to find another motel to stay at, somewhere quieter, but the next town was a few good miles away, and you needed to preserve gas until you found a gas station. 

Stepping out of the van, your friends were instantly drawn to the party. The atmosphere was inviting and warm, and it wasn't long until you lost sight of your friends, who had joined in on the festivities. You weren't really one for parties. Sometimes you were, but you had been on the road for a good couple of hours, and you just wanted to spend some time alone. However, upon seeing the bright stars and the full moon in the sky, you decided to hold off finding your motel room. 

Being a photographer, you loved capturing the beauty of mother nature. Her work always inspired you. Throughout the trip, you had been taking pictures of anything and everything; from luscious forests, golden fields of wheat, and pouring cold rain. You loved taking pictures of breathtaking sights. However, your favorite things to capture were thunderstorms and the moon.

Eyes flickering over the party before you, you made sure to spot each of your friends before climbing the metal stairs. The strap of your compact camera felt heavy around your neck as you reached the second floor of the motel. Your gaze shifted to the bright moon, high in the sky, big and luminous, with some of its craters visible. Leaning against the metal railing, you pursed your lips briefly. Raising your camera, you found the moon through the lens, fixing the blur, but you frowned. From where you stood, it just wasn't the perfect shot. 

Glancing down at the railing you were leaning on, you pushed through whatever fear you had and began to climb it. Still secured around your neck, you let go of your camera. Grabbing the wall beside you with one hand, you push up against the railing with the other; climbing up the horizontal bars of the railing. In moments you had managed to reach the top of the railing, bracing yourself on the wall attached to it. You were a good amount of feet high, enough that if you did fall, you would probably break a bone or two, but you - again - pushed past that fear. You were confident in your balance, and the railing, and you were determined to get this perfect shot. You glanced down at the party below you, spotting a few of your friends mingling and seemingly having fun. 

With your free hand, you raised your camera once more, scrunching your face, you aimed and took the shot. With the shutter of the camera, you grinned, lowering it to smile down at the photo on the small screen. 

‘Perfect.’

"Looks like someone’s aimin' for the most dangerous photo award." You heard a voice call out in your direction. Looking down, you spotted a man. He was wearing blue jeans and a red flannel. His head was tilted back slightly to look up at you, one hand on his cowboy hat so it didn't fall off his head. You narrowed your eyes, seeing the charismatic - almost amused - grin on his face. 

"I don't think that's a thing," You called back down, moving your eyes away briefly before meeting his gaze, somewhat wary. What did he want?

Moving his hands onto his hips, his grin grew, and the cowboy stranger continued, "You good up there, or do ya need some help down?" His southern drawl was thick as honey and laced with amusement. 

You huffed, trying to suppress a smile. "I'm fine, thank you very much."

He chuckled, his eyes almost twinkling. "Alrigh', jus' makin' sure. I’m Tyler, by the way. Tyler Owens." He tipped the brim of his cowboy hat.

You adjusted your stance on the railing, still clutching your camera. "Nice to meet you, Tyler. I’m Y/N." You finally smiled, feeling a strange warmth spread across your cheeks. 

Well, what was supposed to be just a night's stay in Oklahoma ended up being a week, which then turned into three years between Oklahoma and Arkansas.

~~~

Being around the team - and being a part of the 'Tornado Wranglers' - for three years, it was only a matter of time until you and Tyler became inseparable. And it was obvious to your group of friends that there was definitely more going on than just a simple friendship. Even their YouTube viewers and subscribers - most if not all - thought or assumed that both you and Tyler were a couple. And it wasn't as if their assumptions were baseless, it really did seem - to those on the outside - that you and Tyler were dating.

There was more than one occasion where you held hands; either when you took his hand in yours when you walked side by side - jokingly swinging them to and fro - or after a particularly rough tornado chase where your hands would reach out for the other in search of comfort and reassurance.

There was more than just hand-holding, though. The both of you teased each other - borderline flirting - holding eye contact for a little bit too long to be considered platonic. Any simple contact between you two was prolonged, lingering. Especially hugs; which happened more frequently than not. You were always touching each other in some way. Whether it was hands resting on shoulders, arms around waists, linking arms, or even hugs from behind.

Overall, it was really easy to mistake the both of you as a couple. And it certainly didn't help that both of you were very affectionate towards each other. 

But you were just friends. Really, really good friends. Though Tyler wished it could be more, he didn't want to risk ruining what you two had. Despite his desire to tell you how he felt; the longing to hold you close, to kiss you... Tyler feared he might lose you. He worried that if he told you, he'd lose everything. That he'd lose his chance at a friendship with you forever. That fear kept him quiet.

In the end, as long as you were by his side, and he was by yours, he was content. Your friendship meant the world to him, and that was enough.

~~~

Staring up at the graying sky before him, Tyler stood with his hands on his hips. It was a great day for tornado chasing and the one that he had his eyes on seemed like it was going to be a good one. He loved the adrenaline that came with chasing tornadoes, the rush he felt. 

Walking across the field, he made his way back over to the motel where he was staying with the team. Spotting Dani and Dexter at the camper van, he gave them a grin as he walked over. 

"Hey, it seems like we got one west of us," He gestured to the large, gloomy patch of clouds miles away. 

Sitting in two camper chairs, Dani and Dexter exchanged glances. Dani shrugged, "I think we're good on this one." 

"Yeah, I've got some work to do, thanks, Tyler." Dexter spoke, with his own grin.

Tyler hummed, eyeing them suspiciously before he headed off to one of the motel rooms. Knocking, he waited until Lily opened the door.

Rubbing her eyes, she seemed tired, a small yawn leaving her. "Hey, Tyler, what's up?" She pivoted her weight, leaning on the doorway.

"There's the beginnings of a tornado in the west. Dexter and Dani ain't joinin'. Just seein' if you'd want to." 

"Uh," She winced, rubbing her temple, "I think I'll pass on this one, T, sorry. I think I'm gonna have a 'me day.' There’s a jacuzzi calling my name." 

Tyler shook his head, "Nah, yeah, I totally get it. See ya later." He grinned, despite his growing confusion, giving the young woman a wave before he headed over to Boone's motel room a few doors down. Repeating his action, Tyler knocked on the door, and the charismatic tornado chaser answered. "Hey, Boone, there's a tornado in the west. Want to test out some of those new fireworks?"

At the drop of Boone's grin, Tyler's hopes of his best friend joining him on this tornado chase dropped. "Sorry, T, you know I would love to test out fireworks any day, but, uh, you see, I have to, uh... Feed my cat." At that, Boone shut the door, leaving Tyler to stare at it. 

'Boone doesn't have a cat.' He thought. 'What's he hidin'?' Now, thinking about it, all of them - Dani, Dexter, Lily, and Boone have been acting strange. He even doubted Ben would want to join in after everything that happened a few years back. Yeah, he was getting better and was somewhat used to tornado chasing at this point - having decided to move from London to the States, but he always rode with Dani and Dexter when they chased. 

Well, there was only one person left to ask, and Tyler really hoped that you would want to join him. Even the thought of possibly spending more time with you - alone - tornado chasing - made that confused frown slip back into a grin. Reaching your door, he didn't hesitate to knock, hearing shuffling on the other side before you opened the door. Your eyes brightened upon meeting Tyler's gaze, your smile widening. 

"Hey, Ty, good morning," You greeted him, 

"Good mornin', sweetheart," He greeted as he leaned against the doorway, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. "There's a tornado west of us. Wanna join me?" 

Your eyes lit up, "Of course!" You exclaimed, fumbling slightly as you walked back into the motel room, grabbing your camera, "Is the rest of the team coming?"

Tyler shook his head, "Nope, it'll just be us today."

Looping the camera's strap around your neck with one hand, you waved the other in the air, letting out a 'pfft.' "Their loss. More tornado for us." Tyler's grin widened, and off the two of you went.

The truck jostled as Tyler suddenly veered off the dusty, dirt path and into the tall grass; racing towards the swirling dark clouds ahead. The speakers were practically turned all the way up, playing 'Ain't No Love In Oklahoma.' One of your favorite songs. You held onto the handle on the truck's door, mumbling to the song, your eyes trained on the clouds as they began to spiral toward the ground - creating a funnel - before touching down; creating a cloud of dirt, dust, and grass.

"Woo-hoo!" Tyler cheered, your laughter of excitement mixing with his. 

Tyler glanced over at you as you got your camera ready, and unbuckled yourself from your seat; an amused grin forming on his lips. Quickly rolling down the window, you pushed yourself up and pressed your knee into the passenger seat. With half of your body leaning out of the window, your stomach pressing against the window's ledge, the rapid winds rustled through your hair; a laugh bubbled out of you, eyes closed. 

Tyler smiled to himself. Reaching out to place his hand on your waist, a finger hooking onto one of the loops of your jeans; something that he'd always done during the countless times you pulled the stunt. The simple, protective action always made you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Raising your camera, you snapped a few pictures. Slipping back into your seat, you buckled back up, looking over at Tyler, who was already looking at you. A wide, toothy smile spread across his face at the sight of you; your hair a mess from the wind, the bright smile on your face, wearing his 'Not My First Tornadeo' shirt. His heart skipped a beat.

Returning his eyes to the tornado, he pulled up right into its path. Activating the augers, he anchored the truck to the ground. You then flipped up the three switches, your finger hovering over the 'boom' button as you waited for the right moment. The tornado made its way towards the both of you, shaking the truck, bits of dirt, rain, and whatnot hitting the windows; the powerful force of the twister was loud and clear to hear. It was a continuous roar that reminded you of a freight train or jet engine. 

Tyler let out another round of hootin' and hollerin', as you pressed the button. Fireworks - of multiple colors - shot up the middle of the tornado. You let out your own celebratory cheer, staring out the passenger window as the fireworks went off, spiraling round and round; laughing happily as the storm raged on. 

Hopping out of the car as the tornado passed by, you ran around the front of the car, Tyler's arms already open and ready for when you jumped into his embrace. Your laughter rang out as Tyler spun you around a bit, before lowering you back onto your feet. Watching the tornado slowly spin out of existence, your face hurt from how hard you were smiling. Tyler wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you impossibly closer to his side, before leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. 

"Yeah," You let out a sigh of content, "They missed out big time."

"They sure did, she was a beaut," Tyler answered, watching the last wisps of dust and dirt from the tornado disperse into the horizon. "I'm glad you came along with me."

"Of course," You spoke, looking up at him with a smile, "I love chasing tornadoes with you."

He flashed a cheeky grin, "Well, who wouldn’t love chasin' tornadoes with the 'YouTube-famous Tornado Wrangler'?"

Giving him a look, you crossed your arms, and smirked, "I'm starting to think your ego is the real storm here."

"Ya wound me, sweetheart." He pressed a hand to his chest, making you roll your eyes playfully. "Ya hungry?" He then suddenly asked, resting his hands on his hips.

Taking a step closer, you looked up at him - a mischievous expression appeared on your face. Tyler felt his breath hitch in his throat, his cheeks flushing a faint pink at the proximity between you, but he quickly cleared his throat, regaining his composure; hopefully you hadn't noticed. 

"Starved," You admitted, before reaching up and snatching his cowboy hat off his head. 

"Hey!" He called out in mock anger, laughter escaping him as he watched you run back to the passenger side of the truck and place his hat on your head. He followed, jogging to the driver’s side, another wave of excitement washing over him.

~~~

That following week, after chasing a dozen or so tornados, an F4 tornado was heading for a small town a couple of miles from where you, Tyler, and the rest of the team were staying. It had popped up on the scanner, and you all weren't going to sit around and not help. So, the seven of you got into the truck, van, and camper, heading towards the small town that was right in the path of this insanely powerful tornado. 

Entering the town, you could see the tornado fast approaching in the near distance. Everyone got out of the vehicles, rushing up to help those who were panicking and hadn't found shelter as the winds picked up; dirt and debris flying everywhere as the tornado grew closer to the town. You and Tyler stuck together, helping lead people into a building with a basement. 

Quickly surveying the town around you, you pushed your hair away from your face. But upon spotting a child - no more than seven or eight years old - looking around for her mother, terrified; you had to act. "I'll be right back!" You yelled over to Tyler, over the storm, who turned to you with wide, panicked eyes. "Don't worry," You assured him, though you knew that was a stupid thing to request of him to do. There was always worrying in this world, with this life. "I got this." 

Tyler tried to push his worries away, watching as you ran off. Letting out a deep sigh, he grabbed the building’s door, “You do got this.” He spoke to himself, before using his strength to shut the door.

Running back out into the streets, you glanced at the tornado, which was at this point ripping pieces off of buildings with its strength. Spotting the child, you rushed over towards her. Hopping over a fallen piece of something metal, not even noticing as something sharp flew through the air and cut your cheek. Adrenaline and fear filled you as you took the young girl's hand. Your eyes then scanned around you, spotting another building.

"Come on," You spoke to the girl, quickly leading her to the nearby building. You did your best to shield her with your body, the door of the building flying open from the force of the wind. Pulling the door closed, you realized the place didn't have a basement. Just your luck. Thankfully, you both found a small closet and there, you both ducked. The little girl curled up into you, as your arms wrapped around her, protecting her from everything and anything. "We're gonna be okay." You muttered, your breathing heavy as the tornado rumbled outside; a rumble that could be felt, shaking the building, and the Earth, as it passed.

The roaring then turned into silence, and all you could hear was yours and the little girl's heavy breathing. Blinking open your eyes, you looked down at the little girl, seeing that she seemed okay, minus the obvious trauma. Exiting the closet, and what little remained of the building, you held the girl's hand as you stepped back onto the street. 

"Mary!" You heard a woman's voice, spotting the little girl's mother running down the street. 

"Momma!" She cried back, letting go of you to run into her mother's arms. 

You smiled, happy that they were both alright and reunited. Trying to spot your friends, your eyes landed on each one of them - they all seemed alright as well - a breath of relief leaving your chest. And only when your eyes began to frantically search for Tyler, did you feel the sharp sting on your cheek. Raising your hand, you hissed as you pressed your pointer and middle finger against the cut on your cheek, pulling your hand back to see the blood on your fingers; feeling it trickling down your neck. 

"Y/N!" You heard Tyler's voice call out, his figure coming into view as he left the building he was in, ragged, heavy breathing; his own eyes were frantic as he searched for you. Your heartbeat quickened, and your eyes widened. 

"Tyler!" You shouted, racing towards him, his head whipping around at the sound of your voice. He rushed over to you and as soon as you reached him, he wrapped you up in his arms, holding you tight and close to his chest.

You pressed your face into his maroon shirt, your hands clutching tightly to the material of it, tears burning your eyes as you tried to control your breathing. 

‘He’s okay… He’s okay…’

Pulling back slightly, Tyler's eyes landed on the cut on your cheek, seeing the trail of drying blood trailing down your neck. "You're hurt." He spoke, his voice low and soft, concern evident in his eyes; his hand raised to cup your uninjured cheek. 

"It's just a scratch," You muttered, looking up at him, your hand coming up to cover his hand on your cheek. "Are you okay?" You then asked, your worried gaze flickering around his face before returning to his eyes. “You're not hurt?”

Looking back at you, Tyler swallowed thickly before nodding, "Yeah, I'm fine, just a couple bumps and bruises, but..," His one hand on your waist tightened, bringing you closer to him, "Are you sure you're alrigh'?"

You gave him a small - hopefully reassuring - smile, nodding, "I'm alright, Ty."

Yeah, you were alright. The scratch wasn't anything too serious, it wouldn't even leave a scar, but as Tyler looked down at you, all he could think about was the possibility of losing you. It was a risk that came with tornado chasing, and he knew that, but it killed him inside knowing that if anything ever happened to you... He couldn’t even finish that thought, instead digging his nose into your hair, he shut his eyes. Letting out a deep sigh as he pulled you back into his arms.

~~~

Tyler found you sitting out on the top of his truck that night. You were staring up at the stars in the sky, watching as they flickered; trying to spot a few constellations. You'd often stargaze after chasing exceptionally dangerous tornadoes, Tyler had come to find out over the years. Seeing the destruction they caused... Seeing how quickly everything disappeared in a blink of an eye; stargazing helped with the anxiety and the sense of helplessness you felt, it seemed.

Feeling the truck jostle, you turned your head to watch as Tyler hopped up on the truck's roof with you. Observing the side of his face, you noticed his hat was gone, probably left in his motel room. His dirty blonde hair was somewhat ruffled, strands falling in front of his forehead a bit. His green eyes meeting yours, he gave you a small smile. "What ya did back there," He began, his voice soft as to keep the somewhat peaceful atmosphere from dissipating, "Was really brave." 

You pursed your lips, nodding, turning back to stare at the stars, "I couldn't just stand there." You began, the level of your voice matching his, "She looked so scared."

Tyler reached out and gently took your hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You did more than most people would, sweetheart," His thumb traced soothing circles on the back of your hand. "Your instinct to help, even when it was dangerous, shows just how incredible you are." You looked up at him, the corner of your lip twitched up into a small, appreciative smile; feeling his words warm your heart.

"Thank you, Tyler. You’re pretty incredible too." Tyler gave you a small smile in return before his eyes dropped down to stare at the square-patch bandage - partially hidden behind your hair - covering the scratch you got hours earlier.

The smile on his face shifted and was replaced with a frown; he knew he shouldn't feel like it was all his fault, but still. His stomach churned uncomfortably, a strange sense of guilt flooding him as he remembered the events of earlier that day, remembering the pained expression on your face when Dexter cleaned and bandaged your cut.

Reaching out, he brushed your hair away from your face, tucking the strands behind your ear; his fingers just grazing the bandage before he let out a deep sigh. Cupping the back of your head, his fingers laced through your hair. All the while, you held your breath, unable to look away from him. Dropping his head, he pressed his forehead against yours, shutting his eyes. "I'm sorry, sweetheart,"

"It's not your fault, Ty." You breathed out, shutting your own eyes, your hand coming up to cup his cheek; your thumb brushing across his stubble. "You've got nothing to worry about."

"Can't help but worry," He let out a wistful chuckle. "I don't know what I'd do if anything were to happen to you..."

"I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you either." You replied softly, pulling back slightly as he opened his eyes.

Suddenly, it felt like all of your senses had been heightened. You became so aware of how close you and Tyler's faces were to each other. His face was so close to yours, that you could practically count his lashes as they fluttered; half-lidded. His lips were slightly agape, slow bursts of air escaping them. His scent - dirt, cologne, and leather was intoxicating. How his hand was still holding yours, warming you. And how his fingers were still in your hair, his thumb brushing back and forth on your neck - soothing, almost lovingly... And with the way he was looking at you… Oh, how he was looking at you. You felt your heart beating - pounding - in your chest.

"Is it crazy to say that I really want to kiss ya righ' now?" He then asked suddenly, his voice low, husky; his tongue running along his bottom lip briefly. A shiver ran down your spine as your heartbeat increased, and goosebumps appeared on your arms. You were surprised, to say the least. You didn't think that Tyler would like you back. And yet he was asking if he could kiss you. Though, at your silence, Tyle continued, "I- I don't want to mess this up. I don't want to ruin this. What we got... What we got right here is good."

"Tyler," You muttered, you could practically feel how nervous he was, but you were nervous too, "You won’t. You won't mess this up."

Letting out a somewhat shaky breath, the soft pad of your thumb brushing against his cheek grounded him. "Ya sure?" 

You gave him a shy smile, "Absolutely sure." 

Searching your eyes, slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned in; his breath mingling with yours. Wetting his bottom lip once more, you both closed your eyes as you tilted your head upward; his soft lips met yours. Letting out a sigh, you practically melted. Your hand on Tyler's cheek slid back, wrapping itself around the base of his neck - your fingers tangling themselves into his hair there. Tyler was sure that this was heaven.

Tyler broke the kiss moments later, leaning his forehead against yours as you both caught your breath. "God... I've been wantin' to do that for a while." 

You chuckled, your cheeks burning, "Me too."

Pulling back, that same mischievous look appeared in his eyes, "I mean, who wouldn't? I'm a tornado wrangler." He spoke cockily but jokingly, making you huff out a laugh and roll your eyes.

"Annnnd moment ruined," You sighed dramatically, making Tyler let out a boisterous laugh. "Again, your ego is unbelievable." You shook your head, smiling at him; your gaze trailing over his features. 

His laughter died down, pulling you into his side, his hand cupping the back of your head as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "I'm sorry," He muttered into your hair, "Would some pizza make up for my egotistical behavior?"

You looked up at him with your own playful smirk. "Hmm, pizza might help..," You trailed off, leaning forward to press a peck to his lips before hopping off the roof of the truck. 

With a love-sick grin on his face, Tyler followed after you, opening the passenger side door for you as you hopped in. Once he was in the driver's seat, he placed the keys into the ignition and put the truck in reverse; speeding out of the motel parking lot and onto the road.

~~~

That following day, you, Tyler, and the rest of the team headed north, where the beginnings of a tornado were forming. The chase was epic, and the viewers on the YouTube channel were loving all the live footage. It had been a good, successful day. That night, you all sat around the campfire in your camp chairs. Boone, Dani, Lily, Dexter, Ben, and Tyler, were all laughing about something. In the background, there was music playing from Tyler's truck, mixed with the sound of chirping crickets in the wilderness. 

You exited your hotel room, walking down the metal motel stairs, "Hey! Guess who finally decided to join us?" Dani called out, your presence gaining everyone's attention. 

"Missing out on the fun, we found Boone's secret stash of marshmallows." Lily spoke up, waving her stick with a toasted marshmallow stabbed on top of it. 

Boone huffed, rolling his eyes, "I was going to share them." He faux angrily bit into his marshmallow.

Walking past the fire, you headed straight towards Tyler, seeing the smile on his face brighten at the sight of you. "Sorry I wasn't able to join in sooner," You apologized, as Tyler’s hands cupped your waist, gently pulling you into his lap, "I had to shower the tornado off of me."

The group fell into silence, all five of them narrowing their eyes and staring at both you and Tyler, suspicious; analyzing. You often sat on Tyler's lap, but this was different. The way your arm was resting behind his shoulders, your fingers brushing through the hair on the nape of his neck. The way his arm was wrapped around your hips, keeping you close to him; his thumb brushing along the material of your jeans. But, the easiest tell that something was definitely different, was the way you were both looking at each other when your eyes met. 

The group shared knowing glances with each other, smiling, grinning, before they all looked at Tyler and you. And finally, Lily spoke, "Did he finally tell you?" She asked, her eyes wide and a bright smile on her face at just the thought that maybe - finally - Tyler confessed after all these years.

Biting your bottom lip, you glanced down at Tyler, who had already been looking at you. Shrugging, you couldn't stop the smile from appearing on your face, "Maybe," You began, chuckling when the group cheered. 

"Finally!" Dani exclaimed, gesturing to the two of you, "We've been waiting forever. And Boone," Dani looked over at the young man sitting across the circle they had made with their chairs, "You owe me twenty bucks."

Raising an eyebrow, Tyler chuckled, "You bet on us?"

Boone nodded, begrudgingly handing Dani the twenty-dollar bill. "Yeah, I thought you'd confess back when you both went on that tornado chase a couple of weeks back."

"Wait a minute..," Tyler began, narrowing his eyes at his friends, "That day when you all made up excuses..? Really?" His tone of voice was full of amusement; his lips twitching upwards.

Dexter shrugged, "That was the only way we could get you alone together. We knew you were going to crack sooner or later. It has been... What? Three years? What a whirlwind."

Shaking your head, you laughed quietly, "I can't believe you guys," You said, only for Lily to lean forward in her seat.

“Congratulations,” Ben spoke up from his seat, and you gave the journalist a smile.

“Thanks, Ben.”

"Yeah, we're happy for you two," She started, giving you a warm smile. "It was meant to be."

Letting out a sigh, you smiled softly, looking back at Tyler, "Meant to be." You muttered, repeating her words.

Tyler smirked, taking your hand in his free one, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. Looking up at you with such intensity that made your stomach flip, he spoke again, "I like the sound of that."

~~~

Main Masterlist | Twisters Masterlist

[prythianpages]

one shots

angst=  `♡´ fluff = ☁︎ smut= ☪︎

↠ I've Been Waiting For You ☁︎ `♡´ | After centuries of waiting, Azriel finally meets the one he's been longing for. His mate. (this is kinda inspired by Alice & Jasper from twilight.) | bonus part

↠ A Field Of Dandelions ☁︎ `♡´ | Your High Lady calls upon you. requesting a remedy that only you know how to make. It requires specific ingredients found between the courts of spring and autumn and you're in need of an escort. Unfortunately for you, she assigns her Shadowsinger to accompany you. The Shadowsinger who hates you...or so you thought.

↠ Be Safe ☁︎ | you are on your way to Day Court when Azriel stops you. After the two of you fall victim to Cassian's and Mor's teasing, Azriel realizes why he can't just let you go.

↠ Be Patient ☁︎ | After the mating bond snaps, Azriel follows you to the Day Court, spending seven agonizing days yearning to tell you about the bond.

↠ When I Kissed the Teacher ☁︎ | After crushing on Azriel for almost a year, Nesta dares you to kiss him during Valkyrie training.

↠ In My Eyes | Rhysand's Sister reader`♡´ | Azriel has lost you once and when unseen circumstances bring you back to life, he will not lose you again. Even if it means going against his family.

↠ 'Cause It Was Always You ☁︎ | After eavesdropping on multiple conversations, Azriel finally gathers the courage to confess his feelings to you, thinking he's on the verge of losing you.

↠ Goodnight ☁︎ | Azriel has a night time confession.

↠ Tonight, the Light of Love is in Your Eyes `♡´ | You find yourself in the middle of a political affair, where you seek refuge in a dance with Azriel. And in the spur of the moment, Azriel tells you he loves you for the first time.

↠ A Light That Never Goes Out `♡´ | The aftermath of Azriel kissing you in front of everyone in the Court of Nightmares. (Part two to the fic above.)

↠ Next to You `♡´ | The world is ending and Azriel does all he can to be next to you.

↠ Beautiful Stranger ☁︎ | Azriel gets injured while spying in Spring and meets someone he never thought he would. His mate.

↠ Hopelessly Devoted | You're hopelessly devoted to Azriel, suspecting he’s your true love. Meanwhile, Eris is hopelessly longing after you. aka Eris being your mate but you're too infatuated with Az to notice.

series

↠ Hopelessly Devoted to You | masterlist of interconnected one shots based off of the one-shot listed above.

↠ Fate, Up Against Your Will | Rhys’s sister OC

↠ Azriel x Green Witch | A series of imagines that is based from A Field of Dandelions.

↠ A Court of Shadows & Moonlight | Rhy’s sister oc |  Daughter of the Night Court’s High Lord. Half Illyrian. Half High Fae. Rhysand’s little sister. A Dreamer. Only few know her as Valeria and only one knows her truth. She is the moon, a lonely girl cratered by imperfections, and he is her night, the one who helps her shine bright.

↠ Give 'Em Hell | beron's daughter oc | Beron Vanserra is a man with many sinful secrets but there is one that desires to punish him. His daughter. His true firstborn and heir to the Autumn Court. *currently on hold*

[megalony]

Horrors To Overcome

Okay, this is my first time writing for A Quiet Place Day One with Eric (Joseph Quinn). I hope you all will like this, I am in love with the Quiet Place series and I have another idea lined up for Eric if anyone would be interested.

Please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt

Main Masterlist

Summary: When the world turns to chaos and silence overrides everything, (Y/n) bumps into a familiar face and they both try to stick together to survive.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stay quiet. Don't make a sound.

(Y/n) never really realised how hard it would be until now to stay quiet. She had no idea how many things could make a noise or how loud she could be when she thought she was being quiet.

Sometimes the sound of her breathing sounded horrendous. The sound of gravel crunching beneath her shoes was so quiet it was almost non-existent. Almost. But everything had a little sound to it, like a signature written across everything and it was frightening.

What kind of a world was this going to be for those of them that were left if they couldn't make any noise?

If they couldn't listen to the sound of each other's laughter, if they couldn't hear a loved one's voice or hear them murmur how much they loved one another. If they couldn't hear funny voices or hear the most beautiful singing or the sound of a piano or a soft guitar strumming in the background.

A world without noise was going to be so bleak. But it was a price people were willing to pay for survival. For what other choice did they have? Would it really be worth it for everyone to make a sound and have their lives taken away? Have the world change so much that no other life could survive out here?

A world without noise was a frightening prospect, but it was the only one that they had left.

Both (Y/n)'s arms coiled around her chest as she tried to walk down the street. She thought about taking her shoes off, but she wasn't wearing heels and they weren't clicking against the pavement. At least not yet. And if she had to start running, it was preferable to run in shoes rather than barefoot.

She wanted to tilt her head down and stare at her feet, but she had to keep looking. She had to keep moving and she had to make sure she didn't bump into anything or kick something or trip over.

The streets looked so different. So bare and broken and bewildered. Cars were turned upside down. Small fires were dotted around the road. Craters as big as sink holes filled the ground and buildings were partially collapsed. There were even blood splatters up the side of high rise buildings.

(Y/n) hadn't seen anyone in a while. Not since everyone tried to make their way to the river.

She wanted to go home. (Y/n) wanted to go home and see if there was anything left. She wanted to feel safe and secure and be somewhere familiar. Then she could decide whether she wanted to risk making the journey to the water and travelling to somewhere unknown, somewhere unfamiliar. Somewhere with complete strangers. She had to decide whether to try and find refuge somewhere nearby or whether to risk leaving forever and finding salvation with complete strangers.

It was unusual to have to count each and every step she took and watch where she placed her feet.

On a normal day, on a day before the world turned to chaos like this, (Y/n) wouldn't look where she walked. Sure, she would glance ahead, make sure she didn't barge into anyone or step in any muck or dirt on the street. But she would never purposely count each step, never tread carefully to ensure no amount of noise echoed from her steps.

She had never been so cautious before.

It didn't feel right.

Her arms stayed deadlocked around her middle, her own way of comforting herself and giving herself so she didn't start crying. So she didn't let out one whimper and alert the creatures that she was here. She was in distress, but she was here.

Each step (Y/n) took dodged broken glass, crumbled buildings, bricks and grit. The broken buildings made it hard to find her bearings and work out where she was. She would just have to keep walking and walking until she found something familiar. Until she got home. Then tomorrow would be a new day with new decisions and choices and horrors to overcome.

A burst of water to her right made her take body freeze on the spot. The gust of water was followed by a spluttering and a cough and such deep, ragged breaths that (Y/n) felt sure that this was it.

That person had alerted the creatures that they were here. One would be climbing the walls at any moment. They would come down, screeching and stabbing their pinchers into the ground. They would wreak havoc and attack anything they heard, anything in their path.

Tears welled up in (Y/n)'s eyes and she felt the desperate need to close her eyes and wait for the inevitable, but she couldn't. Something drew her eyes to her right, something made her look.

Perhaps it was curiosity. Perhaps it was desperation. Or maybe it was the simple fact that nothing had come to kill her yet which made her look.

As soon as she looked, it felt like a fire roared to life within (Y/n)'s chest and her heart lurched up into her throat.

She moved before she could think better of it. Her feet danced across the pavement in a tap dance to avoid bricks and crumbled pieces of road and tarmac to get towards the entrance to the subway.

(Y/n) had never seen the subway look so strange as it did with water flowing from every orifice right up to the top step. She wondered where all the water was coming from. Surely there weren't enough water pipes in the subway and beneath the roads to flood it like that. Well, there had to be, but it just didn't seem real.

She stopped right before the top step, afraid to step into the water and make a splash, make a sound, a trickle of water that would alert the creatures of their existence.

Her hands waved out in front of her as a look of desperation flooded her face and her knees bent so she was level with him.

Eric.

He looked shell-shocked. his chocolate brown suit was drenched and glued to his frame like it had become a second skin. He was pushing back against the fence, stood on the second step down so his lower legs were still submerged in water.

The look in his eyes was unreadable and it made (Y/n) wonder what horrors he had seen down there in the subway. What had he witnessed? How many deaths had he seen? What had he done to claw his way back up to air, to some moderate sense of safety?

When another spluttering breath left Eric's lips, (Y/n) moved her hands again to gain his attention. He hadn't seen her yet.

The moment Eric twisted his head to the right, he jerked and cowered down against the wall as if he thought (Y/n) was one of those creatures here to end his life. The look of horror in his eyes was frightening and heartbreaking and his parted lips continued to pant as his chest rose and fell to the point it looked like his chest was going to pop.

Eric's brows furrowed slightly when he looked at her. Oh. He knew her. They worked together; at least, (Y/n) worked at the law firm where Eric was studying. Or where he had been studying. He guessed neither of them would be working there anymore.

The way she pressed her finger to her lips had his eyes narrowing again and he heaved for breath. He watched with intent concentration as (Y/n) pointed at him before she smothered her finger against her lips so much it must have hurt. And he watched what she tried to mouth across to him.

'Be quiet.'

He found himself nodding and he pressed his palm against his mouth to try and ensure that his breaths didn't make a noise and he didn't start to wheeze. He couldn't make a sound. He gathered that.

Every person who he had seen in the subway who screamed, who lashed out or slipped or slammed their feet too harshly had attracted attention. Eric found out very quickly that if he didn't move, if he stayed silent and pretended to be a statue, the creatures would move right past him.

It didn't work out so well when the subway became flooded. Eric had screamed into the water, he has gasped and choked and flung himself about. He collided into people, he pushed bodies and bag and prams and all contents of things out of his way when the water became too high and he couldn't breathe.

He scrambled, kicked, fought and pushed until he got towards the stairs and managed to swim up here. He thought he was going to drown down there. Eric didn't know what was worse. Drowning in the subway or coming up for air and being attacked up here. Neither option felt welcoming.

Once (Y/n) looked around and ensured there were no creatures within sight, she held her hand out towards Eric.

Maybe, if it had been a total stranger that came out of the water like a beacon of hope, she would have ran. She might have hurried, left them to fend for themselves because that was survival. (Y/n) couldn't help everybody and at times like these, helping people could get her killed.

But that wasn't just anybody. That was Eric. That was one of the young ones at the law firm who was just learning the tricks of the trade. The one who made a point to learn everybody's name. The guy who brought (Y/n) coffee whenever she was at work on a morning shift. He was down to Earth, he was sweet and sensitive and kind.

(Y/n) couldn't just leave him. She wouldn't run away without knowing if Eric had any sense of what was happening. If he didn't know and made a noise, he would get himself killed. (Y/n) didn't want to witness that, she didn't want that to happen to him.

Surprise flooded Eric's system when he saw (Y/n)'s hand outstretched towards him.

He couldn't stop himself from shaking when he reached out and took her hand. Hers was warm compared to how his blood was freezing in his veins. He tried to be careful, taking one step at a time towards her until he was out of the water and out of danger of making a large splash and drawing attention to either of them.

He stood still, again taken by surprise when (Y/n)'s free hand held onto his shoulder and she seemed to take a moment to check him up and down. She was making sure he wasn't hurt.

When she mouthed 'okay?' to him, Eric nodded and took the time to look over her as well. She didn't look injured, she wasn't bleeding or limping or cradling any part of her that seemed to be hurt.

Eric had a great urge to shake the dripping water off his frame, but he knew that would cause too much sound. Any sort of sound would be too much. Instead, he tightened his hand around (Y/n)'s and pointed down the street. They needed to move. He didn't care where they went, as long as they got away from here.

He took slow steps alongside her, but he couldn't focus on looking ahead when all he could do was look down at the shell shocked girl beside him. There was a faraway look in (Y/n)'s eyes and with each step she took, she seemed to move closer and closer to his side until their arms were brushing alongside each other and her free hand moved to curl around his upper arm.

His body was soaked but the cold water was refreshing when (Y/n) felt like she was overheating from all the excersion from the day's events. Staying close beside Eric made (Y/n) feel some sense of security.

It reassured her that she wasn't alone. She may have started this terrible day alone and she may have started this defense by herself, but not anymore. At least, not for a while. Being with someone felt safer than being alone. She felt like she could keep walking without her thoughts becoming too much for her to handle.

Another set of eyes, another set of ears and another mind to help hide and figure out where to go and what to do, it was helpful. It was comforting.

Both of them seemed to shudder and press together when the rain started to fall.

At first, it was little droplets. Small splatters on the floor and it made them pause their treck along the road. Rain made a sound. It made a noise when it tapped against the roof of cars and when it splashed into puddles and when it started to hammer down and fall from the trees and tap on the windows, it could become a symphony.

The creatures must know. They must have known that the rain was making that noise, that it was nothing they could harm, nothing they could kill. Because none of them came; no creatures climbed the buildings or scoured the streets and aimed towards them.

One of the announcements said they don't like water, maybe that included the rain too.

When the rain started to become heavier and the droplets felt like pins scratching against their skin and sticking to their clothes, Eric pointed to the pavement. There was a building that was clearly under construction with scaffolding and wooden boards set up. That would provide them some shelter.

When they got under the scaffolding, they both paused. Their fingers were still woven together as they hunched over near the wall.

(Y/n) took a moment to listen to the rain. It was loud. It dripped from the scaffolding and splashed into puddles on the floor and it made background noise. It made a cover for them.

"Are you okay?" (Y/n)'s voice came out barely more than a whisper and as she spoke, she could feel a lump forming in her throat. Her eyes welled over and she looked around, making sure that the rain covered the quiet sound of her words.

She could see the panic written across Eric's face. She could see the contemplation in his eyes until he realised that the rain was their protection. It would provide a blanket for their words, as long as they kept their decibels low.

"I think so. Where are you going?" Eric took the time to look around and guess where they were.

They were in mid-town. Somewhere he didn't usually go. This was somewhere he went right beneath when he travelled to and from work each day on the subway. He didn't even make it to work this morning. He had barely been on the train for five minutes before it stopped.

An emergency announcement sounded, everyone was evacuated just as the chaos started. Eric didn't get off the platform before the creatures swarmed the subway and he ended up swimming out of there.

He didn't know what to do.

Would his home still be there waiting for him? What good would it do him to go home alone? He couldn't very well go to work, anyone there would be in hiding or trying to get out and get somewhere safe. He had no idea where to go. Did he hide in a shop? At least a shop would have food and drink and shelter.

"Home, for now at least." (Y/n) cast her eyes down to her feet before she looked back up into Eric's melting chocolate eyes. "I don't- I don't have any family here, home seems the best choice right now."

(Y/n) didn't want to think about her family. What was left of her family was broken, but they were all in different states. No one was here, no one was close by and the few friends she did have would either be dead or in hiding or making their way to the water. She was alone.

A sad sort of smile formed on Eric's lips as his shoulders sagged down and his hair began to curl as the water finally faded from his hair and trickled into his clothing.

"My family are in England. I was only here to study." Eric raised his hands at his sides like he wanted to laugh or make a joke but it only made him tear up and had a lump forming in his throat.

He was in New York to study. He was here to become a lawyer, his parents had pushed for this and he wanted to make them proud. How could he do that now? How proud were they going to be of a son who was crying and walking the streets aimlessly with no idea how to help himself?

Were they even alive? Was this chaos happening back home? Was this happening all around the world or was there one country, one town or one little village that didn't have these creatures?

(Y/n) didn't have a response to that. Just looking at the sadness and uncertainty in Eric's eyes was making her want to burst into sobs right here and now. They were both alone. They were both isolated from any family or friends and they both had no destination in mind or way they could get through this.

"Can… can I come with you?" There was an air of desperation in Eric's words that made (Y/n) want to scream because this shouldn't be happening. They shouldn't be this frightened, this traumatised and upset and afraid and isolated. None of this should be happening, but it was, and they could do very little about it.

Eric didn't want to ask, part of him really didn't because it felt strange. He felt bad for asking if he could tag along with her when the world was ending. Maybe she wanted to be alone. Maybe she thought he would be a hindrance. Maybe she thought he was weak and being silly for asking.

But when she reached out and took his hand again and stepped closer to him, Eric felt his heart doing summer saults in his chest. "Of course."

He got the sense that just maybe, (Y/n) didn't want to be alone either. Maybe if they had been strangers this would have been a little more unorthadox, maybe it would have been uneasy or uncomfortable. But they were friends, they were colleagues and they spoke almost every day at work. Eric felt he knew her enough to be comfortable enough to panic and cry and be himself around her. He hoped she felt the same.

With their hands entwined, they moved back onto the road and began to trudge through the rain.

They walked in tandem, their steps and their paces matching while their hands stayed deadlocked together and their arms were glued up side by side. (Y/n) took to leaning her cheek against Eric's arm, focusing on the sound of the rain and listening out for anything else that sounded unfamiliar.

The silence was comfortable between them. They seemed to cling to each other the further they walked. They rounded a corner onto a new street that finally looked familiar and (Y/n) began pointing to the street signs to show Eric which way to go.

(Y/n) could of cried when they were finally on her street again, although it didn't much look like her street. She barely recognised the road that had been covered in craters and pot holes. The corner shop looked like it had combusted. Everything looked like the blitz, but at least the two apartment buildings on each street corner were in place.

(Y/n) took a step forward but before she stepped onto the road, she paused short when she felt Eric's hand slip from hers.

Her head turned to look beside her but Eric was no longer right beside her, he was behind her.

Both his hands clamped down on her waist and he pulled her back towards him until his chest was glued down into her back. His face hovered dangerously close to her ear and (Y/n) couldn't be sure whether he wanted to whisper something to her or if he simply wanted to breathe close to her skin to calm himself down.

His fingers were puncturing into her hips and he was trembling behind her. Had he suddenly become afraid? Did he want to go somewhere else? Had something spooked him?

As if he could hear her thoughts, Eric managed to unclamp one hand from her hip so he could point across to the building across the road on their left.

A creature.

A cold shiver ran down (Y/n)'s spine and she found herself shrinking down and pushing back into Eric. Her hand reached behind her to grip his arm and her jaw dropped but no sound escaped her mouth. She wanted to cry. Tears were welling up in her eyes and her throat was turning dry and she felt the great need to cough and splutter through a howl.

Her eyes snapped closed when Eric's hand moved from pointing out the creature and his palm clamped across her mouth. The touch wasn't forceful or smothering, but it was enough to coax (Y/n) to stay quiet.

She tried to stay deathly still, clutching at Eric's arm while she felt his head turn just a little more until his lips were touching the side of her temple. The touch was delicate, like the first flakes of snow on the grass but (Y/n) could feel how badly his lips were trembling and how he was fighting back his own sobs.

He breathed shallow and quick against her temple, almost like he was kissing her skin and his fingers were puncturing into her hip leaving bruises in his wake.

Eric kept his eyes on the creature despite how badly he wanted to close them and disappear. He wanted to curl up and wish this whole scene away. But holding onto (Y/n) was doing something to keep him grounded. It was stopping him from screaming and getting them both killed here and now.

He watched the creature, the odd block of arms and legs and a strange shaped head that could splinter apart and crack open like a walnut shell. He watched it dig its pointed claws into the building across the street. He watched as it made a horrid echoeing noise that had (Y/n) quaking in his arms and made Eric double over her like a security blanket.

The creature was moving away. It was heading in the other direction. It continued down the street until it was far away from them and just out of sight.

Once it was gone, the pair of them stayed deathly still, making sure nothing else was lurking around the corner about to become a predator.

(Y/n) dared to open her eyes when she felt Eric press his lips harder against her temple and kiss her head. She could feel the relief pouring through him into her. She felt him stop shaking and finally breathe softly against her skin.

Her hand unlatched from his arm and she shakily pointed to her building. The rain continued to beat down against them and lightning struck the skies as their beacon, their safe haven, was finally within sight.

Eric's hand stayed on her hip as they crossed the road at such a slow pace it didn't feel like they were moving at all. But going any faster in this weather felt like tempting fate far too much.

The door was open. It felt like a sign, like something welcoming them inside, like the building was promising to protect them and keep them safe.

Once inside, Eric didn't bother to shut the door, it could stay wide open like that because it meant they could come and go without fear and if anyone else needed shelter, they could hurry inside.

(Y/n) turned her head and looked up at Eric, letting tears fall freely from her eyes while she pointed down to the stairs.

"Stay this side." Her voice was barely audible, the quietest whisper she could manage, but she had to tell him.

She walked these stairs each and every day, she knew which floorboards creaked and which steps would be loud and which would be quiet. Walking on the left side of the stairs and staying close to the bannister was the safest bet as the boards didn't creak as much over here.

As not to tempt fate, (Y/n) walked on her tiptoes and she was sure Eric looked down and copied her movements. He stayed on his toes, barely setting his feet down on the floor until it felt like he was gliding on air.

It took them five minutes to climb two flights of stairs but when (Y/n) approached her door, her expression turned grave and her stomach churned.

Her bag. Her keys. Her phone. Every possession she left the apartment with was somewhere in the streets, lost in the chaos. She didn't have a spare key outside, it was too dangerous when anyone could walk in the building and try and get into her apartment.

A clap of thunder outside made her jump and she stepped to one side while she looked up at Eric.

"No keys."

Eric nodded before it seemed to sink in what she had said and his lips rolled together tightly while he looked around. He had nothing but his foot to use to get them inside the apartment.

He stepped back and nudged (Y/n) to one side and raised one leg in the air. He knew he had to kick just below the lock to make sure it broke properly.

He watched (Y/n) wave her hand out in front of him before she pointed to the window and waited. As soon as a flash of lightning struck the sky, she pointed and Eric snapped his eyes closed.

He kicked the door just as thunder tore through the air and shuddered the foundations of the building.

The door was open.

When they headed inside, (Y/n) felt brave enough to carefully twist the door handle and close it. She prayed no creatures would be inside the building. She prayed they wouldn't be nearby and being here in her home with padded walls and other apartments enclosing them in would keep them safe. She prayed they could make a small amount of noise, a few hushed words and a few movements around the flat. Hopefully they would be safe, for a while at least.

Tears were drenching her face the moment she turned around to face Eric and she took her chance before her courage dissipated.

Her arms bound around his waist and she smothered her face in his chest, glueing herself up against him to try and seek whatever comfort she could and to hold him together. Because she could see Eric looked like a puzzle that was about to fall apart.

She felt his shoulders quake and the tiniest, smallest whimper left his lips before he smothered his face in her hair and tried to breathe in her scent. He kissed the top of her head with one arm bound around her waist and the other hand cupping the back of her neck.

They held one another close as if letting go or moving back would physically tear them apart limb from limb and kill them. Neither of them wanted to let go.

"It's okay." Eric's voice was a whisper on the wind, just a little bit louder than he had been when they had been out in the rain, but it was enough. It was enough to soothe one of the many broken nerves within (Y/n) and when she felt him start to sway them from side to side, she gripped him tighter.

For now at least, it was okay. They were okay.

***

Sleep had always been something Eric thought of as peaceful. It was an escape. A way to leave the real world behind when things got too heavy; a way to drift off and get lost in an alternate world. A way to recover and rest and feel a sense of bliss that you just couldn't find in the real world.

Eric didn't see sleep in the same way anymore. He couldn't. How could sleep be something peaceful when it came with consequences and threats?

If he went to sleep, he risked everything. He risked going to sleep alone and waking up alone. He risked something happening during the night and not knowing it. Going to sleep meant letting his guard down.

What if a creature passed the building in the dead of night and Eric made a sound by mistake? And what if that mistake led to the creatures harming (Y/n)?

Eric had never had to think about making noise in his sleep. When he slept alongside someone, the only thing he worried about was if he snored while he slept- something he was adamant he had never done. He didn't consider that the covers would rustle or that he could make noise by turning over and have the bed creak or the cushions move.

He never considered before that he could make a whimper or a groan in his sleep or that such a quiet noise could be the undoing of him. Of everything around him.

He was in a frightful battle of needing to sleep so he could function but being too afraid to sleep and risk it all.

This led to a few sacred hours of sleep where he seemed to wake at least twice every hour in a panic, trying to make sure he wouldn't make a noise or do anything to alert the creatures of their existence here.

His arm reached up to cross behind his head on the arm of the sofa and his tired, dreary eyes focused on the ceiling that had been his canvas for the last half an hour or so. He imagined different scenarios, different images forming in his mind and scenes acting out while he stared up into the abyss which was actually the ceiling.

There was so little to do when he had no energy to get up but too much paranoia to settle to sleep.

"Eric?" The whispering of his name caught Eric off guard and his head lifted from the cushion so he could peer over the back of the sofa. (Y/n)'s quiet murmur of "Can't sleep either?" made his lips quirk into a gentle smile as he nodded.

At least he wasn't the only one up in the dead of night, plagued by terror.

It strained his neck to lean up like he was, but he couldn't find the will to tear his eyes away from (Y/n). He watched her, enchanted, as she padded across the carpet until she was level with the arm of the sofa that his feet were dangling over.

The first night they spent in (Y/n)'s apartment, they had both slept in the living room. Too afraid to part from each other's company, too exhausted to try and get changed or get a drink or do anything other than sit together on the sofa and drift into exhaustion.

Last night (Y/n) had tried to sleep in her room, after trying and failing to persuade Eric that he could sleep in the bed too, that she trusted him. But he hadn't been able to sleep and he saw no point lying next to her and disturbing what little sleep (Y/n) managed to get.

But she didn't want to be alone anymore. Staring at the shadows until they resembled the creatures had become too much and (Y/n) instinctively felt that Eric was awake too. She wanted some company, she wanted to forget the chaos they had found themselves in and just try to relax, for a little while. That felt doable if she was with company. If she was with Eric.

Eric moved his arm from behind his head to scratch at his eyes and clear his vision a little more. He noticed the way (Y/n) was fidgeting from foot to foot with one arm bound around her waist and the other scratching the back of her neck in a nervous habit that he recognised as something he did too.

"Can I join you?"

She didn't have to ask. This was her home and if she didn't want to be alone, Eric was never going to refuse her company.

Before Eric had the chance to try and sit up, (Y/n) moved. She took him by surprise when she softly perched down beside his hip on the edge of the sofa and when she stretched out and laid down on the very edge beside him, Eric didn't know what to do.

He suddenly forgot how to breathe, how to focus, how to process his thoughts and keep himself in order. All he could manage to do was shift his wide eyes to stare down at her. His eyes looked so dilated and blown wide that there was barely one small ring of chocolate brown surrounding those black orbs and they watched as (Y/n) shifted around next to him.

She moved carefully, doing her best not to make a sound or cause the sofa to squeak or groan beneath them. Moving slow seemed to be a new reality for them and it was starting to become a reinforced habit.

(Y/n) wasn't quite sure whether to stay lying on her back beside Eric or whether to turn and face him. She settled on turning on her right side with one arm beneath her head and her left hand softly settling on Eric's shoulder.

Those dark eyes could get him anything he wanted, (Y/n) thought, as she stared up at him in the darkness and the new sense of normality which had become silence.

Her fingers danced across his shoulder and gave a light squeeze while she shifted between looking from his eyes down to his sharp jawline that was littered in stubble. Being here with Eric felt better than being in another room, uncertain and alone and almost always terrified.

(Y/n) couldn't stop herself from gliding her hand from Eric's shoulder up his neck towards his face. she kept her movements slow, giving him time to turn his head away if he didn't want the touch, but if anything, Eric seemed to lean closer like he had been yearning for her touch all his life.

Her thumb traced the corner of his jaw and worked along the edge of his cheekbone beneath his tired yet dilated eyes.

"You need some sleep." She murmured softly and with her thumb continuing to trace beneath his eyes, Eric couldn't help but close them.

He tilted his head down, pushing into her touch as a quiet, inaudible sigh escaped his blushing red lips. Again, Eric didn't quite know what to do when (Y/n) inched closer and pressed her face against the top of his chest. She didn't seem to care about the undone buttons on his shirt pressing into her cheek or the racing of his heart or the fact that he hadn't showered in almost three days.

The feeling of his pulse softly lulling beneath his skin was soothing and being this close made (Y/n) feel at ease. It seemed to do the same for Eric because he nudged his arm across until his hand laid on her hip and he angled his head down until his nose brushed against her hair.

The slight smell of smoke and damp didn't manage to mask the smell of (Y/n)'s shampoo, that faint hint of raspberry with a silky edge to her hair that made him feel like he was burrowing down into a pillow.

Eric didn't want to go to sleep. He didn't want to become vulnerable, especially now that (Y/n) was laid here in front of him and he felt the need to keep her safe. But somehow, with her chest merged up against his own and the feeling of her lips and nose pressing against his exposed chest, it was calming. Comforting. And Eric found his mind was already shutting down without his permission for some much needed sleep.

Being cooped up together on the sofa, such a small cramped space, when they weren't supposed to make any noise might not have been such a good idea at times.

Neither of them could turn much in any direction and (Y/n) found that when she tried to turn or twist around, she felt Eric's hand clamp down on her hip, even in his sleep. He was a light sleeper, worsened by the events of the last few days. Any movement or slight noise woke him and when (Y/n) tried to turn, she felt Eric hold her hip and help her turn without making any noise. It was sweet, even in a delerious sleeping state Eric was still worrying and trying to protect them both.

(Y/n) could feel the light seeping through from the open curtains, basking across her face making her feel a warm glow all over.

One hand moved to brush across her face, again slow and tender as not to make a sound and it was suddenly hard not to yawn or stretch or groan as she woke up. Things she had done before without thinking but now they had become things she had to scold herself not to do.

It took (Y/n) a moment longer than it should have for her to work out why she felt rather constrained and uneasy.

Eric.

She had been surprised how quickly he had fallen asleep last night and how easily she herself found it to switch off and calm down for the first time in days. The pair of them had moved around quite a lot despite the small space the sofa provided.

It seemed now that Eric was making the most of their limited space. His head was softly nestled into the crook of (Y/n)'s neck and each breath he took fanned against her throat and she could feel his nose nudging against her skin. He had his right arm slung around her waist like he was ensuring that neither of them moved or made a single sound in their sleep. And his leg was cast over her thigh with his knee safely nestled between her thighs.

Raising her hand, (Y/n) slowly began to card her fingers through Eric's crimped curls that were askew and as wild as if he had been in the jungle. Her cheek nestled against his hair and her fingers rhythmically tugged and scratched at his hair and scalp. The action earned a vibration from Eric's chest that shivered through into her body but he did well to muffle the sound against her throat where he placed a delicate kiss without thinking.

"Morning."

He pressed another kiss against the hollow expanse of her throat as if returning the response in a gesture and he felt the shiver that it ensued running through (Y/n)'s system.

Eric's arm tightened around her waist and he nestled down deeper against her chest, praying he wasn't laid too heavily on her because right now, there was no where else he would rather be. He was as comfy as he'd ever been and he was calm. He was finally calm and settled and not laid in terror for every waking moment.

Somehow, it was a silent agreement between them that they wouldn't be leaving one another anytime soon. Neither of them wanted to face this world alone. The universe had clearly thrown them together for a reason, and they weren't about to oppose fate.

Maybe the world was ending outside these walls. Maybe their futures wouldn't be long or filled with happiness and pleasure. But for now, within these walls, they were in their own sense of serenity together. Just the two of them.

[lizardsfromspace]

Predictions for 2025!

Everyone will be disappointed by Wicked Part 2. Not by a lot but the hype will not be matched

Panic over UAP and drones will subside

The economy will get worse

TikTok will be banned, and the site will be sold and relaunched by Meta

The Ryan Reynolds backlash will begin

On July 18th, a genetics research facility in Arizona will go into lockdown, but it'll be too late. An experiment they conducted with mysterious DNA found in a crater in the Nevada desert, combined with the DNA of humans and various predatory mammals, will mutate and escape. It will gradually assimilate into a humanoid form as it arrives in Las Vegas, and flies to Los Angeles, where it will consume dozens as it embraces its final form - something never been seen in all of the universe, but something we'll never see, because it'll be destroyed before it can finish mutating into a creature with layered wings and shaggy fur and elegant talons and a wailing song. Everyone involved knows they killed something rare and beautiful, no matter how much they needed to do it. While they take stock of the damage and the hundreds who were assimilated, one pregnant scientist will feel a kick in her stomach and she'll realize that the child she is carrying is no longer human

Pop music will be greater than ever! Watch out for Chappell Roan, the "Queen of Pop"

[astralnymphh]

copy that, romeo

— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡

⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆

CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER > ♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader

♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.

♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.

♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything] . SERIES PLAYLIST .

WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet

Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.

  May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.

  Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.

  But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.

  Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.

  Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.

  Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette. 

  And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.

  Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.

It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.

  January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.

  February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.

  March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet. 

  April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.

May.

  You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

  The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.

Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.

  Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.

  Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.

  But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’

  A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.

“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”

  Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.

  Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde. 

  Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.

  “Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”

  The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.

Too grim?

  A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper.  You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.

  You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.

  One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.

  Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.

You took the job.

May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.

  What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?

Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!

Clothing, check.

  Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.

Accessories and essentials, check.

  Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.

True American, illegal weaponry, check.

  All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.

  “Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..” 

  Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.

Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?

Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.

  Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..” 

  Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right? 

  One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.

  You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”

The tree bears no reply.

  “Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.

  Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood. 

  Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence. 

“Say cheese!”

  America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.

Joy is a luxury now.

  A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”

  Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.

 The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you. 

  Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.

“Holy shit.”

  Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.

  An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.

  A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.

  Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’. 

Un–fucking–believable. 

  Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.

  Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.

  After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed. 

  “C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.

  Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.

  Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.

  Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels. 

  Not so good for the respiratory system though.

  Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—” 

  Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.

  “Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.

  Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.

  Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—

“Sup Maple lake, you there?” 

  A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.

  But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.

  Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—

  “This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.” 

  Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.

  You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.

  The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.

    Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”

  “Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”

Her?

  Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—

  “Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?

  “Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama. 

  And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.

  “You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.

  “Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.

  “Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.

Ouch.

  “For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”

  “Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.

  “Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.

  “Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.

“What?”

  Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy,  “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?

  “That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”  

  Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”

Please.

  And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting. 

  “Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”

  You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.

  “If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.

“Are you drunk?” has to be.

  Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.

  Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?” 

  “Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.

You a hundred percent forgot though.

  Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.” 

  “Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.

  A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles. 

  “Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”

“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.

  “I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.” 

  Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”

  “Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.

  Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.

  Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”

“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.

“..”

  A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.” 

 You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”

An omissive summary, you meant. 

  There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.

  A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.

  “Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.

  “No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”

  Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.

  Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.

  “Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.

  That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together. 

“No problem, sleepyhead.”

So many nicknames.

  Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco. 

Stygian tones.

  “Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.

  “Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.

“Yeah, man.”

  “Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”

How would you know?

  In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more. 

  Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting. 

  “Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.

  Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.

  A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.” 

  They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.

  There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.” 

  “My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.

  “Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”

  “Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.

  Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.

  “Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.

  You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”

  “Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.

“Don’t gotta tell me once.”

  By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.

Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.

“Whatever you say, newbie.”

And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.

if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡

perm taglist: @whore4abby @aouiaa @ellieslittlewhore @baumbii @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @fleshunger @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @fairyysoiree @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @disaster-bi-suki @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @ellieswh0r3 @beemillss @elsmissingfingers @bugaboodarling @slynxs @maleelee @savannahsdeath @littlegingerperson5 @seraphicsentences series taglist: @tearouthearts @planetloverr @elliesexual @isitadinosaur @eveshyper @3lli3l0v3r @yourmothersfavgirl @emst4rr @theloserqueen @crxmxnzl-c0rpzes @whenlostinthedarkness @diddiqueen @deliriousrn

[quirekey]

omg hi. I love your work and it’s my first time requesting so I hope this makes sense

Tfone sentinel prime with a female cybertronian reader that’s I guess royalty?? A queen. She’s from another planet with other cybertronian (descendants ig idk🥹) and she comes to Iacon because her planet was taken over by Unicron. Thanks!<33

Okay, woah bro, that’s interesting. I LOVE IT!! I’ll try my best but I may change some things for it to make sense, mb! Also ty for loving my work bro :3

TW: Toxic and Forced relationship

• SENTINEL PRIME x FEMME!READER •

[ sentinel prime x cybertronian!femme!queen!reader ]

This will be a fanfic instead of headcanons, I should try something new :)

PART 2

•————•

To keep it short, you were a femme ruler of a certain part of Cybertron. Your land was close to the popularised society of Iacon but you were stronger. You were a strict, stoic and wise femme, somebody any bot could trust with their life. Your citizens adored you and you adored them. It wasn’t the most advanced city in all of Cybertron but it was definitely popular.

The Quintessons arrived at your city and they immediately set off a war. Unfortunately, the fight was long and difficult. You never focused on military forces so you were at a massive disadvantage. You decided to do something you thought was impossible and sacrificed everybody for your life. You transformed into your alt-mode and drove out for your life. You even felt your spark pound against your vehicle mode which you thought was impossible.

You drove for what felt like cycles and you were so close to Iacon city. You have seen the hatch to Iacon open and shut for supplied trains to enter and exit. You hopped onto a passing supply train and you flew into Iacon city, your strict expectations broke.

The city was absolutely stunning with upside-down terrains, glowing buildings that towered over the citizens and the massive society Sentinel built. Everything was so beautiful, so well thought out and absolutely admirable to the bot’s optics.

You suddenly saw a train stop below you and you released your grip, falling and landing on the platform. You made quite a small crater (luckily) but still made a scene. You gracefully towered over the other citizens of Iacon and many optics were on you. You didn’t mind the attention but the attention made your guilt of your sacrifice linger on you for longer. Whispers smoked around you so you decided to take your leave. Soon enough, this information reached the Prime himself.

You were just exploring all around Iacon, trying to avoid attention. Your size did not help with your camouflage and goal. You recharged outside and stayed in public buildings for shelter. You stayed in Iacon for a third of a cycle and you were able to avoid trouble… Somehow… Most of the citizens assumed you were in high-rankings of the supremes and did not question you, considering your stoic expression and intimidating size. You knew that some of the Cybertronians knew you, and you knew that you would probably be in some trouble soon.

…

High guards from nowhere grabbed your arms aggressively and you struggled for your life. You were cuffed and thrown to the ground, knocking and scraping your chassis hard. Your processor rang for help and you were squirming for life. Your vision was glitchy and your vocals were literally strained to the point where grunts and groans were amazing to you. Suddenly, you were punched unconscious.

…

You kneeled up, groaning. You felt so ill but also so clean. You tried to stand but your limbs were all cuffed. You look around the golden interior. The ground was unstained and unscathed, you literally could see every single sparkling detail of yourself. The big windows glowed amazingly onto every flat surface of the building. You saw a throne as you looked up further, your optics fell onto Sentinel Prime.

He was stunning, gorgeous, handsome, fabulous, literally anything positive adjective you could think of. He had a look of a God and a King, somebody who definitely would rule all of Iacon. Your spark pounded against you as your faceplate was stained with a light blue hue. Sentinel just had that charming aroma that nobody could ever deny.

“Well, isn’t it the Queen of ——! I never thought some bot like you would let the city down, nor your citizens, but it’s the highest that needs protection, correct?”

Sentinel walked down to you and tilted your helm up with his double bladed sword. He gave a deceiving smirk only you could see through. You knew that he owes The Quintessons but never cared till now. You guys knew each other a while back until you decided to make a city of your own. You’ve seen him exchange his energon, it was devastating to see a past friend in that kind of situation.

“Sentinel, it’s me, Y/N! Don’t you remember me? When we could’ve ruled Iacon together, but we then split ways!?”

“How could I ever forget any precious bot like you, Y/N? You left me for your own world. You are selfish and you always will be. You even let so many Cybertronians fall into the hands of the Quintessons, you never changed.”

“Sentinel, I know what goes on with you and the Quintessons. You can not deceive your past friend. Please spare mercy upon me and let me stay at Iacon. I will give an offer as a high guard.”

“Oh Y/N… You think I will seriously make you some high guard? You are clearly too selfish to protect any prime like me!”

“You are not a prime! I can take this whole city with me by using the information I know, Sentinel.”

“Y/N, you think anybody would believe you? You will just sacrifice them again and you also need proof. Here, let me help you since you are a ‘past friend’. You either go down to the deepest level in all of Iacon or you become my official sparkmate. Your choice, choose the right one.”

With no room to argue, you slowly opened your chassis to show your spark. You were vulnerable but you had nothing to lose. Sentinel opens his chassis to show his spark and closes the distance between you and him. Both your sparks electrified and glowed, a warm aura hugging the both of you as you slowly relaxed and shut your optics.

TO BE CONTINUED

[ if you want part two, just ask :) ]

[ervotica]

Ooh! Ooh! I got a cute one! So we know how Liam makes wood carvings, he’s given the reader one and this time she wants to make one for him as a surprise.. but she’s not the best at it. Literally, she’s got bandages on the tips of her fingers, a couple splinters and cuts— and when he sees that, he’s asking her what happened and she tells him she’s okay and shows the carving to him

pairing; liam mairi x fem!reader

warnings; liam calls reader 'my girl' (it's a warning honestly. i've decided it's his thing now), pure fluff, light descriptions of injury

Thick fingers reach for your hands across the table before you can hastily snatch them away, upturning your smaller ones until your palms are bared before him. Crimson tinged bandages adorn the very tips of your digits, and a shallow slice runs the length of your palm, thin shards of wood lodged just beneath the skin next to it.

"What happened?" Liam's asking, the worry that drips from his cadence only serving to tug at your heartstrings.

"Nothin' bad, Li. Promise." You're quick to reassure him, sore fingers curling around his own to deliver what you hope is a comforting gesture.

"C'mere," he beckons with a playful tap, patting the empty space next to him on the bench until you relent, utterly lovesick and unable to deny him anything he wants. You traverse the length of the table, coming to a halt behind the hulking man, throbbing hands resting on either side of his neck. His pulse thrums under your touch, his natural heat seeping into your pores until you have the urge to climb into his lap and fall asleep. His arm comes up and back to hook round your midriff, pulling your chest flush to his back in one swift motion.

"Sit," he teases.

You press pursed lips to his temple for a chaste kiss before peeling yourself away, needling beneath his arm and into his side; you fit like the piece of a puzzle, like it's where you've always been. You have, really.

"You gonna tell me what happened, my girl?"

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, tilting your head to gaze up at him through your lashes.

"You know you made me that wood carving?" you ask, more meek than you'd expected your voice to come out. You busy yourself picking at your cuticles.

"Yeah?" he singsongs.

"Well..." Your bottom lip spills into a pout. It's unlike you to be so shy - Liam's terribly endeared. "I wanted to make you one of Deigh. It's a lot harder than it looks, and it's not very good, really. But..." Your hand disappears into your pocket and the fabric rustles with the sudden movement; then your closed fist emerges, clutching a mildly haphazard wood carving of Deigh. It's a little wonky in places, lines not as smooth and clean as Liam always manages to get them.

He thinks it's utterly perfect.

Taking the carving from your curled fingers, he smooths a thumb over the little dragon's face, crows feet crinkling affectionately. His dimple craters into the middle of his cheek with a beaming smile, and his forearm draws tight, anchoring you to his chest and folding you into his embrace.

"It's perfect. I love it, angel. Thank you."

"You really like it?" you ask, a warmth blooming and spreading in your chest even as uncertainty drips from your cadence.

"How could I not, hm? It's beautiful."

Your chin tips up to smack a wet kiss against the sharp angle of his jaw, arms twining around the broad expanse of his waist.

"You gettin' shy on me?" Liam mocks lightheartedly. You scoff, brows drawing down and pushing a crease between your eyes which Liam promptly smooths over. "I love you," he coos, pressing his temple to the top of your head. Heat rushes through you, white-hot and surprisingly pleasant.

"I love you, too."

[psychomusic]

presenting to you: vegoia laran!

vegoia is the daughter of suri and tar'x laran, so, she's half-mirialan and half-zabrak. she lived on the mountains of mirial with her family until she began her jedi training at around 10 years, then she became a jedi seer.

more of her childhood under the cut! the rest of her story will be on other posts, I'll link them at the end when I'll post them

thank you @furious-blueberry0 for letting me use your padawan braid idea and jedi seer headcanon!! i really really love these ideas <3

since her birth, she seemed special at the eyes of her people, due to an old local myth: the founding witch.

(the myth is: a powerful witch, haunted by complex visions of the future, was exiled to the desert planet of mirial. after years spent traveling she had one clear vision on top of a mount, in which she saw the potential beauty of the valley, full of different lifeforms flourishing. with her magical powers, she turned that possible future into a reality, and everything changed: the 4 peoples who lived there started turning into trees and animals, what once was sterile rock became fertile ground, and craters were filled with water. but despite her good work, the incomprehensible visions kept returning. tired of the universe's infinite lessons, she decided to crystalize all of her visions and knowledge into the sacred crystal, and prophetized, before dying, that one day someone attuned to it would come to claim the crystal and understand the lessons she couldn't understand)

because of her albinism (that made her white like the crystal) and of her horns (the crystal has an horned shape), people thought she was the prophetized one. when she began to talk - rather late, and asked people to resolve the riddles that "a bearded man told her in her dreams" - what was just a rumor solidified into a belief.

her mother and grandfather, both in the high priesthood, taught her everything they could. they taught her to study, to reflect, and they explained to her their religion and folklore. also, her mother often tried to help her in her quest of finding answers. from her, vegoia learned how to study, and the right mindset to be able, later, to explore the jedi's philosophy and beliefs.

but it was her father that, despite his absence, taught her how to compromise with her visions, how to be patient, how to handle the state of ignorance, and how to enjoy it anyway. he was somehow better at understanding her, and making her understand things, than everyone else in the town. maybe, it was because he not only had met different force users, but also had experience with a force sensitive kid (his little brother, whom vegoia shared a lot of similar traits). despite her mother being a healer & priestess, and believing in the value in helping people, it was her father who really grounded that belief in her. in particular, he did it in a moment that. also shaped her experience of the force. a simple moment, though: she had asked him to kill a scary bug that was laying flat on its back, but he refused and instead asked her to help it. he believed that helping is what gives life sense - even more than the bonds we make, because it can't be undone. when vegoia picked up the bug and helped it get back on its feet, she could feel the bug's relief, and maybe even gratitude, through the force. this was the imprint of her experience of the force: connection (even more than her visions, that just "happened" to her, and couldn't actively call upon her).

BUT I DIGRESSED way too much on her childhood. the most important event in her childhood was the day she was taken by the jedi, even if she didn't know what truly happened that day.

the SIS had been tracking her father's movements for a while and had found out about his trips to mirial. worried that the empire was planning something, they sent a squad of operatives to investigate. since his father had often worked for the dark council, the SIS requested a jedi to come with them. when they arrived, suri went to talk to them. they threatened her into talking and she told them of their secret family. the SIS decided to take them prisoners, capture him when he got back, and make him talk using his family as leverage. the jedi disagreed with such methods but the operation was under the SIS's jurisdiction. suri then tried to convince them to leave the town and her daughter, and to instead blackmail him with her. the SIS refused, fearing that the sith might kill him before he could even know about the blackmailing. the jedi, feeling vegoia's strong presence in the force decided to make a deal: vegoia would've come with him to the temple to become a jedi. she'd still have a life, while suri would stay under their custody for the SIS trap. this would also show the agent the difference between the republic and the empire, and hopefully that would help him talk. she accepted at one condition: that they took her away before her father came back, so that she wouldn't have to live through it. vegoia didn't know of her father's real job, like everyone else in the town (everyone thought he had traded his services to the hutts to have the sacred horned crystal back).

they agreed, but, while suri was busy packing thing for vegoia, the SIS decided to put another condition. vegoia musn't be told anything about that day until her father had been taken into republic's custody, as a precaution. the jedi agreed, thinking it wouldn't be long before her father would come home and be arrested. little did he know this momentary omission would grow into a years-old lie.

[bakvrue]

luminance

genya x reader, 1.4k, genya is taller than you, fluff, fem reader, maybe unsafe swimming practices, divider by saradika

“How did you hear about this again?”

Genya’s hand is in yours as you lead him along a dark path. The trees and bushes towering over you are bathed in nothing but the light of the stars as their leaves dance in the wind.

“The little old ladies in town told me about it. They said that it’s a town tradition to go, so we have to!”

You hold his hand a little tighter, asking him to trust you. 

You’re only here for a small mission but you quickly came to love this small town and all of its people; the grandmas who pile food on your plate, the kids who run up to you to hold your hand, and the streets that make you feel like you're walking home. 

You smile remembering the faces of the women who told you about the town’s unique lore, their whispers and giggles had followed you all week as they watched you and Genya patrol the town together. They saw you hang off his every word, how your heart flutters every time he looks at you for too long, and how his face turns red every time you catch him. 

He looks at you as if you molded the sun in your two hands and you look at him as if he hand-carved every crater on the moon. How could they not notice?

But what you neglect to tell Genya is what the town’s folklore actually says. 

The dirt path slowly gives way to sand as you continue to walk and the stars guide you until you hear the faint sound of waves crashing. 

The path straightens out in front of you and your breath hitches in your throat.

The sea meets the horizon in an explosion of stars, interstellar colors dance across the water that crashes along the rocky beach, and with each break of waves a bright blue sparkle dances along the sand. The blue sparkle glows so brightly, you’ve never seen anything like it.

“Wow,” you sigh with wonder. Your body feels lighter than it has in years, the beauty catches you off guard and you can hardly take your eyes off of the crashing waves.

Genya squeezes your hand tightly and your gaze turns to him. He opens his mouth but he doesn't have the words he wants to say yet. There's a familiar feeling in his chest, like an old memory waking up from a thousand years of slumber.

“Come on, let's get closer!”

You let go of his hand and run towards the beach, your arms held out to your sides like a little kid running toward the ocean for the first time. 

And his memory comes flooding back. 

His mother sits along the banks of the river that runs near his childhood home. The sun casts shadows through leaves onto her hair as she mends the holes in his younger brother's clothing. Most of his siblings are all playing in the shallow water, their giggles and shouts bouncing off of the river's surface, but Koto, his youngest brother, sleeps gently in Genya’s lap.

“Genya,” his mother calls, remembering the sound of her voice for the first time in a long time. He takes a deep breath in and watches you reach the glowing water's edge. “Genya, my wish for you is to find someone who shows you what it’s like to have wonder. You and your brother take care of our family so well, you both grew up so fast. You’ll meet someone—”

The tiny version of himself cuts her off, “Like a wife?” Baby Genya’s eyes pop open, his face growing more and more red, and his mother chuckles to herself 

“Something like that,” she smiles at him and Genya looks down at his sleeping brother in his lap. “I can take Koto,” she motions to him. puts down her sewing as the Shinazugawa sisters come running up, begging to play with him.

“Come on Genya!” “The water is so cold!” “You have to play with us!”

Another nod from his mother and he gives in. Sumi pulls at his hand while Teiko runs ahead of them, her arms spread out to her sides before she jumps in the water.

The sun from that day fades and he sees you smile at him.

You extend a hand to him, inviting him to join you.

He’s heard the tales of this beach, and even the old wives tale the women have probably told you. He takes a deep breath and exhales. 

Wonder, huh?

He kicks off his shoes and gives you a dastardly smile, one that you're soon to regret.

“Genya, what are you—” 

He runs at you, catching you off guard. This mountain of a man gets to you in mere seconds and throws you onto his shoulder. You scream and laugh as he continues running into the water, each glowing step getting slower and slower as the water rises. Every splash he makes in the water glows brighter blue.

“The water’s freezing!” you squeal as the bioluminescent waves splash against your heels.

He takes one final step, “Better hold your breath!” He laughs before dunking you both underwater.

You surface quickly and realize the water is only waist deep, you keep your shoulders under the water. The night air touching your wet clothes is colder than the water now.

Genya surfaces and flips his hair back, the sea sparkle illuminating his face with a beautiful blue glow. He takes your hand in the water and pulls you to him and in turn you wrap your arms around his neck, not letting your nerves have any say in this moment. You’ve never been this bold with each other, hugging quickly or poking at him or sleeping on his shoulder is the closest you've been. But now you're face to face.

You playfully slap at his chest for dunking you, stirring up the water and with it and even more blue blossoms around you. You don't have the heart to chastise him, even as pretend, so you just laugh. And he joins in, his head falling back in true laughter.

Watching him laugh, the way his eyes wrinkle at the corners and how each laugh comes with rippling blue waves… you don't think you've ever felt this happy in your whole life. 

His laughter slows and he sighs your name, bliss leaking out of his every pore. His hand rises out of the water and he cups your neck. 

Any last nerves you had melt away just looking at his face. This is the man that you… You stop yourself. Maybe you shouldn't say it yet, even in your own head. But the man that you like very much, and the two of you are floating in the ocean together, not a care in the world. 

Your breathing starts to match his as the two of you fall into sync. Your eyes map out every feature of his face, committing it to memory as his eyes fall to your lips.

Genya’s face starts turning red, the glowing algae gives him away, but you're sure that it's doing the same for you. Letting him see every imperfection you have, every scar and doubt and negative thing about you. And he's here anyway. His heart is so close to yours that you can practically feel it beating in time with yours.

His lips are soft against yours as you breathe him in. A culmination of everything you've ever felt for him being poured out under this night sky. Your arms tighten around him, holding onto him with everything you have. Your ache to be closer, your desire to have him all to yourself, to give him every piece of yourself and watch him cradle it, and then to do the same for him. He’s desperate to keep you close, arms sliding around your waist and holding you so tightly. 

His lips pull against yours as the waves continue to crash, the illuminated ocean guiding your way back to his lips over and over again, your body finding its new path home. 

Your first kiss with him will always taste like the salt of the sea.

It is said that lovers who bathe in the blue sea sparkle together will have their love story written in the stars, for two lovers who take the plunge together are bound to become soulmates and live out the rest of their days together, in this life and the next.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hello! May I request a reader x Keegan drabble where the reader is an artist in secret?

Sure, they roam the wake of no mans land in a ravaging war, but in the moments they are not on missions they capture the scenery around them. Wether it be on rooftops, surrounding woods or abandoned shelters, the reader revels in the few moments of silence they have before another bombardment of bloodshed is thrown their way to remember places or things around them before they eventually move again

How would Keegan react, let alone if he caught reader sketching him?

Thank you for your time, have a good day :D

—Paint The Dawn; Paint My Eyes

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [In the midst of war and death, there's little time for pleasure. All you had was a ripped-up sketchbook to call your own, its contents littered with the rough face of your comrade.] ❞

The camp is quiet, and you are tired. 

Looking out along the wreckage of this wasted world, there seems to be no end to the broken valleys or the craters of rock—this desolation remains as if an angry God had thrown a tantrum, and smashed the earth to bits. Trees grew sideways, wreckage that could be bits of houses or even remnants of bone breed in the little spaces under moss and bush; where the rest died, nature took back what was hers. Thus, the cycle continued.

What breathes, dies, and with that firm and undisputable reality, you find beauty in moments like these. 

You blink down at what still breathes of the patchwork lungs of No Man’s Land, pencil in your hand still for but a moment of red-eyed concentration. The deer was down in the dip below the Ghosts’ quiet camp for the steadily growing night—white where it should be a tawny-blonde shade. Barely breathing, you watch with half of its albino form sketched out in short bursts of graphite on your sun-bleached possession. 

A sketchbook, old, and worn to the very binding of its pages, and yet to you a more prized possession had never been held in your grip. 

So focused on the deer and its white shadow; its lithe body as it grazes along the forest floor amidst a soft rustling of leaves, you don’t notice the man behind you—a man supposed to be sleeping. 

It’s a minute of looking at your awe-filled face before Keegan clears his throat, speaking in a low grumble. “Not every day you see that, huh?”

You startle back so quickly that your pencil slips out of your hand, bouncing off your thighs before clattering to the flat rock that serves as your lookout platform. A clink of metal on stone is all it takes, the pencil falling down into the lower land and striking through greenery as you gasp and snap your eyes away. The flighty heart of the deer all at once sparked in a puff of air from its nostrils and a flair of a raised tail. 

It disappears into the bushes and its white flash is seen until the thick foliage swallows it again. You look back just in time to grace your eyes with one last glimpse. 

A deep disappointment blooms and you level out a sigh as Keegan clicks his tongue, guiltily rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.

“Shit, Sweetheart,” he hums, “didn’t mean to…” Keegan tapers off with a low groan. “I’ll, uh, get you a new pencil when we’re back, yeah?” 

You stare at the forest a moment longer before huffing out and shifting—you turn and glance at the Sergeant before grumbling out, “You have a nasty habit of sneaking up on people, Russ. I don’t like it when it’s me.”

Blue eyes meet yours, his body still in gear and armed just like yours. Even sleeping, Ghosts bore the fangs of the living. Keegan’s face is down a mask, though, so you’re privy to see his built jaw and strong features in the moonlight. Black hair like a void. 

He sighs. 

“Again, didn’t mean to. Thought you knew I was there.” Your eyes roll, but a small smirk snaps your lip.

“Of course you did.” Huffing and shaking his head, the man comes to lean against your rock. 

“What ya workin’ on anyways? Seen you scribblin’ in that thing every chance you get. Got curious enough tonight to ask when I saw you up during Ajax’s watch.” He blinks at you, swirling with curiosity and dim intrigue. “You take over for him?”

You smile, shrugging. “Maybe.” Keegan stares and raises a dark brow as your form leans closer, presenting your object of patience and smudged graphite. “You gonna wake him up?”

The man takes the object and studies your half-finished work with an acute eye, taking in the lines and erased bits that indent the paper. He tilts his head at it and a moment later he grunts an answer, lost in thought. 

“Depends.” Blue meets your vision in a slow sweep. “You tired?”

Face burning, you clear your throat and begin to stutter a negative before the worst moment of your life takes place. 

Keegan grabs one page of your sketchbook and starts flipping. Heart lurching and eyes wrenching open to the size of dinner plates, your hand snatches at the old cover—but not before the damage is done.

The dead-gazed Sergeant locks onto a perfect image of his own sleeping body from hours earlier. Drawn face soft and calm in the gray of blended material that you’d had to use your finger to achieve, and limbs loose; he almost seemed to come off the page in an intensive display of detail. 

Keegan pauses and feels his jaw slightly slacken, eyes going that bit wider before his brows lift in shocked pleasure. Your hand latches onto the top of your book and rips it from the man’s grasp easily.

“Did anyone ever tell you it’s rude to go through people’s things?!” Your heart is racing, palms going clammy. At your chest, you hold your belonging with a tight scoff of embarrassment.

Keegan’s lids move up and down three times in quick succession before he replies. A tease is so deep in his words you cringe with a burning face.

“Anyone tell you it’s rude to watch people sleep, Sweetheart?” Glaring, you have to look away. 

It wasn’t exactly common knowledge to others that you liked the gruff man, but if anyone took one look into your sketchbook they’d know the truth. Pages were dedicated to finding the perfect slant of his eyes—that structure of his jaw and his broken-one-to-many-times nose. 

His lips and how his skin looked when he smirked. 

Shame tightens your face and you stare hard at the trees a few feet away; the sleeping forms of your comrades. Until a smooth chuckle leaves you breathless. 

A puff of air spreads over your cheek but you don’t dare turn your head. 

Keegan whispers to you slowly, that gravel in his tone and his lips brushing against your ear as he leans closer to you—arms crossed in front of him.

“If you wanted me to pose there, Doll, all you had to do was ask me. No use watchin’ from a distance…I’ll give you the full tour.” 

He walks off back to his mat of leaves and grass and you’re left gaping and choking on your own thoughts; honied vision dripping shock.

Keegan calls easily over his shoulder as if his comment hadn’t made your pulse pound, “I’m waking up Ajax—go back to bed. Scenery’ll be the same come morning.” 

You breathe in his sly quip, “trust me.”

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[threepandas]

Beautiful Monsters: Yandere AfO

(Absolute GOLD STANDARD AfO art by -> blackberreh-art <- )

He had never stopped to consider his whore of a mother. Not for even an instance. Not to wonder who she had been. Not how she had come to be that way. And CERTAINLY not to wonder if she had, at some point, had siblings of her own. He had fed upon her. Consumed. Then survived where she had not.

Superior.

But now... now he wonders is perhaps he SHOULD have looked into it. Pondered, perhaps, WHERE his Quirk's genetics came from. Maternal or Paternal line? And did they have siblings? Other offspring?

It was certainly possible with the sperm donor. A man of no doubt loose morals, likely to have sired many. Though... how many SURVIVED the coming purges, is another thing entirely. Especially if they were Quirked.

He ponders this? Because he is staring down at his own distorted, yet magnificent, reflection. Through the surveillance screens, a SUPPOSEDLY unassuming public relations manager is shaking the hand of a low ranking hero. It is the seventh hand shake he's observed.

And that's just this sitting.

Just this meeting.

It is... MAGNIFICENT. Underhanded and brilliant. Predicated on the intense social pressures to maintain decorum, he knew if HE greeted in an Western manner, his victims would be forced to play along. What could they do? REFUSE to take his hand? Look RUDE and unreasonable? Even those few who THINK they know his Quirk, can't act.

It would appear bigoted. Quirkist. They have no PROOF.

All For One can only laugh. He is delighted. What a fumbling, audacious, greedy little scheme! How UTTERLY covetous. A "mute and mimic" quirk, was it? The "ability to 'briefly' copy quirks by 'temporarily muting' someone else's Quirk"? Oh, of COURSE! How completely non-threatening! It's TEMPORARY. Not GONE, just MUTED.

No need to VERIFY any of these facts. Why would a child LIE?

To get MORE? To avoid the hostile eyes of the power fearing SHEEP?

And to go into to PUBLIC RELATIONS! The gall! A brazen little monster in the making. He has to wonder... would HE have done the same? Had the world been as settled as it is now, when he was born? Were there no Quirk riots? No wars? Would HE have been content to "play the system"?

It's like looking through time at his younger self. So cocky. Self assured. A pretty, powerful, little thing that thinks it's the biggest fish in the pond. Hair like his brother, smooth to his curls, yet just as bleached bone white. Smug eyes, that dance with the secrets they keep. A vague smile, that gives away nothing.

Promises nothing.

He wants to RUIN him.

Grab him by that pretty little throat and SLAM him to the ground. Crater it. Hard enough to shatter the bones of lesser men. Wants to feel that pretty little thing CHOKE as he looks up at him with such magnificent disdain. As though HE is the insect that does not know it's place. That DARES touch it's better. Oh~

The poor little thing would have NO IDEA.

The sort of MONSTERS that have been lurking in the dark, ready to eat him ALIVE.

He has good taste, for the resources he has on hand. The budget he has to work with. The boy cleans up well, in his pretty little suits and quaint colognes. Decent cuts. Flattering. But All for One could do BETTER.

He keeps his hair long. A vanity and a means to soften their imposing jawline. Kept so neat and tidy. All of him, so very neat. So immaculately dressed. Clean.

He would RUIN IT.

As he holds him down by the throat. Under that furious gaze. He'd make him WATCH as he ruins the appearance he's oh so proud off. Shows him EXACTLY how different they are in strength. No knives, he thinks. Not even Quirks. At least, not directly, no...

Just his HANDS.

Ripping cloth. Shredding it beneath his fingers. Letting him kick and struggle in the DIRT. Insulted and wrathful. As All for One's hands wander. He wonders~ how FAR would the little monster let him get before he snapped?

He's been chained down for so long. So used to HIDING, can he even bring himself to do it? How far would All for One need to PUSH to get him to abandon his little plans, and FIGHT BACK?

Watching him struggle, FIGHT, throw EVERYTHING he has at him. Seeing the realization spark in his eyes that it's not ENOUGH. That it's hopeless. That beautiful despair. That he's pinned down like a butterfly for All for One to devour. A ruined beauty in his trashed remains of a suit.

The little monster would HATE it. Would RAGE. His lovely little mask of civility would come crumbling apart as he WRITHED beneath him. Trying to rip his throat out with his TEETH. Trying to claw out his EYES with that carefully maintained manicure. And All for One would DELIGHT.

Reveal in it.

Drink it all in, like the fine wine it was.

Because, OH~ What a magnificent MONSTER you've held back, little one~ Hateful and ugly. Just like ME~

All for One could out match him. Strength, experience, Quirks. His empire is sprawling while the boy has none. He COULD be a threat, in time. COULD grow to be an equal. But All for One could never allow THAT! The avaricious little thing would kill him!

No.

He's going to eat the boy ALIVE.

And his little monster will HATE it. DISPISE him. Because he his going to love it. And that? That CAN NOT be forgiven. Not by monsters like them. The defeat, the humiliation, the helplessness. It's unforgivable. But the PLEASURE? For THAT All for One will have to BURN. It can end no other way.

Not after he's held him down. Made him WEAK and filthy. Then found every spot that makes him twitch. Dragged open his mouth so he can not escape the NOISES he makes, as AfO swallows him whole. As quirks are combined to squirm, painlessly, easily, at JUST the right angle too...

He'd make him HOWL. Choke on his begging. Thrash and beg and curse.

Like he was DYING. Like he's begging for death.

You can torture a man with more then just pain, after all.

And he'd wants his little his monster OBSESSED. Wants the memory of his cock to HAUNT him. The feeling of being split open. Filled so gloriously, so PERFECTLY. Over and over again. Endlessly. With stamina beyond human limitations. With strength most humans could never dream off.

Combining sensory quirks and attraction quirks, body modification and lust quirks, into something NO ONE else could possibly hope to give him. Everything so sensitive, so pleasurable, it dances the line of pain. He could fry the pleasure center in your brain again and again, then FIX them, little monster. Could make you see GOD.

No one else would ever be able to give him that. The touch of his own hands would forever be ruined for him. Not enough. Never enough. Not after HIM.

And that's why his little monster would have to try and kill him. Would try and hunt him. Obsess. Chase. Rage. But oh, he'd fall in line, in the end. Because he'd LOSE. His cravings crippling him. His NEED to submit.

All for One watchs the security monitors. Lazily palming himself. He wonders... should he keep his little pet by his side? Or tucked away, chained safely to his bed? He supposes it would depend on his mood.

Leaning back, he let's a solid shadow quirk slide over his skin, servicing him. His eyes never stray from the screen. It's twenty-eight handshakes now. Quite the collection he must have. His little monster glances up at the camera and for a moment... it is as though their eyes have met.

Such MAGNIFICENT crimson.

He spills into the greedy, sucking, vice of the shadow he created. Then vanishes the mess. Decadent and relaxed, he orders his spies to gather more information. It's been entirely too long since he's last left the base. Not since killing Shimura. And with her idiot successor off doing... SOMETHING, in America? He has time.

Or at least, time ENOUGH, for a bit of monster hunting~