#its festive gifs until the new year time

[dark-falz]

[supernovafics]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 4.1k words

summary: in which you and steve are not together, but sometimes— most of the time— you two find your way to each other. it all feels surprisingly okay until the guilt starts to sink in 

warnings: explicit language, cheating (both reader and steve are cheating on their partners), implied smut, a bit of drunk!steve, a lot of angst

author’s note: i love when i get an idea and it consumes my brain so much that i simply cannot do anything except write it lol enjoy this thing that may or may not eventually get a part two<3 idk<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

You were starting to feel bad about it. Not bad enough to stop it, but bad nonetheless. 

In the end, when this inevitably blew up, a lot of people would be affected, but when you were alone with Steve you found it too hard to force yourself to care about all of that. When you two were alone in your car in the middle of the night or alone in his bedroom because his parents weren’t home, you never cared about just how terrible all of this was.  

That was why it wasn’t until you were walking down the hallway hand in hand with your boyfriend and you spotted Steve and Nancy lingering by what you could only assume was her locker and she was smiling so happily up at him, that you finally felt a little bad. 

You looked away quickly and pretended as if you hadn’t seen them in the first place; pushing his face and especially hers far out of your mind. Instead, you focused on Jamie and listened as he talked about a history test on Friday that he didn’t feel prepared for and how his parents would go ballistic if he didn’t pass. You promised to help him study later tonight— like you always did, from the moment you two met and became friends in seventh grade— and he smiled, leaning down to peck your lips as he called you the best. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

You really didn’t like thinking about how everything started with Steve. In your head, you were okay with simplifying it to one day you weren’t cheating on your boyfriend with Steve Harrington and the next day you were. Somehow that thought process made it easier; it made what you and Steve were doing feel more mindless than it actually was. 

But, just because you didn’t like thinking about the beginning didn’t change how it happened. 

It was a New Year’s Eve party at Sam Richards' house. 

You’d shown up alone because Jamie was out of town with family and had been since Christmas. Initially, you were supposed to go with them, but then at the last second, your parents decided to be festive and wanted you to be home for Christmas and the entirety of the holiday break. Weirdly enough, though, it hadn’t been as unbearable as you thought it would be.

However, you were on your own for New Year’s because your dad had a work party that was “adults only.” You honestly didn’t mind though because the thought of being stuck with a bunch of random middle-aged people sounded horrible. So, you instead decided to get stuck with a bunch of people your age, which maybe was just a different kind of bad. 

You heard about the party through a friend of a friend who didn’t even show up. The party was rowdy and boring, which were two words that probably didn’t make sense in the same sentence, but in this instance they surprisingly did.

Eventually, you ended up sitting on the rusty old swing set in the backyard, away from the music and drunk teens. Your sneaker-covered feet pushed into the grass, making you swing a little. You didn’t want to do too much because, with the amount of squeaking the swing was making, it felt as if it was on its last few days of life. 

Because of that squeaking and the fact that you were looking at the ground, you didn’t hear or see Steve walk up to you. 

You noticed him when he was only a few feet away, and you were more confused than startled when he sat down in the open swing next to you. 

“Two minutes to midnight.”

Those were not the first words Steve Harrington had ever said to you. Instead, those had been, “So what do we have to do?” after you two got paired up on a project for English last year. It was two weeks worth of meetups in the library that led to you two getting a B+ and never speaking again. 

Until now, apparently. 

“Fun,” You said because what else were you supposed to say? This entire moment didn’t really make a lot of sense to you.

You looked at Steve sitting next to you. The swing continued to squeak as he started lightly rocking back and forth. The second he met your gaze, you looked away. 

“Where's your boyfriend? Jessie something, right?”

“Jamie,” You corrected him. “He's out of town with family for the holidays. Where's your girlfriend? Mary something?”

You knew it was Nancy. Everyone knew it was Nancy. They were the talk of the school and a cliche case— smart girl falling for the popular guy, also known as the plot to one too many romcoms. 

For some reason, though, you didn’t want Steve to know that you inadvertently paid attention to him just like everyone else at your school. 

“Nancy,” He corrected you. “And she’s also at some family thing.”

You only nodded in response and things became quiet.  

“Y’know, apparently it’s bad luck to not kiss someone when the clock strikes twelve,” Steve said, filling the air of silence.

You ignored his random tidbit, which you weren’t sure was real or not. “Why did you come out here?”

His shoulders upturned in a quick shrug. “You looked bored out here. And I was bored in there.”

You could faintly hear the countdown start in the living room, everyone starting from sixty. 

The next words that should have left your lips should’ve been, “I have a boyfriend. I can't kiss you.” But, instead, you didn’t protest when Steve silently took hold of the chain of your swing and pulled it toward him so that you two were closer. 

You could’ve changed your mind and pushed him away, you should’ve changed your mind and pushed him away, but you decided not to think about it too much. When you heard the countdown get to one and everyone followed up by shouting, “Happy New Year!”, you were inwardly saying fuck it and kissing Steve Harrington in Sam Richards’ backyard. 

It was meant to be innocent, a simple peck just so you both could avoid this “bad luck” that Steve talked about, and it was completely innocent and chaste at first. Until your hand impulsively found Steve's cheek and you deepened the kiss and he didn’t stop you. 

He tasted like cigarettes and champagne, a surprisingly comforting combo, and his free hand moved to your waist, slipping underneath your coat and knit sweater. The feeling of his cold hand against your skin made you inadvertently shiver; you’d forgotten just how cold it was outside. 

“Sorry,” He muttered against your lips. 

It was the first word spoken in the last minute and it somehow managed to wake your mind up and made your thoughts finally start catching up to what was happening in this moment. You quickly realized that anyone could potentially see you two out here and even though the party inside sounded just as loud and lively as it had earlier, it was still a possibility that you two could get caught. 

You pulled back from the kiss and met Steve’s gaze. “We can’t do this here.”

It was the ‘here’ part of your sentence that fully piqued Steve’s interest. 

He stood up from the swing and reached his hand out for you to grab. “Come on.”

You slipped your hand in his and let him lead you out of the backyard and away from the house completely. It took you way too long to realize that he was taking you to his car that was parked down the street. He pulled the backseat door open and let you get inside first. 

You forced yourself not to think about anything aside from how good Steve’s mouth felt on yours and how you liked feeling his cold hands against your skin, traveling from your hips to your waist to your back and pulling you closer to him. 

Seconds blended into minutes and you suddenly weren’t sure how long you’d been in his backseat and how long you had kept nearly bumping your head against the roof every time you slightly shifted in his lap.    

It didn’t make sense to you how okay this all felt. You hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to Steve since last year, and yet you felt entirely comfortable with him right here in this moment.

It didn’t make sense that night and it also didn’t make sense the one after that when you saw him again and you two did a lot more than just make out in the backseat of his car. 

However, what did feel certain was the fact that everything suddenly happening between you two wasn’t meant to be anything more. You knew that you and Steve wouldn’t make sense in the daytime or in the real world. He made sense with Nancy and you made sense with Jamie. That was just the way things worked and both of you unspokenly agreed on that. 

It was only in private when you two surprisingly did make sense, and in some ways, it felt like a no-brainer. Of course, you’d see Steve most nights and during fleeting moments at school. Of course, you’d kiss or do more with him for what felt like hours in his house or your own car. Of course, you’d feel comfortable in his bed with his arms wrapped around you as you two ended up talking about nothing for hours. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

You found the note in your locker halfway through third period. You asked your History teacher if you could go to the bathroom and then you headed to your locker instead of the bathrooms that were in the opposite direction because you just knew that something would be in it. 

Meet me. Bathroom. – Steve

The first time he sent a note that basically resembled that one, you laughed because how the hell were you supposed to know what bathroom he meant or when? 

And that was exactly what you told him that night when you two were in your car and he playfully pouted at you, asking why he didn’t get to see you at school. And then he let out a soft “Oh” with his own laugh when he realized that you were right and he didn’t tell you where to go or give you a time. 

From there on out, the bathroom by the gym became your and Steve's meeting place. It was usually always empty because most people opted for using the bathrooms in the gym locker rooms since they were bigger.  

After the first few times you met him there, there was really no reason for Steve to leave notes for you because the place and time was always the same, but you still kind of liked that he did. 

When you walked in at the start of sixth period instead of going to study hall, Steve was already leaning against the sink. 

He smiled when he saw you and you couldn’t help but think that that was the same smile that he’d been giving Nancy earlier; it was the same one he probably always gave her, his girlfriend. 

There was no greeting; no softly spoken “Hi’s” or anything. Instead, Steve was pulling you close and slotting his lips against yours and then shifting you two around so that you were pressed against the sink.

You savored it just for a second before you pulled away. 

“Wait,” You abruptly started and put your hands on his chest to put some distance between you two. “I, um, I think we should stop this.”

Apparently, you were feeling more than just a little bad about everything. 

Steve’s hands fell from your hips and it was easy to read the surprised look on his face, which definitely made sense because it did seem as if your words were coming entirely out of left field. 

“Oh,” He said. The surprised look fell from his face after the quickest moment. “Oh, okay. Yeah, that’s fine.”

His nonchalance toward the situation made it all feel a thousand times easier. Maybe he didn’t really care about all of this, and that should’ve made you feel okay and good and perfectly fine, but if you were being entirely honest with yourself it didn’t make you feel any of that. 

“Okay, cool,” You responded with a forced smile instead of taking your words back or doing anything else about them. “Good to know we’re on the same page.”

He gave you a quick nod. “Yeah.” 

For a second, it was hard to do what you needed to do next, but then you were finally moving away from Steve. No sort of “Goodbye” fell from your lips because it weirdly felt too hard to say the word right then.

Keep walking. Keep walking. Keep walking. 

The two words played on repeat in your head as you forced yourself to leave the bathroom. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Steve was throwing rocks at your window. You didn’t even have to look to know it was him. There was no one else it could be. 

Jamie knocked and walked through your front door like a normal person, and then he’d talk to your parents for the obligatory amount of time that was considered polite (even after being friends for so long and then dating for that past year he was still kinda scared of your dad), and then he’d greet you. 

He would not throw rocks at your window. 

The smallest part of you was glad that Steve was at least doing this now instead of ten minutes earlier when Jamie was still here studying because that would’ve ruined everything for you. However, Steve being here now still pissed you off nonetheless. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” You whisper-yelled when you were standing in front of him in your front yard. You adjusted the hoodie that you haphazardly slipped on in your quick race down the stairs. “My parents are home.”

If he really wanted to, he could’ve called you out on how bad of an excuse that was because there had been many prior moments where your parents' presence hadn’t been that concerning to you. It wasn’t like they checked on you periodically throughout the night, so if you left in the middle of the night, all you had to do was make sure you were back by morning. 

Steve didn’t remind you of any of that, though. Instead, he said, “I just— I just wanted to tell you something.”

There was something about the way he was talking and his stance right then that made you give him a look. “Are you drunk?”

He answered with the most unconvincing “No” ever and you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes. 

“How did you get here?”

“Walked,” he answered and you nodded, relieved that he didn’t drive, and then you felt kind of annoyed for caring. You really didn’t want to care about him anymore. 

“So… you, uh, wanted to tell me something?” You asked him. The faster the conversation started, the faster it could be over and he could leave your front yard. 

“Oh, yeah,” He nodded. “I just— I wish you hadn’t ended things with us today.” 

His words confused you because he had seemed perfectly fine about it all earlier. Your eyebrows furrowed. “But, we agreed—“

“I know,” He interrupted you. “I know, and I get it, I guess. But, I just don’t want you to think that it’s easy for me to let you and what we had go. It isn't easy. At all. I didn’t realize how much I really like you and how much I love what we had until you decided to end it.”

You wondered if he was only admitting that because he was drunk; maybe he wouldn’t have said any of that to you otherwise. But, either way, at least he had the guts to say what you’d been too scared to. You hadn’t even really admitted it to yourself, how much you liked and cared about him. As much as you wanted to pretend that what you two had been doing was mindless and didn’t really mean anything, it was actually the complete opposite; of course, it was.

You still had to look away from him in this moment, though, because you weren’t drunk and it felt too hard to admit the truth like he was. “Steve…”

“What changed?” He asked after a moment of what felt like unbearable silence. “Yesterday, we were fine, right?”

You refused to answer his questions because you really didn’t want to rehash everything right then; how your suddenly guilty brain made you impulsively end things with him. You honestly wanted to just forget about everything. 

You shook your head as you sighed. “Let me drive you home, Steve.”

Your words were soft, probably too soft. You wanted to be mean to him, you wanted to push him away; you knew that it would make things easier. But, you couldn’t. 

“Can we walk?”

“Sure, but if you stumble and fall I'm not picking you up.”

He laughed a little as he nodded. “Understandable.” 

You shouldn’t be joking with him, you shouldn’t even be talking to him, but here you were. 

Things were quiet for a few moments, and you figured that maybe this ten-minute walk wouldn’t be too bad. Maybe it would stay silent and you’d say an actual final goodbye to him once you were at his front door and then you two would never talk again; essentially a sort of repeat of what happened last year in English class.

“So, can I know what happened?” Steve asked, breaking the quiet and ruining what you had hoped would happen for the next ten minutes. Apparently, he wasn’t going to let this go until you either told him the truth about what was going on in your head or lied about it all. 

You let out a long breath; you couldn’t find it in you to lie to him in this moment. “I finally realized that we’re shitty people for doing this.” Steve didn’t say anything at first so you took that as your cue to keep going. “You love Nancy and I love Jamie and everything that we’ve been doing for the past month isn’t fair to them and it’s so fucked up. We’re selfish and terrible people, and I kinda hate that this ever started in the first place.”

Finally saying it all out loud made it feel a thousand times more real and certain to you. At least, most of it felt that way. You knew just how shitty all of this was, but you weren’t sure if you’d ever completely regret any of it happening. 

“You don’t love him, though,” Steve said. “At least that’s what you told me that one night.”

You were now learning that Steve Harrington was a good listener, and even with his current inebriation, his memory was still surprisingly good too. 

“That doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change how horrible I feel about all of this.”

You were talking, but all you could think about was the conversation that Steve was referring to. A post-sex conversation that you two had a few weeks ago as you and him were half-naked in the backseat of your car that was parked at Lovers Lake. 

It doesn’t feel right anymore, and I don’t know, maybe it never fully did. I just want to go back to how things were before. But, it feels impossible to tell him any of that. He really loves me, and even though I don't feel the same way anymore, I don’t want to hurt him or break his heart. He's still my best friend. I'll always love him like that. 

It was hard to remember what Steve said in response to that or if he even said anything at all. All you could remember was that the second the words left your mouth, you wanted to forget about it. You’d been way too honest, saying things that you had never admitted out loud before, but somehow you were admitting them to Steve.  

“You’re right,” He said to you now. “We are bad people for doing this.”

Things became quiet then because what else was there really to say? You both were in agreement. 

You two continued walking the short distance to his house. When he started going off course a bit too much, stepping on and off of people’s yards instead of staying on the sidewalk, you grabbed his hand to keep him close and steady. 

You didn’t drop it once you two were at his front door or even when he asked you to come inside. Against your better judgment, you silently let him lead you into his house. You toed off your shoes at the door like you always did and then followed him up the stairs. You told yourself that you were just making sure he made it into bed alright.

“You okay?” You asked once you two were in his room. 

You were just wondering if he was feeling dizzy or needed to throw up, but Steve took your question in an entirely different way. 

He shook his head. “I miss you.”

“I’m right here.”

“Okay, I’m gonna miss you.”

“I…” You let out a soft sigh. “I don’t know what you want me to say to that.”

You wished that he would kick you out, or even yell at you. If he was mean to you, it’d make it easier to leave his house, to leave him. Deep down you knew that he would never do that, though.

“Why can’t we just…” He trailed off for a second, and you were certain that he forgot where he was going with his words, but then he continued. “Do this?”

“Do what?” You asked, even though you had a feeling what he meant but you hoped you were wrong. 

“Be together for real,” He said, and in an entirely different world it would’ve made you happy hearing that, but in this world his statement only made things feel so much more complicated. “We won’t be bad people anymore if we just stop lying.”

For the briefest second, you imagined saying yes and agreeing with him, and for that quick second, the thought actually sounded really nice. 

“Or we won’t be bad people anymore if we just stop everything,” You told him instead of being honest and admitting that you liked him a lot more than you had ever led on, and that even though you had wanted this to mean nothing, you had also really enjoyed the nights where you two talked for hours upon hours about anything. 

“Okay,” He said, no longer debating your words and simply accepting them for what they were.

You nodded and then the simple word fell from your lips too. “Okay.”

That was definitely your cue to leave, but you didn’t say any kind of “goodbye” and neither did Steve. It was obvious that things were different, but they didn’t entirely feel that way just yet, so that made you stay. 

“Do you want me to leave?” You asked softly after a few moments of just watching him move about his bedroom, pulling off the jacket he was wearing and hanging it on the back of his door. 

Steve shook his head, meeting your eyes again. “No, I’ll always want you to stay.”

You couldn’t help but give him a small smile and a simple nod as a way to say “Okay.” You knew that this entire interaction was sending nothing but mixed signals, but your mind was a mess of contradictions and only felt confused, and you just really didn’t want to think too much anymore. 

It was warm in his room, so you pulled off your hoodie, leaving you in just your t-shirt and shorts, and you hung it up where his jacket was on his door. Silently, you joined him at his bed, settling yourself and laying down in the spot that you’d been in more times than you could count at this point.  

“I’m sorry,” You whispered in the darkness after a while. “That things can’t be different.” 

Steve moved closer to you, slipping an arm around your waist. “They could be.”

“I know,” You finally admitted, leaning into his touch. “But, it’s just too hard.”

He didn’t ask you to elaborate on what you meant, probably because he understood or he was just tired of this constant back and forth. 

You told yourself that you’d only stay for five minutes. And when five minutes turned to ten, you told yourself that you at least wouldn’t fall asleep. 

But, of course, you did. You felt too comfortable and at ease in Steve’s arms not to.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

part two!

let me know ur thoughts<333

[joyful-enchantress]

Spring Heat (18+) | Loki x Fem!Reader

banner created by the amazing @springdandelixn

A/N: You help your husband through his yearly heat, which is part of the Jotun mating cycle. He's afraid he might hurt you, but you are determined to stay... I wrote this for @springdandelixn and her Double-Trouble Sleepover! Congratulations, Beanie, my love! I hope you enjoy this little fic that I put together for you 🖤

Genre/Warnings: Jotun mating cycle AU, smut (18+), rough sex, choking, dubcon? (everything is consensual but Loki is not entirely in control of himself), language, light angst, fluff too, filth with feeling, established relationship

Word Count: 3182

The sights and sounds of springtime were all around you as you strolled through the palace grounds —

The busy twittering of birds as they searched for food and fought over tree branches on which to build their nests.

The chattering of squirrels and rabbits and other small animals as they came out of hiding to begin a new season of life.

The rich shade of green returning to the grass in the meadow, speckled with pops of color where wildflowers were beginning to bloom.

Speaking of blooming flowers -- the palace gardens were thriving, and in the next couple of weeks were sure to become a spectacle of color, ranging from delicate pastel hues to bright, vibrant tones. Just in time for the Spring Festival that would be held at the end of the month.

Yes, spring was upon you. Your favorite season. It meant warmer temperatures and sunshine and new life.

But despite all the bright cheerfulness that spring brought with it, for your husband, Loki, it also brought with it a certain darkness.

His heat.

Loki was of Jotun blood; a Frost Giant. And with that heritage came certain Jotun traits, some more easily embraced than others. One such trait that your husband found more loathsome than the rest was the Jotun mating cycle.

Each year since his body matured, around the time of the Spring Equinox, Loki would find himself at the mercy of his primal instincts. Unable to control his animalistic urges to mate, he’d lock himself in his chambers until it would pass.

That is, until you had something to say about it.

When you learned of the agony he endured — both physically and emotionally — locked in his chambers for anywhere from one week to one month until his heat cycle passed, you couldn’t bear it. You had to do something to help, if you could.

You remembered the conversation you’d had with him well. It was shortly after your wedding…

————

“Loki, isn’t there anything that would make it easier to endure? Or at least make it come to an end more quickly? I can’t imagine a week of that, let alone a month.”

“Unfortunately, no, darling. There isn’t really anything that can be safely done to help it. The healers can give me an elixir that will suppress it, but I can’t take it every year, or it would lose its effectiveness. And besides, a heat the year after a suppressed heat is always more intense and agonizing.”

Your eyebrow cocked, looking at him with curiosity. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience…?”

He took a deep breath before answering, “Yes, I’ve taken suppressants occasionally in the past. The temptation of a year of reprieve was too great for me to resist at times. But I always found that the following year’s heat was far worse than what is typical. More desperation, more madness, more… pain.”

Your heart broke for him in that moment.

“Why does it last so long, Loki?”

He gave a mirthless chuckle. “It lasts as long as it takes for one of two things to happen. Either it quite literally burns its way out of my system, like a fever that takes weeks to break. Or…”

His voice trailed off, and he looked off into the distance, as if he was searching for his thought amongst the forests and rolling hills.

“Or…?” You gently encouraged him to continue.

Loki let out an exasperated sigh and quietly admitted, “Or… I mate. Breed. Fuck.”

Something about the way he enunciated the hard ‘k’, his Adam’s apple bobbing sinfully as the sound clicked in his throat, had your core throbbing with need and a wave of hot arousal unfolding over your body.

You blinked a few times as you contemplated what he said. “Well that seems easy enough,” you replied cooly, as if you were discussing the weather.

“What…?” He looked at you, perplexed.

“If having a good fuck will bring your agony to an end, then that seems like an easy solution to me. I can help you with that —”

“NO!” His rich baritone voice boomed as it cut you off, dripping with authority, anger, and — was that fear? “You don’t understand, my love. I am not myself when this happens. I lose myself, I lose control. I no longer am capable of keeping up the Asgardian façade; my Jotun form takes over and I am overcome with the primal desire to mate. I lose all regard for decency, I become… a monster. I am a monster.”

“Loki…” you reached a hand up to caress the side of his stupidly beautiful face, running your thumb soothingly along his sharp cheekbone and slotting your palm against his chiseled jaw, which was tightly clenched. A sign of his distress. “I love you, Loki. Let me help you through this.”

“I love you too, darling. More than my life itself. Which is exactly why I can’t let you do this.” He wrapped his large hand around the back of yours and turned his head to the side to tenderly kiss your palm. “It isn’t safe. I could hurt you. Badly.”

“I trust you, Loki. I trust you with my life, no matter what physical form you assume.” The next words you uttered came to you as easily as breathing, “I want to do this. Please. Use me. Use my body to sate your desires and end your own suffering.”

His emerald eyes widened at your words, most likely shocked at how brazen and self-assured they were. But swirling behind the shock was something else. Reverence. Trepidation. And lust.

He slowly swallowed, gathering himself together and collecting his thoughts after you scrambled them with your salacious plea.

“Alright then, darling.” He cautiously relented, his eyes boring into yours, searching for any sign that you were having second thoughts or hints of doubt. “Come springtime, when my next heat cycle is upon me, I’ll let you help me. I’ll let you be the balm that soothes my burning, searing ache.”

————

And now, spring was upon you. And any day now, it would be time to make good on your promise to him. For better or worse. You suddenly had a renewed appreciation for the words you spoke in your wedding vows to him, just 8 months ago.

Loki has been warning you for the past few days that his heat is imminent, and could take over at any time. He could feel it; all the warning signs were there. The restlessness. The irritability. The discomfort. Crawling under his skin like an itch he can't scratch. Until it makes him snap.

Each and every time, he asked if you were still sure. He reminded you that you could change your mind, that he didn't expect you to do this. That he'd never expect you to do this. It was entirely your choice.

And each and every time, you stood firm in your decision. You wanted to help him. You would do this.

The sun was beginning to set on your evening stroll, so you altered your route so that it would lead you back towards the private chambers that you shared with Loki. As you approached the hallway which led to your shared door, you could feel a distinct, unseasonal chill in the air.

Was this it? Was tonight the night?

Once you reached the ornate wooden door, you noticed a thin blanket of frost coating the edges of it, as if, behind the door, was the force of winter itself, its icy chill seeping through the gaps between the door and the frame.

You reflected for a moment on the irony that all this frost and chill was the result of something called a heat, and you couldn't help but chuckle to yourself.

But then you remembered that not just fire, but ice, too, can burn.

A shiver rolled down your spine, and the cold seeping through the doorframe wasn't entirely to blame.

You took a moment to gather your courage, reminding yourself that this was Loki. Your husband. Your one true love.

You could do this.

You softly knocked, each tap of your knuckles against the cold wood sending a jolt of bravery through you.

"Loki... can I come in?"

"Pet..." The voice that answered you was familiar, but more... ragged. It was deeper, if that was even possible, and assumed a huskiness that made your usually gentle husband sound nothing short of feral.

It sent a surge of hot, wet arousal through you, which pooled between your thighs.

"I'm here, Loki..." you whispered like a prayer. "Let me help you."

"This is your last chance, pet," he warned. "You can still change your mind. But the moment you open the door, I'm afraid there will be no going back."

Good thing you had no plans of going back.

You opened the door and stepped into your chambers; after ensuring the door was closed and locked, you took a deep breath. This was it.

As you turned around, you came face to face with your husband.

Except he wasn't quite the Loki you knew. For one thing, he was taller. Much taller. At least 8 feet tall. You briefly wondered how you'd be able to take him in this form. His usually porcelain skin was replaced with a brilliant cerulean, and across every bit of blue that your hungry eyes could find, were ridges that swept across his skin in bold strokes and delicate lines, forming intricate patterns that you longed to trace with your fingers. As your eyes settled on his face, you found some familiarity there. You recognized the bone structure and the shape of his nose, the curve of his lips; the luscious raven locks that framed his angular face were unchanged. But in place of the emerald orbs that you knew and loved were two glistening rubies, staring at you with an intensity that could only be described as ferocious.

He was beautiful. Flawless. You saw no monster before you. Only your husband. Showing you a side of himself that he has kept hidden from you. Until now.

You broke the silence first, and simply muttered, "I love you, and I am here. Use me."

And that was all the permission he needed.

He closed the distance between you impossibly fast, like a predator stalking its prey, and wrapped an icy hand around your throat, squeezing firmly, the coldness stinging like pins and needles against your skin.

His lips met yours with an urgency that you hadn't experienced before; any hint of gentleness was gone and in its place a brutal clash of tongues and teeth as he claimed your mouth, a throaty growl slipping past his lips as he basked in the taste of you on his tongue.

Fear crept up your spine for the first time since you entered, and you brought your small hands up to claw at his wrist, a desperate attempt to let him know that you needed a break; you needed to breathe.

Something within him seemed to get the message, because he peeled his mouth away from yours and released your throat, repurposing his hand to wrap around your midsection and toss you unceremoniously onto the large bed in the center of the room.

You had to admit that part of you enjoyed the way he was manhandling you.

He wasted no time freeing himself from his garments and strode towards the bed, where he situated himself over you, caging in your small frame like a hungry animal about to enjoy the spoils of its hunt.

You gulped at the sight of his enormous cock, as it bobbed angrily against his stomach, covered in the same ridges that decorated the rest of his body, the tip weeping with the evidence of his primal desire. For you.

"These pretty silks have got to go," he rasped against your ear, his breath somehow both hot and cold.

He roughly grabbed the fine fabric and you winced as you heard him rip it to shreds as easily as if your dress was made of flower petals from the garden.

Within seconds, you were bare before him, and his ravenous gaze lazily roamed over your body, savoring every dip and every curve like the sight of you alone could sate him.

Even though that couldn't be further from the truth.

When he decided that his eyes had had their fill, he brought two fingers up to prod against your lips, his gaze meeting yours, daring you to defy him.

But you didn't dare.

You submissively parted your lips and wrapped your mouth around his fingers, astonished at how much your mouth had to stretch just to accommodate them. A wicked smile tugged at his lips as your tongue danced over his digits, preparing them for exploration of another warm, wet hole.

A gasp escaped your lips as his fingers were abruptly pulled from your mouth and pushed inside your weeping cunt. They pumped and stretched you almost as much as his normal cock would, and you shuddered at the thought of what was to come.

The nerves melted away though, as his thumb found your clit and worked the sensitive nub in sweeping circles, pleasure taking over your senses and lulling you into a state of calm.

"Loki..." you whispered softly between your whimpers and pants.

He growled in response, withdrawing his fingers from your soaked pussy and wrapping his hand around your thigh, forcing your legs open as wide as they would go.

Before you had a chance to adjust to the new position, his huge cock was at your slick entrance and he thrust forward, forcing as much of himself inside you as he could, his girth stretching your walls and the tip pushing against your cervix. The sudden intrusion took your breath away, and the stinging pain you felt caused unshed tears to well in your eyes. The coldness of his skin only heightened the sensations, forcing your mouth open in a silent scream as he claimed you.

You loved him. You wanted this. You silently reminded yourself as a large blue hand found your throat once again and wrapped around tightly.

A feral moan left his lips as he began to rut into you roughly. Pushing himself in as far as your body would allow. Over and over. Chasing his own pleasure without regard for your own.

"So warm... So tight... You take me so well, pet." He grunted between thrusts. "You're mine."

You couldn't help the fresh pool of arousal that gushed between your legs in response to his words. Even as he wrecked your body and used it like a toy, you loved nothing more than being his.

His rhythm became sloppy and you knew he was close.

With a wild growl, he pulled out of you and violently flipped you over onto your stomach. You were thankful you were on the mattress and not on the floor in that moment.

His large hands dug into your hips, pulling them upwards and angling you so that he could sink himself once again into your tight cunt. You turned your head to the side, gasping for air between shameless moans as he pounded into you from behind like an animal.

It didn't take long for him to reach his peak; he let out a primal roar as he came, pumping you full of his seed. You felt it leaking out of you, dripping down your inner thighs as he continued to shallowly thrust into you while he rode out his high.

And that was the last thing you remembered before darkness blurred the edges of your vision and you succumbed to exhaustion, your body limp and spent.

--

Later, when you came to, you wiggled your fingers and toes first and slowly worked your way to moving each limb, assessing the soreness. There was an undeniable ache, but nothing you couldn't manage. You sat up in the bed and looked around the room, searching for Loki. Your eyes settled upon his familiar Asgardian form, huddled on the chair in the corner, as if he was putting as much distance as possible between the two of you without leaving you alone. His eyes were red, but not because of his Jotun blood. Because he had been crying.

"Loki, what's wrong?!" you frantically asked.

When he realized you were awake, he rushed to your side. "What's wrong? Love, look at what I've done to you!" He gestured to your body, to the bruises on your inner thighs, your hips, your wrists, your neck. He pointed to the mess between your thighs, to the bit of blood that was on the sheets between your legs. "I'm a monster. A vile, disgusting creature. I should have never let you do this!"

He looked away from you, ashamed.

You reached for his hand, in an effort to reassure him. "Loki, I wanted this. I wanted to help you. I insisted." Your thumb stroked the back of his hand in soothing circles, willing him to believe that you were okay. "And look! It worked. Your heat lasted only a few hours instead of weeks!"

"But at what cost?" He muttered, without meeting your gaze.

"I am your wife. We are a team, in everything. I vowed to be there for you and to love you no matter what, for better or for worse. A few bruises and some soreness are a small price to pay once a year if it means my husband isn't in agony for weeks at a time."

He sheepishly met your gaze then, peering up at you from under his eyelashes.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered softly.

"Yes you do. Because you are the most amazing person I know," you smiled easily as you said it. "Now, I did say we are a team, so if you're done sulking, I do believe it is your turn to do your part. Don't you have some magic healing powers that could soothe some of my aches, or am I misremembering?"

Now it was his turn to smile at you. He got to work straight away, a blanket of green seidr engulfing your body and buzzing through you, soothing away the worst of your residual pain. Then he spent the day spoiling you, running you a hot bath with your favorite rose scented bath oil, pampering you with a massage, and waiting on you hand and foot.

"Darling?"

"Yes, Loki?"

A wolfish grin crept across his lips. "When you've had a day or two to recover, I intend to make last night up to you, tenfold. To drown you in so much pleasure that the only word you'll remember is my name as it falls from your lips like a mantra."

You met his grin with your own cheeky smile. "And I intend to hold you to that, Laufeyson."

His lips met yours, then, in a passionate kiss; one that conveyed all the love and adoration he held for you. Your lover. Your husband. Your everything.

Spring was definitely your favorite season.

--

--

Tagging some lovely people who might be interested. No worries though if not, of course! @lokisgoodgirl @muddyorbsblr @mochie85 @cheekyscamp @give-me-a-moose @sarahscribbles @gigglingtigger @ladyofthestayingpower @mischief2sarawr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @wheredafandomat @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @loopsreacts @maple-seed @fictive-sl0th @coldnique @thomase1 @peachyjinx @superficialdomina @peaches1958 @evelyn-kingsley @simplyholl @tallseaweed @cake-writes @tripleyeeet @lokiandbuckysdoll @vbecker10 @lovelysizzlingbluebird

[flemingology]

morning cling ─ jessie fleming x reader

in which: jessie and you get cuddly on the morning of her day off

warnings: none, just a whole load of fluff

wc: 1.3K

a/n: feels good to be writing. just a short one this time. hope you enjoyed!

Jessie's schedule was relentless, and as much as it wasn't something that bothered her before she met you, it had definitely been a common topic of conversation the past couple years. She loved football, and she wouldn't trade the career she had for anything else, but – just as any other job – it came with its disadvantages. Whether she was away with Canada, or with Portland for away games, or just had a busy week at training, you would find your wife complaining about all the time she had to spend away from you.

That's why, on days off, or on prolonged time away from football, she loved just being together, just the two of you, soaking up each other's presence. Especially in the morning. Jessie didn't mind rising early. She'd grown used to early training sessions ever since she had made it professional, all the clubs she played for opting for the early day-to-day schedule. But whenever she had the opportunity to soak in the warmth of your embrace in bed for a bit longer than usual, there was nothing she would rather do.

You were quite the early riser yourself, and it's a habit you didn't shake on your days off. Ever since making it at one of the top steps at your corporate job you promised yourself you'd adapt to a fairly strict routine, including a 7am alarm every single workday. And much to Jessie's avail, you had a good biorhythm, so that meant you would wake up no later than 7:30 on weekends too.

Forever a sucker for your morning coffee and a couple pages of whatever book you were reading, it was often you found yourself up before the clock hit 8. Comfortable on the couch with a blanket or two wrapped around you, you enjoyed your quiet mornings. Your Canadian, on the other hand, did not enjoy your quiet mornings. Ever so the cuddler, you wouldn't get much more than half an hour because you'd hear a set of feet padding down the stairs, a tired frown etched on her face ushering you back upstairs for another hour of two.

Today was no different. It was the first Saturday of December, the start of Jessie's three-week winter break. You and your wife had arranged your plans for this day quite a while ago. You'd recently moved into a new apartment in Portland and while you managed to transfer over most of your furniture, this new apartment was quite a bit bigger so it didn't feel quite as homely yet as your other did. Today's plan was to go furniture shopping and Christmas shopping. Both you and Jessie were suckers for the festivities. Ever since being together, not a year had passed where you didn't decorate every single room in the house. Traditions of Christmas tree decorating, baking Christmas cookies or watching Christmas films were never skipped in the Fleming household.

As every other day of the week that had just passed, you stirred from your sleep at a little past 7. You stayed in bed for a couple more minutes before you carefully peeled Jessie's arm from your midsection and got up out of bed, successfully escaping the Canadian's grip without waking her up. You softly padded downstairs and made your way over to the kitchen to make yourself a coffee. You silently thanked your wife for having picked up a refresh of your favorite coffee beans the other day, when you noticed the package you were using was running empty. Coffee and book in hand, you made your way over to your usual spot on the couch and immersed yourself in the story at hand.

It wasn't long this time, probably only 15 minutes, until you were interrupted by the soft padding of fuzzy sock-covered feet making their way down the stairs of your shared apartment. The usual frown on your Canadian's face made way for a slight smile, it was a welcome sight on this slow Saturday morning. You softly closed your book and put it to the side while Jessie made her way over to the couch, opening your arms for her to fall into. She plopped down sideways on your lap with a satisfied sigh, her arms circling around you as she nuzzled her face into the crook of your neck.

"Morning, baby," you whispered softly against the side of her face as you pressed a tender kiss right beneath her ear, tracing soft patterns up and down her back with your fingers. "Morning," Jessie mumbled back, nuzzling her face impossibly deeper against your warm body. "Had a good sleep?" you asked her, to which you got a hum in response. You pressed another soft kiss against the side of Jessie's face, letting her rest for a couple more minutes in your arms before you inevitably had to get your day started.

"You're up early again," Jessie mumbled nearly incoherently into your skin. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, baby. Too good a biorhythm," you feel Jessie chuckle and you undo a couple knots as you run your fingers through her messy curls. "I'm gonna file a complaint at your work, I think", your wife said. "Oh yeah? Why's that?" you quipped back. "Because they're stealing my morning cuddles from me."

"Oh, are they now? I think we can't let that slide, can we." "Yeah, we can't. I'm gonna call them later, actually." "On a Saturday?" "Oh. Well, Monday."

You laughed breathily as Jessie mumbled further about her plans to sue your company. "Let me make you some breakfast, Jess, we have a busy day ahead of us," it took a bit of convincing, but eventually the midfielder slipped off your lap and let you make your way over to the kitchen. You downed the rest of your now cold coffee, and got started on some eggs. Scrambled, on toast. Just the way you knew Jessie liked them. It wasn't long before you felt a pair of muscular arms slipping their way around your waist. Jessie laid her head on your shoulder and watched you work, silently admiring the way you moved so effortlessly around the kitchen, even with a sleepy Canadian clutching onto your back. "Handsy this morning, yeah?"

"Can you blame me?" Jessie said, clutching you tighter against her. "You're lucky I love you, Jess". "I know. Very lucky," she replied, accentuating her words with a soft kiss to the nape of your neck. "Go sit down, baby. I'll have this ready in a couple moments. You want coffee?" Jessie hummed appreciatively in response and reluctantly let go of your body before taking her usual spot on one of the bar stools at the kitchen counter. You finished up on your breakfast and made the both of you another cup of coffee, plating all of it up and putting your wife's breakfast in front of her.

Before you could take a seat, Jessie pulled you back into her and squeezed your body against her. She wrapped one of her hands behind your neck and pulled you down to give you a proper kiss. You groaned in appreciation when her soft lips moved against yours, not urging for anything more, just a moment of affection shared between the two of you before you got your day started. Before any of you could get carried away and forget about the breakfast you had just made, Jessie started pulling away. She brought her hand down to your front and delicately brushed your bottom lip with her thumb, pulling it back a little before letting it plop back in to place. She pressed her forehead against yours, "I love you, thank you for breakfast," you grinned and pressed a couple more tender pecks against her lips before you softly spoke. "I love you more. Now get this food down so we can get this day going."

[if-whats-new]

What's New In IF? Issue 25 (2024)

By Brij, Dion, Bex and Jen

Now Available!

Itch.io - Keep Reading below

If you read the zine, consider liking the post: it helps us see how many people see it! And sharing is caring! <3

~ EDITORIAL ~

Wow what’s that? So many jams!

Game jams are a great way to bring together all kinds of game enthusiasts and make exciting new things. It’s also a great way for us readers to find new stuff. And this issue just broke its record in featured jams! So check them all out.

We want some feedback!

As we’re starting to get a hand of things, we would love some feedback from you guys! What you enjoy, want more or less off, how we could improve... Anything goes! We even have a nifty form!

Still looking for members!

Due to the severe changes in the Zine team, we are once again looking for free hands with a couple of hours to kill, and minds, looking to make a little difference in the community!

If you too would like to help us out in a more official capacity, please shoot us a message! You can check out the available positions here, but if you’d like to help in any other way, feel free to contact us as well!

No Small Talk for some time!

We hope you enjoy this new issue!

BRIJ, DION, BEX AND JEN

~ BE A PART OF THE ZINE ~

THIS ZINE ONLY HAPPENS WITH YOU!

Want to write 1-2 pages about a neat topic, or deep-dive into a game and review it in details? Share personal experiences or get all academic?

WRITE FOR THE COLUMN!

Prefer to be more low-key but still have something to share? Send us a Zine Letter or share a game title for Highlight on…!

WE WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU!

Excited as we are about next week's interview and have questions for our guest? Or want to see a certain author answer questions next? Message us!

SMALL TALK... IS WAITING!

Came across something interesting? Know a release or an update announced? Saw an event happening? Whether it's a game, an article, a podcast… Add any IF-related content to our mini-database!

EVERY LITTLE BIT COUNTS!

Contact us through Tumblr asks, Forum DMs, or even by email! And thank you for your help!!

~ EVENT SPOTLIGHT : ECTOCOMP 2024 ~

La Petite Mort or Le Grand Guignol? Either way, it’s going to get spooky!

Ever since October 2007 spooky-game enthusiasts all over the world have a chance to participate in ECTOCOMP, an annual competition for interactive fiction celebrating the SPOOKY MONTH OF HALLOWEENTOBER. Whether you celebrate Halloween, Day of the Dead, All Saint's Eve, or just love ghost stories and creeping people out, this is your time to shine!

Previously organized by Jason Guest for ADRIFT games, the jam is now open to all development platforms. Since the beginning of this initiative, there has been a motivation to unite and strengthen ties between international communities in the IF world. Creators can submit games either in one of the four main languages - English, Spanish, French and German or any other!

This year marks the 40th anniversary of Ghostbusters. Named after the Ghostbusters’ car license plate number ECTO 1, this year the jam pays tribute to the film that inspired the title! Some other subthemes and inspiration prompts are: Spooky adventure, Sweet supernatural, Halloween fest, Día de Los Muertos, All Saints', All Souls' Eve and any other festivity or mythology around the world.

As per tradition, Ectocomp has two categories:

La Petite Mort, for those who want to speed-write their game in 4 hours or less.

Le Grand Guignol, for games that, for whatever reason, took longer than 4 hours to write.

When the jam is over, all of the submitted games will be uploaded to the IF Archive.

~ ENDED ~

The voting for IFComp ended, the votes are boing counted and the results will be announced on October 19th! You can tune in for the Awards Ceremony stream. (October 19 at 4pm Eastern)

~ ONGOING (VOTING) ~

Entries have been submitted for the 6th Spooktober Annual Visual Novel Jam! You can vote for your favourites until October 27th! Every October Friday you can also watch Chizu's sponsored Spooktober Stream where she plays through all submissions!

~ ONGOING (SUBMITTING) ~

Another edition of the Bad Art Visual Novel Jam is upon us! The submissions are open until October 19th for anything following the theme Super Hero/Super Villain. Just remember: No good art!

Find inspiration in dusty old decrepit corners, revivify the forgotten - the Revival Jam 2024 is here! You can submit anything you want until the 20th of October.

Strip IF to it’s bare bones and all it become beautiful text. That’s what The Bare-Bones Jam is about.

It’s spooky month and with it comes the annual ECTOCOMP 2024. If it’s spooky or supernatural why not submit it?

Running until Halloween, the Phantasia Jam is a three months game jam to create a fantasy narrative game, with the theme of “Hidden Magic”. It accepts both VN and IF.

On the CoG Forum, Halloween is already there! Until Oct 31st, you can submit your projects to the Halloween Jam - but don't forget the theme! VAMPIRE, Murder, 70’s Disco!

Disabled Rep VN Jam has a very simple premise but a very important message.

Once upon a time, a game jam was held to create stories around the theme of fairy tales… and that game jam is the Once Upon A Time VN Jam. It’s running from October 1st to January 31st.

Concours de Fiction Interactive Francophone 2025 is for all French-speaking enthusiasts. Submissions are accepted March 3rd 2025.

Are you perhaps a fan of more somber, melancholic themes? Then check out the Dying Year - Visual Novel Jam! You have until the end of the year to participate.

The Black Visual Novel Jam is all about working with creative professional developers who work in visual novels to bring more Black stories to life. The goal is to create a space where Black creators can show their unique storytelling through visual novels.

Bare your teeth and sharpen your claws because the Monstrous Desires 2024 Visual Novel Jam is here! Dedicated to the love of entities, horrors, and monstrosities, this jam will be full of romantic Visual Novels (VN) that heavily focus on a monster may it be original or from classics, folklore, modern media, etc.

~ OTHER ~

The Interactive Fiction Showcase is still running! If you have completed an IF piece this year, consider submitting it! It is happening only on itch!

~ NEW RELEASE ~

Ink and Intrigue (CScript) is an interactive erotic fantasy novel about finding love on a lush tropical island among immortal warrior-mages as you explore ancient mysteries, craft dragon-rune tattoos, and discover your true loyalties. @leiatalon

Locked Out (Ren'Py) is a short kinetic visual novel about a young women that gets locked out of her own apartment.

Are you a The Sims lover? Then check out Buck and Jill's Trick-Or-Treat Adventure. @emperorofthedark

Daemonologie (Unreal Engine) is a short folk horror story influenced by the Scottish witch trials of the late 17th century.

Playing the game is letting it exist. (Decker) is a narrative game structured as an interview for a day trader position.

Oblivious Melodies (Twine) Volume I. is now available to play. @oblivious-melodies

As always, don't forget to check out the submitted entries to the events mentioned in the previous pages. They deserve some love too!

~ NEW RELEASE (WIP) ~

Blood of the Living (CScript), the Field’s of Asphodel sequel is here! The demo is now available for Patreon supporters. @chrysanthemumgames

In Enderbane (CScript) you’ll get to travel back in time from the London of the 1800s to a lush medieval era in Normandy. @enderinthebane

The Beast of Glenkildove has stalked Ireland for centuries. Now, you must hunt it. The Hunter: The Reckoning — The Beast of Glenkildove (CScript) demo is now available.

The Shadow Whisperer (Ren’py) is a visual novel where you get to attend what would have been just another uneventful ball, if only you had not piqued the interest of the mysterious Lord Helderon.

The Soulforge Order (Twine) is a sci-fi fantasy text-based game about becoming an elite warrior that helps to protect the world of Azish. @thesoulforgeorder

In The Empire (CScript) you’re the sole heiress to the great Empire of Ethrean whose expected to be the next ruler. But that is not a title that comes lightly; with assassins, possible backstabbers and increasingly daring rebels, your future is in jeopardy.

So you have a stalker, but he's your type, so what now? Find out by playing Marry My Stalker.

~ UPDATES ~

A Shriek of Ash and Fire (CScript) added extra content to their demo. @krogpile

After Dark (CScript) added the second part of the fifth day of the journey to the demo.

College Tennis: Origin Story (CScript) released Chapter 5 to the public. @collegetennisoriginstory

Grey Swan - Birds of a Rose (CScript) added content to their re-written demo. @reinekes-fox

Incubus (Twine) released Chapter 5. @sonnet009games

Meteoric (CScript) finished Chapter 4.

Misplaced (CScript) released Chapter 8. @calliopefiction

Parasitical (CScript) added new content to the demo. @parasitical-if

The Mighty Shifter (CScript) updated the demo. @miss-briar-novels

The Unbeheaded (CScript) released Chapter 2.

Thicker Than (CScript) released their monthly update. @barbwritesstuff

Virtue's End (CScript) updated the public demo with a part of Chapter 2. @virtues-end

Drink Your Villain Juice (CScript) added new content to their demo. @drinkyourvillainjuice

DEERBOURNE (CScript) added Chapter 2 to their demo. @daisychainfiction

Seven's Deadly (Twine) finished Chapter 3. @sevensdeadly-if

Love the Guard, Be the King (Ren’Py) added new content to their demo. @ligiawrites

Our Life: Now and Forever (Ren’Py) added Patreon beta update that completes the trick or treating adventures of Step 1. @gb-patch

Weeping Gods (CScript) added extra content to Chapter 2. @jcollinswrites

~ OTHER ~

Werewolves 3: Evolution’s End is in need of beta testers.

The VNture podcast is back with another episode! This time talking about festivals in VNs.

~

As always, we apologize in advance for missing any update or release from the past week. We are only volunteers using their limited free time to find as much as we can - but sometimes things pass through the cracks.

If you think something should have been included in this week's zine but did not appear, please shoot us a message! We'll do our best to add it next week! And if you know oncoming news, add it here!

~ MAYBE YOU NEXT? ~

We did not get a submission this week. But if you have an idea for a short essay, or would like a special space to share your thoughts about IF and the community...

Shoot us an email!

~ HIGHLIGHT ON ~

A couple of games that we thought were cool.

Your favourite game here?

Do you have a favourite game that deserves some highlighting?

An old or recent game that wowed you so much you spam it to everyone?

Tell us about it! And it might appear here!

Thank you for the issue! 💗 I found out so many ifs thanks to you guys

- @lacewing707

WE LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU ALL! WHETHER IT'S GOOD OR BAD, OR EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN...

Have something to say? Send us a message titled: Zine Letter!

Everyone’s favourite holiday is upon us, and as a celebration, we in the WNIF team decided to make the next two issues HALLOWEEN THEMED! What does that mean? Aside from a slight graphic change, we will be adding a recommendation section - something of a larger version of the Highlight on... section you’re already used to.

But for that, we will need your help! Is there a game that you love that just screeches "Halloween!" at you? Share it with us and we will include it in one of our Halloween double-issues so all our other readers can check it out as well.

We even have a form for it!

As always, huge thanks to all you readers who liked, shared, and commented on the last issue!

What might be tiny actions are huge support and motivators to us!

Thank you for cheering us on this journey

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

We now have a Linktree! Accessing all of our links has never been easier.

And see you again next week, this time more spooky! (So bring a costume.)

BRIJ, DION, BEX, JEN

WHAT'S NEW IN IF? 2024-ISSUE 25

[trulyumai]

touching upon ash

—pairing: Pre fallen! Messmer / Wife! Reader

Synopsis: Messmer was never good at dealing with jealousy. So how will he deal with such a situation at hand, led by his brother no less?

—Warnings: Show of anger, jealousy, protectiveness.

A/N: guess who's back, back again

Messmer was furious. 

Anger bit at the seams of his being, fueling the fire that sprawled across his fingers until it met with his forearm and made home on his skin.  

Seeing his wife there, gracing and upsetting the presence with that… filth.

Today, he caved into his little wife; brought her to the outskirts of town and to the city of the west. To the enclave of shops and people that littered the flower lands. She had begged him for weeks on end, saying how she missed the pretty mounds of plants, that she was out of plenty necessities for the excuse of an outing. 

Now he regrets permitting such an occasion. To see her mingle so freely with that man. He could set fire to the lands now, spit at the burning corpses below his feet and save her the trouble of talking to anyone again.

He had no idea Godwyn the Golden would visit such a place, so far from the capital. Today of all days.

A basket, wickered and hand made was placed at the hip of her dress. She laughed jovially at something the blonde had pointed at, to which she then nodded her head, enthusiastically responding in her own unaware manner. 

Not seeing the twitch of the flames fingers, nor of is now close proximity. 

She had to feel the touch of his warm digits, caressing the backside of her covered form to know of the man's presence. 

“Husband!” His wife greeted, already getting onto her tippy toes to place a little kiss to the mans cheek. Unconsciously Messmer bent down, ever used to her smaller form as a look of hate spewed from his features, towards the so-called, “Lord.” 

“Ah, brother,” Godwyn smiled, citizens around the group had taken notice of the lord's frame, stopping to stare at such a gift of grace, from Queen Marika herself.

“Enjoying the festivities I see.” 

Messmer shifted uncomfortably. To see the golden order placed upon his armor with such casualty. It made a hatred boil up, if only he could grab the man by his neck, lift him up pathetically until his skin burned and b-

“We were just sightseeing, my lord. The flowers are beautiful this time of year.” Godwyn’s eyes twinkled with a sense of understanding, the skin crinkled around his mouth as a warm smile broadened. 

“Of course, such an appropriate response for someone as… kindhearted as thou.”

Messmers hands cracked with pressure, his knuckles a deep red as the blood flow squeezed with a strength only the flame could emit. 

Godwyn ignored such tells, instead, he reached out into the pouch upon his side, taking out a white lily. It was gorgeous, from its delicate pale petals to the leaves that cascaded down the stock. He reached forward and did something Messmer would never be able to shake off. 

His hand brushed against her hair delicately, lightly slotting it between her ear and the cascading waves of brushed mane that fell upon his wife's back. It hung there loosely as her fingertips came up to greet the new addition of elegance. 

“Thank you, my lord that- was awfully kind of you.”

“Nonsense!” The man responded, cooly placing his hand back at his side. “Someone as enticing as you should always be gifted with any form of beauty. Now,” With a perfect stance the man bowed his head, already raising his gloved hands in dismissal. “I'll hope for a visit soon from the two of you. Take care, mh?” Turning fully around, Godwyn's armor clashed against the colors around. So golden, so pristine. Everything else lay so distasteful compared to such a maximalist sight. 

Finally craning her neck up, her head met with Messmers chest. Arms coiled around her body tightly, protectively trying to shield her from any more prying eyes. He tried to calm himself, he really did. 

But to see him touch her like that? 

Losing it, the knight snapped. Placing a hand upon the back of your neck, he quickly guided you both through the crowd, ignoring the startled cries erupting from his wife's lips. “Mess- what are you-” 

Moving at space that was deemed too slow for his liking, big hands came to nest there way under her thighs until they lifted her completely. Now she lay in his arms, bridal style as the red haired man moved carelessly. Pushing and shoving anyone out of his way, to return to their rightful spot. 

Their home. Where they would have been in the first place.

The basket wobbled in the girl's lap and with the added force, fruits had come loose, spilling from the wickered hold and dropping onto the ground. She tried to get the man's attention, pushed at his broad shoulders in defiance but he paid it no mind. 

He kept the fast pace, too clouded with rage to pay his adoring wife any mind. 

They arrived home much quicker than she thought was possible. Messmer had plopped her down just in front of the house, by the gardens she had tended to just that morning. 

Her hair now messy and undone (paired with the upset expression), held upon her delicate features. It made the man buckle with uneasy guilt. 

That was until he saw the lily flopped against the side of her cheek. Like it belonged there.

There was that burning rage again.

Veiny hands quickly snatched at the plant, making his wife flinch back in shock. The lily, now sagging against his palms, was covered almost instantly by his hands. 

She reached out, demanded the man return such a gift before a sizzling sounded out. Then, a smoke black and gray fell between the man's fingers as his flame swallowed the flower whole. 

She did nothing but watch as he cradled his palm, watched as the ash seeped between his fingers and stained his hands. 

Finally feeling free of such hostile emotions, the man could breathe once more. Looking away from his soot covered hand, his wife's lip jutted up in rebuttal. Already he could se a sadness gnawing at her orbs. He felt guilty, not for destroying such a gift, but for allowing such a negative emotion to take hold of his wife. 

He was never good at comforting her. With desperate eyes he moved away from her, quickly seizing a plant from its flowerbed and holding it out to her shakily. 

Licking his lips he waited- felt the brush of her fingers as they took the little plant from his grasp. 

An altus bloom stood firmly in her grasp. Its bright color lit up with a lovely hue and Messmer hoped such an action would replace the lilys existence. 

“I…” Not knowing what to say, he just stood there. Form now sagging with a tiredness. The end of his rage and adrenaline left him tired and weak. Weak from staring at the pretty, upset form in front of him. Those pouting lips and pinkened cheeks. 

Gods. How did he get so lucky? 

She cradled the flower to her chest, dirt had smudged on the cotton and Messmer went to brush it away with light and small drags of his nail. 

“It's okay.” She spoke. Voice so small the knight wanted to set himself ablaze. 

“Is it?” The man was insecure in his own actions; too afraid his show of dominance had pushed her way. 

“It is.” Relief flooded through his system as a smile was given to the man in reassurance. He couldn't help but let himself fall down to her height and drag his nose across her neck. Her sweet scent helped calm him down, it was always an efficient way to stop any troubling thoughts to merge its way across his mind. 

That's all that needed to be said, it seemed. For the girl had tugged on his forearm, leading him into their shack to start a well needed home meal. 

[pascaloverx]

stockholm syndrome

Summary: You’ve just started working at a local diner, where whispers swirl about the disappearance of the previous waitress. While some believe she simply grew weary of her ordinary life, the mystery surrounding her vanishing lingers. On your first day, a man with piercing blue eyes catches your eye. His name is Titus, and he was a frequent customer of the missing waitress.

Author's Note: This fanfic will romanticize abduction; please be aware of this. It may also include violence and inappropriate language. This fanfic features characters from the short film Regulars (2023).

preview

ONE

You replay the night you spent with Titus over and over in your mind, unable to forget his kind smile or the way his presence had warmed an otherwise lonely evening. But he had vanished after that day, leaving you with nothing but questions. Christmas had come and gone, yet the diner still clung to the festive spirit, its decorations and endless loop of holiday songs a stark contrast to the unease that lingered in your chest. You couldn’t help but wonder what you might have done to drive away someone as gentle as Titus.

"Y/N, you're closing the diner tonight, right? We've got a New Year’s party to get to, and we don’t want to be late," one of your coworkers says, already halfway out of her uniform.

The two of them always seemed to take advantage of your willingness to pick up the slack. "I was the one who stayed late on Christmas," you reply, your tone calm despite the indignation simmering beneath the surface. "Am I expected to spend New Year’s here as well?"

"Look, we all know you don’t have any family around here," one of your coworkers says with a dismissive shrug, already slipping into her coat. "So you might as well stay until the end of the shift. Simple as that. And don’t get upset just because that weird little customer hasn’t come back to see you."

The other coworker, fully dressed to leave, chimes in with a smirk, and you look at her, stunned by the sheer pettiness of her remark.

"His name is Titus, not 'weird little customer.' You're bitter, but don’t worry—go ahead and enjoy your party. I’ll close the diner," you reply coldly, glaring at her with disdain. Neither of them seems to care about your reaction; they’re simply thrilled to be off the hook.

As your coworkers leave without so much as a thank you, you continue tending to the few customers scattered around the diner. While delivering the orders for two tables, you hear the bell above the door chime. You glance up and freeze. There, standing in the entryway, is Titus. He’s dressed more formally this time, his shirt neatly pressed and held up by a pair of suspenders that lend him an old-fashioned charm. His gentle smile warms the room, but you meet it with a closed-off expression. You're torn, your emotions a mix of disappointment and self-preservation. Perhaps Titus was just a lonely customer who needed company that one night, and you happened to be there. You refuse to let yourself hope for more.

"Good evening, sir. Here is your menu. If you're ready to place your order, just call for me," you say as Titus takes a seat. You hand him the menu with practiced composure, doing your best to mask the effect his presence has on you.

"I thought we’d moved past such formalities," Titus murmurs, his tone soft but laced with a timid attempt at confidence.

"We can always be mistaken, sir," you reply, keeping your voice steady and neutral. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another customer to attend to, but when you’re ready to order..." As you turn to leave, Titus gently takes your hand, his touch firm enough to stop you but still careful, almost hesitant. It’s enough to make you pause, your breath catching as you glance back at him. For a brief moment, his gaze holds yours, and the air feels heavier with unspoken words.

"May I explain the reason for my disappearance? Just give me a chance," Titus says softly, his eyes holding a pleading, almost puppy-like quality that leaves you momentarily flustered.

"At the end of the shift, you may explain whatever you wish, sir," you reply coldly, pulling your hand from his grasp with measured restraint.

For the rest of the evening, Titus remains at the diner, his presence as steady as the hum of the Christmas music playing in the background. Between attending to other customers and refilling his two cups of tea—which he ordered throughout the night—you find your gazes meeting far more often than you’d like. Each glance feels like an unspoken invitation, as if both of you were silently longing to bridge the space between you. You try to maintain your resolve, reminding yourself to keep your distance. Yet, the gentle warmth in his eyes chips away at your defenses, leaving you to wonder if opening your heart to him might not be as foolish as you fear.

"The shift is over," Titus says, his tone betraying how eagerly he'd been counting down to this moment alone with you.

"Very well, you may explain yourself while I finish closing the register. Not that you owe me an explanation," you reply, keeping your hands busy tidying up the diner to avoid meeting his gaze directly.

"The last time I was here, I mentioned having lost someone I loved," Titus begins, his voice quiet and uncertain, as if the words themselves might falter. "Speaking so openly with you made me reflect deeply on that loss—on whether I was ready to allow myself to feel vulnerable again, to open myself up the way I had before. Vulnerability is... delicate. I let my insecurities take hold and pull me away."

His voice wavers slightly, and this time, instead of the fidget toy he had used as a shield before, he clings to the cuff of his dress shirt, as though the fabric itself might offer him some semblance of steadiness. Each pause, each moment of hesitation, feels heavy with sincerity, and despite yourself, you find your resolve beginning to waver.

"Honestly, I was only upset because I couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong. But I must assure you, it was never my intention to pressure you," you say, guilt tugging at you for having misjudged him. As a gesture of reconciliation, you take the seat across from Titus, signaling that you’re ready to listen and let the tension dissolve.

"Nothing went wrong," Titus replies softly, his eyes holding yours with a quiet intensity. "In fact, you were one of the very few people I’ve ever felt so comfortable talking to." His hands fidget briefly before stilling, as though he’s resisting the urge to reach out—either to take your hand or to pull you closer. The sincerity in his voice lingers, filling the small space between you, making it impossible not to feel the weight of his words.

"Perhaps it would be easier if we simply see this for what it is—you as my customer, and I as your waitress," you say with an understanding smile, your tone gentle as you meet Titus's gaze.

He presses his lips together, his expression pensive, as though carefully weighing his words. "I’d like to think I’m more than just your customer," he finally says, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability.

As he nervously fidgets with the teacup in front of him, you instinctively reach out, placing your hand over his. His skin is cold to the touch, but the small gesture seems to ease the tension in his frame. His fingers still beneath yours, and for a moment, the world outside the quiet diner fades away.

"This is my favorite Christmas song," you murmur, your voice light as you try to shift the mood, noticing the faint blush that blooms on Titus's cheeks after you touched his hand.

As if summoned by a surge of bravery, he stands, his chair scraping softly against the floor. He extends his hand toward you, his expression both nervous and determined. "May I?" he asks, his voice steady yet gentle, the unspoken promise in his words clear. It’s an invitation, not just to dance but to share a moment of quiet magic amidst the humdrum of your workplace. The soft melody of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" swirls around you, creating a bubble of warmth and possibility, as if the world outside no longer matters.

"I’m honored," you say, taking his hand and stepping into the slow rhythm of the dance. Your movements are unhurried, and as the sway of the music draws you closer, your head naturally rests near Titus’s shoulder. He leans in, his face near yours as if breathing you in. What might have felt odd under different circumstances now seems profoundly intimate, a gesture so unspoken yet deeply meaningful.

At one point, he gently spins you, and when you return, colliding softly into his frame, you find yourselves face to face. His warm breath brushes against your skin, carrying the faint, comforting scent of vanilla. Before you can fully register the moment, he leans forward and places a soft, fleeting kiss on your lips—a delicate graze that leaves you stunned. But rather than pulling away, you cup his face in your hands, holding him close as you press your lips to his in return. This time, the kiss is fuller, imbued with tenderness and a stirring intensity, as if speaking the words neither of you dared to say aloud.

When your lips part, Titus exhales as though a weight has been lifted from his chest. "Will you go out with me tomorrow?" he asks, his body still close to yours, his voice soft but steady.

"Like a date?" you reply, a hopeful lilt in your tone as the possibility of something real between you begins to take shape.

"Yes, a date," Titus confirms, though his words are quiet, almost hesitant, as though unsure if he should suggest what comes next. "I could cook for you... at my place."

"It sounds perfect," you answer warmly, your smile breaking through any lingering nerves in his demeanor. Leaning in, you press a gentle kiss to his cheek. He closes his eyes, a peaceful expression washing over him as though your acceptance is everything he dared to hope for and more.

[muzanswaifu]

A Step Ahead

Yandere! Tomioka x Fem! Reader

18+

After celebrating New Year's in the city with your friends, it's time to go home for the night. A man is behind you. What will you do?

This is a game I've come up with where I will provide you with a couple paragraphs of story then give you choices for what actions the reader takes next. The winner of the poll will be the next section of the story the I will give you guys the next round of choices until the fanfic is concluded. Smut will occur at some point. Please join!

Warnings: Yandere, Smut later on

“We’ll see you later!”

“Yeah, see ya!”

You slowly turned away from them, walking down the busy street toward the eastern exit, passing several parade mascots and prancing dancers covered head to toe in loud clothing. The New Year’s Festival was always busy, but this year seemed to be especially popular, almost twice the amount of people than usual. You also were only visiting the city to visit friends and celebrate, but it just seemed so strange that everything was so crowded. Lines were longer for games and food couldn’t be made fast enough. You nearly didn’t stay long enough for the fireworks due to such overstimulation but with some pestering and blackmail by your friends, you bore through it long enough.

Quite honestly, you didn’t even want to spend so long in the city tonight. If you were up to you, you all would have gone to the festival, played a couple games, ate some food, watched a stage play, then gone back to someone’s home to lie around and gossip. But the ladies insisted you stay out all night, fooling around and even flirting with some boys that your fathers most certainly wouldn’t have approved of you talking to. It’s not that you minded too much being out and about, but it’s just… not what you had in mind for tonight specifically. You’ve been quite a bit anxious as of late, something felt off. You couldn’t point it out just yet, but the hair rising along your nape whispered cautions into your ear like a prophecy. It felt as if something were to go wrong at some point, so might as well quit while you were ahead.

Unfortunately, you didn’t live in the city like your friends. Your parents still had their residence in a nearby small village and as much as you would’ve liked to have moved out by now, you simply couldn’t afford it. Your job at the shop didn’t pay enough, you weren’t in a relationship, much less did you have a husband, and you just weren’t ready to leave home yet. Mother was pregnant again, much to your displeasure as you had grown quite tired of having so many siblings, and she needed help around the house that the others couldn’t provide. Your two older brothers were already moved out of the house doing their own things and your oldest sister gone and married. You were the oldest in the house now and that came with responsibilities. Mother nearly hadn’t let you come out tonight until Father convinced her to let you be young while you still could. Despite having turned eighteen all that time ago, he still treated you like a little girl. That had its perks fortunately.

Unfortunately it had its cons as well - curfews. You were leaving now and would still be late, but one could argue that was better than not at all. You would get a talking to at most. But the walk itself was a punishment in itself. The road to the village hadn’t been paved by the city yet due to its lack of popularity. Not many people traveled to and fro so it hadn’t become a priority. The wood was still thick this way of town, and despite the wildlife being marginally safe, the fear of the unknown was a danger more fearsome. You’d yet to experience an actual life threatening experience, but you hated to jinx it. The gravel was as coarse as ever, threatening your ankle with a twist and providing the soles of your shoes with a challenge. Save for the sparse lanterns lighting the path, darkness was smothering you and sending shocks of nervousness up your spine. Had it not been for the fireworks filling the area with light every few minutes, you might’ve turned back and begged one of your friends to let you spend the night.

The walk was relatively silent, a trill here and there from squirrels and rabbits but nothing too frightening. What was really bothering you was the crackling of branches and fallen leaves behind you. The sound seemed misplaced compared to its siblings to the left and right of you. That combined with the chill had you increasing your pace, desperate to get home and crawl into your warm, cozy bed already. The sounds quickened. You gasped.

A firework broke off just as you turned, light filling in the gaps between the trees and setting off a bomb of clarity to your surroundings. 

There was a man behind you... 

His vision disappeared far quicker than it came, the light only temporary as you were yet again accompanied by questions. You didn’t see much,  he was several yards away and taller you think, dark and messy hair. He could’ve been a mile away, short, and bright and you still would’ve been afraid. Who the hell trails behind someone like that in the dark? Unless… he was following you...

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 13: THE JOYS OF SOVIET TECHNOLOGIES

synopsis: you celebrate the release of kollektiv 2.0, and meet a kind stranger and an american danseur that both seem really familiar.

word count: 1.9k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: the long wait is over!!!! the research essay has been slain and i have time to write again :)

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya , @n30n-f43 , @igna4400 (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

The bright sun above fills you with a pleasant warmth, but the plentiful trees that line the canal provide a wealth of shade. Automated paddle boats cut through the water at a languid pace, giving the couples inside plenty of time to talk and a semblance of privacy.

People are friendlier now than at any other time of the year – you’re all attending a festival, so it makes sense. They smile and shake your hand and greet you with a happy “Is it not an amazing day, comrade?” 

The booths you walk past are showing off the new weapons they’ve developed and their upgrades (you’ve never seen a Kalashnikov in person before!), THOUGHT devices and their benefits, and a myriad of other advanced technologies only now being revealed to the public. But the bells and whistles are to be expected – today is a celebration of Facility 3826, after all.

The date is June 12th, 1955. And it’s a wonderful day to be a citizen of the glorious Soviet Union.

As you walk by, machines continue their routines. VOV-A6 Techs work on foot to deliver crates (you’d almost mistake them for humans if not for the mark on the middle of their backs and the unfeeling, unmoving mask they have for a face). MTU-7 Bumblebees move cargo crates through the sky, the sound of their blades beating against the wind sending a soft hum through the air. TER-A1 Tereshkovas guide tourists through the city, their feet barely scraping the concrete as they move. 

“Good day, comrade!” Someone’s voice cuts you from your thoughts. It’s a facility representative – a man dressed in a white labcoat, a crisp black tie, and a THOUGHT device (a module placed on the temple with wires that float off the browbone to reach over to the opposite temple). “Come closer! I’m here to help.”

“Hello, comrade,” you say. You look over at the booth he’s standing by. It’s a short silver pole, no taller than him, with a circular tray floating around it, rotating slowly. It has little different colored modules on it, each floating above their designated coupling. 

“Would you like a THOUGHT device?” He asks. “It’s high time you got one!”

“No, thank you.” You hold up a hand. “I’m just browsing for now.”

“Why restrict yourself to browsing when you can get your own personalized device this very instant?” The man asks. “I can help you pick out the right unit. It can even match your eye color!”

He picks up one and holds it close to your face, as if gauging it. “Ah, yes! A violet gooseberry model would suit you well.” He takes the module away and looks you over. “You… are polymerized, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you say. “But… I thought those devices weren’t going to come online until next Monday.”

“That’s right, comrade. But some people like to get it early, like a pre-order.” He tosses the module on the tray, and it magnetizes back to its coupling. “At the moment, the device functions as a personal telephone set and headlight, but it also allows the user to get used to wearing it on their head.”

“Well…” You look over the modules on the rotating tray. “It’s free, right?”

“Absolutely!” The man says, a smile on his worn face. “Allow me to connect you.”

He gestures to the booth, telling you to take your pick. You look over your options before picking out one that’s a crisp cerulean blue – you don’t know why, but the color seems nice to you. Like it reminds you of something, or someone. You pick it up even as the device tries to stay magnetized to its coupling. You turn it over in your hand before pressing it to your temple. It sticks, and wires come out to reach over to your other temple, like a half-crown or half-halo. 

The man presses a finger to his THOUGHT device. After a few moments, a confused look crosses his face. 

“Khm, that’s odd…” he says. “It seems I can’t access your biometric data. Maybe there’s some sort of malfunction…? I’m so sorry.”

You take off the module and return it to its place on the tray. “Ah, don’t sweat it. I don’t wear a lot of jewelry, anyway. Thanks for telling me about it, though.”

“Of course, comrade,” the man says. “Again, I do apologize. Have a good day!”

“You too.” You turn to walk, but stop yourself. “Actually, sir – I have a question, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes?” He says. 

“It’s about…” You gesture vaguely around. “The people. They’re all speaking English. I don’t mind, since I can speak it. But I would expect at least some Russian.”

“Oh, yes!” The man laughs. “Facility 3826 is promoting the learning of English, just in case anyone sees anything of American origin. This is so if anyone sees or hears English, they’d be able to discern whether or not it’s a threat to the goodness of our Union. The festival is a good time to practice for people that are still learning.”

“That makes sense,” you hum. “Thank you.”

You continue walking down the street. It would’ve been nice to have a transportable telephone, but it’s not like you’re in dire need of one. You can figure that out later. 

There’s a small crowd gathered around a RAF-9 Engineer juggling various things it’s taken from the crowd: pochette-style purses, children’s toys, cigarette cartons. You stop at the edge of the group and watch as it throws the items up and catches them with pinpoint accuracy. 

There’s a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, kid.”

You turn and see a man. He’s late forties, early fifties at most. His hair brushes past his ears in an untamed, grey mop and his beard matches it. His face is worn, but his gap-toothed smile is kind.

“I’m sorry, comrade.” You smile politely. “But I… don’t recognize you. You’re probably mistaking me for someone else.”

“Oh, shit,” he says, removing his hand from your shoulder. “You look like someone I know. My bad.”

“Well, I’m sure your friend is around here somewhere!” You try. “They may be at one of the cheburek or bliny stands. There’s a really good one selling bliny just down that way.”

The stranger checks over his shoulder, where you were pointing, then looks back to you. “I’m not from around here. You mind showing me the way?”

You check your pocket watch and mentally count the time until Dmitry Sechenov’s grand speech. You’re not crunched for time yet, and it would do you good to have something to tide you over until you could eat a real meal.

“Yeah, sure.” You start walking, and the stranger matches your pace.

“The stand has a few fillings,” you say, both to fill dead air and to make the silence less awkward. “Fruit preservatives – cherries, apples, plums, berries – meat, honey, or just plain with butter and salt.”

“What’s your recommendation?” The now-somewhat-familiar stranger asks. 

“Well, in the spring, they’d have imported lemon preservatives,” you say. “But it’s summer, so that well’s dried up. I’d just go with the cherries. Sweet or bitter, it doesn’t really matter to me.”

“You’re just makin’ me hungry,” the stranger mumbles with a smile.

You laugh. “That’s the idea, no?”

After another minute of walking, the stand comes into view. Two men are operating the stand, and the soft scent of batter on the griddle beckons you closer. A radio is playing.

“Look at the menu,” you tell the familiar-stranger. “Take your pick. It’s cheap, so I’ll pay.”

You look around while he looks at the menu. There’s other people, obviously, and some on the canal are pointing at a man in an automated paddleboat. You barely hear whispers of “It’s comrade Major Nechayev!”

You turn your eyes away. Nechayev doesn’t really interest you. From what you’ve heard, he’s just some military dog leftover from the Red Army. What does interest you is the crowd across the canal. 

They’re gathered around some sort of stage that must’ve been assembled temporarily for the festival, like an American carnival. You watch for a few moments, but can’t glimpse what’s happening on stage. 

The stranger pulls you out of your thoughts. “Hey, what’re they talkin’ about on the radio?”

You turn back to him. “Huh?”

He points at the radio that’s playing on the bliny stand. It’s playing a jingle: “For the greatest advancements in cosmetic enhancements, there’s only one man you should be trusting your glam with!”

You listen a little longer and catch a name – Doctor Steinman – and roll your eyes. “It’s that underwater city off the coast of Iceland. The one that uses the same technologies as the ones invented to create the Neptune complex here.”

The stranger nudges you. “Why’re you rollin’ your eyes?”

“The city won’t last,” you say. “They say that it’s a city where the great won’t be brought down by the small. And all those immigrants go to Rapture thinking they’ll survive the fire of American-based industry. But they forget that, even in utopia, someone has to scrub the toilets.”

“Yeah, that’s a factor most forget,” the stranger says. 

“Eh, what else do you expect from capitalists?” You shrug. “Let’s just order. What do you want?”

The stranger looks back at the menu. “Uh… a bliny with… apple preserves.”

You quickly order your bliny and his and fork over the rubles, then look across the canal. The performance is still going. 

“Listen, khm,” you say to the stranger without looking away from the stage. “Can you watch our order? I want to see what’s happening across the canal.”

“Uh… yeah, sure,” the stranger says. 

You thank him quickly and hurry over the bridge to get to the other side of the waterway. You slowly make your way through the crowd – not to the front, but just enough so you can see…

A danseur? (Or a ‘ballerino’ in other countries, you suppose.) He’s wearing a form-fitting black shirt and a matching pair of tights. His pointe shoes are a soft pink, just a few shades off his skin tone. A THOUGHT device crowns his head – the same cerulean blue model you were looking at earlier. 

As he moves, he matches the music perfectly. It’s like he was born to extract the flow and rhythm from music and express it in dance. His feet don’t break their arch and don’t falter, even for a split second. 

Then, he turns. On his front, over his left breast, is a small American flag. 

Your eyebrows crease. You lean over and quietly ask a nearby woman, “He’s from America?”

“It was made in America,” she whispers back. “It’s an android, comrade.”

The danseur turns his head as his arm swoops up to point his fingertips to the sky. His soft, brown eyes lock with yours with you and you feel… you don’t know what you feel. It’s something physical, on your back. Maybe someone bumped into you? But the crowd isn’t moving. 

You take a step backwards as he continues staring at you, stock-still. You take another, then look behind you. The crowd is gone.

“Какого хуя?” You mumble. 

You look back up at the danseur. He’s moved a little closer, his feet just barely stepping off the stage. He comes closer, his movements still fluid and graceful, like he’s still dancing.

“Officer?” He asks softly. 

“What?” You say. 

His hand comes to your face, his fingertips just barely brushing across your jawline. His lips start to form a word, but –

-> CH 13: GOOD, HONEST SNAKE OIL – IF THERE IS SUCH A THING!

synopsis: after you and arthur swing by the sheriff's office, you go on a run to hunt a bounty and meet a man who seems really familiar.

word count: 1.3k

ships: CH: “mister kamski? the officer is stable, and is responding well to the reintegration system.”

notes: EK: “make sure they go through each as quickly as possible, chloe. i need to see if they can get back on their feet.”

HoTS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya , @n30n-f43 , @igna4400 (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HOUSE OF TRUE SECURITY MASTERLIST

“I got it.” A voice pulls you to look over at the entrance to the Valentine’s Sheriff’s Office. It’s Arthur Morgan, holding up a folded-up wanted poster. 

You lean down from your horse (a beautiful Dutch Warmblood named Bronya) and reach out to Arthur as he approaches. “Give this to me.”

Arthur hands over the poster, and you unfold it. It’s for one mister Benedict Allbright – needed alive, for a reward of fifty dollars.

“He needs to be living?” You say. “This is unlike you.”

Arthur mounts his horse, a Tenessee Walker named Marie. He clicks his tongue and presses his legs together against Marie’s flank once, and she starts trotting. You and Bronya follow. 

“Was the only one there,” Arthur says as you pull up beside him. “They says he’s been poisonin’ folks with some ‘miracle cure’ from here to Annesburg. Says he killed more ‘n Landon Ricketts without even pullin’ a trigger.”

“Troubling,” you say. “He is dangerous?”

Arthur looks over at you. “Would I bring you along if he was?”

“He cannot be more trouble than Angel Island,” you say. 

And everything comes rushing back. The Wild West is being tamed. A robbery in Blackwater went wrong, and you and the rest of the Van der Linde gang were forced to flee east – the exact opposite of where you wanted to go. And you’re only in this mess because of the officials operating Angel Island. They somehow messed up your papers, and you couldn’t get the work you were promised. You were forced to steal, lie and sometimes even kill to get your way. 

The date is June 12th, 1899. And it’s a normal day as a somewhat-citizen of the United States of America.

“Where is this… Allbright?” You ask. 

“Fellers down at the Sheriff’s said he was holed up in some gorge north a’ here,” Arthur says. 

“Ah! I know what you speak of,” you say, squeezing Bronya’s sides with your claves. She breaks into a canter. “Follow!”

“Now, you can’t just –!” Arthur makes an exasperated sound, then matches your speed. “At least give me a warnin’!”

You laugh, the sound full of warmth. The ground beneath the horses’ hooves turns from the mud of Valentine into the drier dirt of the outer town limits. 

A few minutes later, you pull off the well-trodden trail and into the knee-high grasses. You lead Arthur through the sparse trees that make up the edges of Cumberland Forest.

“How come you know these parts so well?” Arthur asks, breaking the somewhat-silence.

“I have a good head,” you say. “After riding through this place once, I know it, um… I know it like…” You grumble, frustrated. You know what you’re trying to say, but just… can’t articulate it right. You’re tempted to just say it in Russian, but Arthur wouldn’t understand, and you would risk any passerby potentially becoming hostile. (Shouldn’t you speak better English than this? You remember speaking better English than this…)

“What’re you tryna say?” Arthur asks. He’s used to this.

You take one of your hands away from the reins and hold it up. “Something to do with hands. I know it like… like my hands know it?”

“Like the back of my hand,” Arthur corrects. 

“That!” You chime, re-taking the reins in hand. “I know it like the back of my hand.”

You hear the sound of water running along a riverbed and perk up. “We are close.”

Marie follows Bronya as you guide her up a slope into a small alcove carved into a mountain. It’s a thin slope – on one side is the mountain, and on the other is a twenty-meter drop into a river. The alcove is housing a man – supposedly Benedict Allbright – and his horse.

You turn back to Arthur and jerk your head towards Allbright. He’s always been the more intimidating of you two, so you’re letting him lead this one. 

Arthur grunts and dismounts his horse before walking by Bronya, towards Allbright. “Oh, what we got here?”

He continues walking forward until he comes to a stop just before Allbright’s bedroll and campfire. “Are you Benedict Allbright?”

Allbright stands, backing away from Arthur a bit. “N-no, sir.”

“You kinda look like him,” Arthur says. “And we was told he’d be up here.”

“No, uh,” Allbright says. “Not me, sir.”

“It’s because…” Arthur sighs, and looks out of the alcove, down at the river. “I wanna buy some medicine. And, I heard… I heard good things.”

The corner of your mouth twitches up. Arthur could rival Hosea with his tact for semantics, even if he adamantly denies it. 

“I’ll pay – in gold – i-if you can help me find him. It’s just…” Arthur glances over at you, then the ground, like it pains him to look at you. “My brother’s child over there is real sick. Russiatitus, they was callin’ it. Rare disease. We tried all them medicines they said to try, but… nothin’s workin’.”

“Oh!” Allbright looks over at you through his spectacles and smiles. “Well… if it’s for the ill, I’d be more than happy to help!”

He turns and walks over to his bags, picking out a small bottle filled with a viscous, dark yellow liquid. “I’m a healer, y’know? A medical man.”

Allbright turns back and hands it to Arthur. “Finest medicine in the state.”

Arthur pretends to be wowed, then tosses the bottle off the edge of the alcove and into the river. Before Allbright has time to react, he’s drawn his revolver. So have you. You spur Bronya to walk forward, past Allbright’s horse and partially into his camp.

“Game’s over, mister.” Arthur angles himself so that he’s blocking the only other exit. “Put your hands up – we’re takin’ you in.”

“Takin’ me in?” Allbright repeats, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. He puts his hands up. “What for?”

“Apparently that stuff you’re pushin’ is killin’ folk, n’ there’s a price on your head,” Arthur says. “I don’t know, it ain’t my business.”

“C’mon, partner, that’s crap. I’m a healer! I-I’ve got an aura… I speak to spirits! I’m a scientist!” Allbright insists. “Folks get real angry for no good reason, and this… this is a mistake.” He looks over at you. “S-surely you can talk some sense into him?”

“Hm…” You twitch your nose and shrug, not lowering your gun. “No.”

“Keep your hands up, buddy.” Arthur reaches forward carefully, taking Allbright’s gun from its holster and tossing it into the river. “They only want you for questionin’.”

“I – I have to insist that this is a mistake,” Allbright says. 

“Don’t be a fool,” Arthur says, corralling him towards the edge of the alcove. 

You look down at the river, then notice… a man. He’s looking up at you from where he stands in the riverbed, his pants soaked up to the knee. And – shit, from where he’s standing, he can clearly see you and Arthur pointing your guns at Allbright.

“Arthur,” you say without looking away from the man. “A man is watching. Maybe he is thinking we are robbing.”

“Go get ‘im,” Arthur says. “I got this handled.”

You click your tongue and tug on Bronya’s reins. She turns and starts walking down the slope to the river. 

The man doesn’t run as you approach him, despite your saddlebag holsters both holding rifles. Instead, he’s just… staring, with soft, brown eyes. 

He seems… familiar. Really familiar. Then again, Angel Island is on the west coast, and you’re pretty far from there, so you’ve seen a lot of people while in America. But… the bright blue stain on his temple seems so familiar. God, you swear you know him. Where is he from?

“You are watching me and my friend?” You ask, jerking your head towards the alcove. “The man is a bounty. He has been killing people from here and eastward, poisoning them with a… tonic. We do not rob for joy. We hunt bounties.”

The man walks forward, almost stumbling on the stones of the riverbed. “Officer?”

You rack your brain for that word, but come up with nothing. “I – I do not know the meaning of this English word… officer.”

He swallows thickly, then takes a breath. His lips start to form a word, but –

-> CH. 13: LET’S TALK HOMECOMING (THE MILITARY OPERATION, NOT PROM)

synopsis: you wake up on a helicopter, fresh from being saved, and meet a pilot that seems really familiar.

word count: ~900

ships: CH: “they were relatively unresponsive to that one. shall i introduce one that is less familiar?”

notes: EK: “yes. it should still be american, but... mixed with soviet suffering.”

ToFS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya , @n30n-f43 , @igna4400 (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

THREAT OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

“Wake up,” a voice mumbles. A hand grasps your shoulder and shakes you. “C’mon, commie…”

You open your eyes and see a man that’s familiar, but not. Like you’ve known him your whole life but only really registered his existence just now. He’s wearing a half-balaclava with a skull pattern and a beanie, and the skin around his ice-blue eyes is smeared with black greasepaint. 

“What the hell is happening?” You manage through gritted teeth. You shift and try to sit up from the bench of the helicopter you’re in, but he pushes you back down. 

“You got the bright idea to follow the twin brats to find Elias,” he says. “Into a goddamn burning house, no less. Jackass.”

You groan and close your eyes, bringing a fist to your forehead. “Keegan, don’t. Not right now.” His name slips from your lips before you even realize it. (So you do know this man, and probably the rest of the people on this helicopter… odd.)

In a fashion that seems familiar, it all comes back to you in a tidal wave of information. The energy deserts of Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and the rest of the major oil producers dried up a decade ago, sending the world into a panic. The entirety of South America united under the banner of the Federation of the Americas and the guide of General Diego Almagro, both willingly and unwillingly. General Almagro was assassinated in 2015, but his presence was still felt as the Federation took over Panama, then Costa Rica, then Nicaragua, working their way up to Mexico and, the other night, Dallas, Texas. 

You are a part of the Ghosts: a spec ops team set on beating back the Federation, even if it is a losing battle. 

The date is June 12th, 2027. And it’s a godawful day to be a citizen of the burning remains of the United States of America.

Hesh (one of the ‘twin brats,’ even though Logan is two years younger) pulls Keegan away and shoves him up against the wall of the helicopter. “You need to get this bird back on the ground. We’re not going anywhere!”

Keegan pushes him back easily, then adds, “Calm down, kid.”

“Hey!” Merrick body-slams Hesh into the wall. (He’s never been known for his gentleness.) “We just saved your asses!”

“We didn’t need your help!” Hesh snaps. 

Merrick takes hold of the collar of Hesh’s tac vest. Keegan taps your legs, and you sit up, pulling your legs up to your chest. Good thing you did – Merrick shoves Hesh down on the bench a moment later. 

“The hell you didn’t,” Merrick spits, towering over Hesh.

Elias shoves Merrick away with a, “Stow it! All of you.” (His voice is slightly muffled through his full-face balaclava, but it carries authority all the same.)

There’s a lot of light violence happening in the cabin of this helicopter, but you suppose that’s to be expected when the military comes around.

Hesh stands, facing Elias. “We have to go back! Our dad’s down there, and we’re not leaving without him!”

Logan stands too, signing at Elias. His words are angry, and his face is drawn into something like a snarl. He’s signing fast, but you manage to pick up something about him kicking everyone’s ass and tacking on a “TRUE BIZ” at the end, meaning that he’s not joking.

“That’s real admirable of you, Hesh, and I’m sure you can, Logan,” Elias says, sitting them both back down. “But your father’s not there anymore.”

He takes off his mask, revealing himself. 

“Dad?” Hesh says. “This whole time you were one of them? You’re a Ghost?!”

You look up and exchange glances with Keegan. Neither of you were really ones for surprise plot-twists or epic reveals. From what you can see, his expression looks bored and his eyebrows are drawn together a little, like a silent, ‘Can you believe this shit?’

You get up and Keegan automatically holds onto your shoulder, just in case you were to fall. You walk closer to the open cockpit, keeping a hand on the wall for the same reason. 

“What even happened?” You ask once you and Keegan were an acceptable distance away from the commotion. 

Keegan lets go of your shoulder and leans against the back of the pilot’s seat, crossing his arms. “Burning houses tend to collapse, dumbass. You got a roof tile right to the face.”

You rub your cheek and lean back against the wall adjacent to the cockpit. “Somehow that doesn’t shock me.”

The helicopter jolts a little bit and your head snaps over to the cockpit. From where you’re standing, you can see the co-pilot. He’s facing forward, but you can see the sparse freckles that dot his face and the tuft of brown hair that escapes the gel that slicks back the rest of his hair. The headset he’s wearing has a bright blue circle painted on the earcup – it must be a sign of his squad, or whatever pilots are a part of.

Your eyebrows furrow. He seems familiar, somehow. But not like how Keegan was familiar, and not like Merrick, Hesh, Logan, or Elias. He’s… you don’t know how to describe it.

The helicopter jolts again, and a hanging carabiner knocks the back of your head. Keegan huffs out a laugh when you whimper a small “ow.”

The co-pilot looks over his shoulder and back at you. You meet his soft, brown eyes. 

“Officer?” He says softly, his hands still on the yoke of the helicopter.

“Try Sergeant,” Keegan corrects. 

He glances at Keegan, then back to you, his eyebrows furrowing. His lips start to form a word, but – 

-> CH. 13: THE SMALLEST CHURCH IN SAINT-SAËNS

synopsis: come to the church.

word count: 1.2k

ships: don’t listen to them.

notes: you’re with us now. we’ll take care of you.

ToFS taglist: just come to the church. please.

TALES OF FALSE SERENITY MASTERLIST

You hear waves crash on the coast before you’re even fully aware that you’re on a beach. A church stands before you, sea-worn and rotted. A banner, yellowed with age, hangs above the entrance, reading: Holy Church of the Amnesiac (formerly the Dolorian Church of Humanity). 

You walk up the stairs to the entrance, the rotted wood barely holding your weight. When you reach the door, you raise your fist and knock. 

A few moments later, someone answers the door. The person who answers is covered head-to-toe in police riot armor with a duster jacket on top. Their headgear resembles a reinforced gasmask with dark green lenses, and the words FORGIVE ME MAMA are messily carved into their helmet.

They look you over, then take your hand. 

You don’t know why, but you follow them inside. The inside is somewhat dilapidated, but still nice. The pews have been pushed aside to create a common space and the floor is littered with rugs and blankets and a few sparse pillows. People are scattered about, laying on the pews or sitting on the floor. 

A few of them perk up at the sight of you, but the person corrals you to the front of the church, where a figure is sitting. Their silhouette is stark against the light shining through the stained glass window behind them, which depicts a woman holding up two fingers with her right hand and cupping a breast with the other. The windows that would have been her lungs are punched out, leaving sunlight shining through.

“Come, friend.” They wave you over. “Sit with me.”

You look at the person who escorted you to the front of the church, and they nod, then turn away and leave you.

You ease down and sit with the person, tucking a leg under you. You look over at them – they’re dressed in all black, a cloth mask covering the bottom half of their face and their clothes covering the rest of their body. Their knee-length jacket flutters in the slight wind of the smashed-through windows.

“What is…” You gesture around. “This? This church.”

“This is the Church of the Amnesiac,” they say. “And I am the Hunter of Vilebloods. You need not tell me your name – I have been awaiting your arrival, as has the rest of the church.”

“Who are you?” You ask. “I mean, I know your name, but… what is the purpose of this church? Because from what I can tell, it’s not worship.”

The Hunter takes a breath and sighs. “We do not know. We are simply wanderers that have found our way here. This is not our home. We are all… bereft of memory. Something has cursed us, and I know that you have happened upon this curse, too.”

“What do you mean?” You ask. “I – I have memories.”

“Think back.” The Hunter looks into your eyes. “Think back to when you were but a child. Can you?”

“Of course I can,” you say. 

“Then tell me,” the Hunter says. “Recount your first memory.”

You look away and think back. “I… visited the Exhibit of National Economy Achievements when I was a child. I must have been… five, or six. There were machines there, both modern and vintage. It was a beautiful place that showcased the highest of Soviet achievements.”

The Hunter hums in response. “Your next memory?”

“When my father gave me a Makarov pistol,” you say. “He gifted it to me when I was ten years old. He never let me fire it, but it was still important to me. I had a hell of a time getting it over to the States when I immigrated.”

The Hunter tilts their head. “I… do not quite know what a Makarov pistol is, or where the States are, but please. Continue.”

“And then, my next memory is… when I was sixteen.” Your eyebrows furrow as you remember. “There was an accident, and I lost both of my legs. Luckily, I was able to be quickly fitted with prosthetics that mixed existing technology with neuropolymer. I was able to move my legs, but unable to really… feel them.” You sigh. “Now I have different ones, as I wasn’t done growing at sixteen. That, and the technology has improved.”

The Hunter shifts how they’re sitting so that they’re closer. “That is your next memory? There is… nothing in between?”

“N… no?” You say, unsure. “Is there supposed to be?”

“Typically, yes,” the Hunter says. “There is a menagerie of memories for one to look back on. Family, friends, parties and religion… but are you admitting that there is nothing?”

“Well, it…” You think for a moment, then admit in a small voice, “Yeah. I don’t remember anything until I emigrated from Chelomey.”

You feel something push against your leg – something solid and furry. You look over and see an orange cat with a little backpack rubbing against your leg, then sniffing at your shoes. He looks up at you and meows softly, as if noticing your sudden spike in stress.

“Hello,” you say softly. You reach out a hand and rub your fingers together, making a soft sound. The cat sniffs at your fingers before pushing his face against your hand, purrs starting to rumble in his tiny kitty chest.

“Who is this?” You ask, starting to gently scratch at the cat. 

“That is Stray,” the Hunter says. “He does not have memories, just like the rest of us.”

“But I do have memories,” you insist. 

“I apologize. I misspoke. He has… gaps in memory, just like the rest of us.” The Hunter looks over your shoulder and around the church. “Just like the Courier, the Tarnished, and everyone else here.”

You sigh, looking at the Hunter. “So what happens now? I died, so… is this all the afterlife has to offer? The Holy Church of the Amnesiac and a cat?”

The Hunter returns their eyes to you. “Oh, you did not die. You simply just… left your body behind.”

“What?” You snap, and Stray bolts. “What do you mean?”

“Did you really think that this is all dying has to offer?” The Hunter asks. “A church and a cat and a few sad wanderers?”

“I…” You trail off. “Maybe! The philosophy I read about isn’t about death and what comes after. It’s the philosophy of man and his nature.”

“Man and his nature,” the Hunter echoes. “What a fickle thing one’s nature is. And I can see your very nature being unraveled before me in this very moment.”

“I don’t…” You groan and bring a hand to your forehead. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach. “I don’t know what to make of this. This is all just – it’s too much.”

“You will emerge victorious. And if not, you will return to the church, and we will send you on your way again,” the Hunter says. 

They reach out and draw you closer, holding you against their side with an arm around your shoulder. They lean down and whisper in your ear, “It has been an honor, but we really must say good-bye. Now go, cleanse the tarnished streets of your homeworld. And may the good blood guide your way.”

-> CH. 13: WAKE UP & SMELL THE ASHES

synopsis: you wake up and kamski explains everything.

word count: 1.7k

ships: Connor/Reader, Hank Anderson & Reader

notes: the long wait is over!!!! the research essay has been slain and i have time to write again :)

HoFS taglist: @catladyhere , @foggy0trees0 , @princessofenkanomiya , @n30n-f43 , @igna4400 (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask!)

HEAD OF FALSE SECURITY MASTERLIST

“Officer?” A soft, melodic voice calls. “Officer, can you hear me?”

You groan and turn on your side, away from the light that’s burning into your eyelids. “Huh…?”

“Officer, you need to wake up,” the voice continues. 

You open your eyes slowly and look up, only to lock eyes with… Chloe. What is Chloe doing here?

“You’re awake.” Chloe smiles and cups your jaw. “I will alert Mister Kamski right away.”

She looks away as her LED flickers, as do her eyes. After a moment, she looks back down at you and takes her hand away. You lay on your back, close your eyes, and wait.

A few minutes later, Kamski enters the room. You sit up, then immediately regret it when a stabbing pain shoots through your head. 

You screw your eyes shut and cover your eyes with a hand. You grind out, “Kamski, what the fuck am I doing here?”

“Lay back down,” Kamski says. You feel Chloe put a hand on your shoulder, and she guides you back down. The pain subsides enough for you to open your eyes again. 

Kamski takes a seat by your bedside and leans forward, his elbows on his knees. You look over. 

“Again, what the fuck am I doing here?” You say. “I… I died. I remember dying.”

“You did,” Kamski says, as if it was a completely normal thing to say. 

“Then how the hell am I alive?” You hiss. 

Kamski leans back in the chair and crosses his leg over his knee. “Do you remember your childhood?”

“Snippets,” you snap. “I just had this conversation. Now tell me how I’m alive after being shot in the goddamn head!”

“It’s simple,” Kamski says. (It’s not.) “You were never alive to begin with.”

You shoot up from the bed. “Чего?!” Again, Chloe pushes you back down.

“You know philosophy. Do you know Chariton Zakharov?” Kamski says, not pausing to give you a chance to answer. “Of course you do. You’ve read The Life, Death, Neuropolymer-Induced Transformation, and Secondary Death of Chariton Radeonovich Zakharov. In one of his letters, he wrote, ‘The radiance of pure reason, and it alone, can illuminate the path of humanity. Because a human being is not a body. It’s a way of thinking.’ I wanted to prove that.”

“I don’t really care to talk about philosophy right now!” You snap. 

Kamski holds up a hand. “Just wait. The sooner you understand this, the sooner you’ll get to see that android. What was its name again? Connor?”

“Connor!” You echo. “He’s here?! Take me to him – now!”

“Listen to me first,” he says. You grit your teeth and do your best to settle as he continues. “I wanted to create something that no one had created before. Obviously, I already did this with androids. But I wanted to go further.”

You nod, telling him to continue. You really want to get this over with. 

“So I thought, what about an android that thinks of itself as a human?” Kamski lets out a scoff-laugh. “Ridiculous, right?”

“If it’s ridiculous, I have no doubt that you probably did it,” you say. “Where is this android-human? Show me it so I can go.”

Kamski reaches under the chair and pulls out a mirror, then hands it to you. You take it and look at it. Sure enough, it’s a reflection of yourself, looking just as confused as you feel. 

“I don’t… understand,” you say, looking up at Kamski.

He taps the surface of the mirror. “You’re looking at it.”

You look at the mirror again. There’s nothing human-looking behind you – just a reflection of yourself in bed.

Kamski leans closer and whispers, “It’s you, Officer.”

“What an absurd idea.” You look at him. “Surely you’re joking, yes?”

“I’m not.” He leans back in his chair. “You’re the first android that was fully tricked into thinking that it’s human. You’ve been living this delusion for eleven years, ever since you thought you emigrated from Chelomey.”

“Again, this is idiotic!” You snap. 

“You only remember core components of your childhood,” Kamski says. “The Exhibit of National Economy Achievements. Your pistol. The accident.”

“I…” You sigh. “Yes, but –”

“Your parents didn’t traumatize you,” he says, tilting his head down and looking at you through his eyelashes. “That was what you were gonna say, right? That people with childhood trauma have gaps in memory and don’t remember a lot of their childhood.”

The words you had prepared die on your tongue. You look away. “Then who am I? Tell me, if you know so much about me.”

“Do you want me to tell you the truth?” He asks. “Or to recount the lie you’re used to living?”

“The truth,” you say before you can change your mind.

“There was a baby born in Chelomey with the same name as yours. Same birthday, same birth year. It was stillborn – didn’t even have a chance to take its first breath,” Kamski says. “That was where I got your birth name and birthday. Tensions between America and the USSR were already tense back then, so it was easy to fake documents. Your birth certificate, your passport, affidavits of income and support, your permanent residency card. You won the Green Card Lottery during a low-emigration year. You thought you got lucky, but you didn’t. I fabricated everything.”

There’s a sinking, swirling feeling in your stomach. You don’t really… know what to feel. You feel numb, somehow? But also like you’re ready to explode – to ask Kamski what the fuck he’s going on about, to tell him that he sounds like a raving lunatic, to tell him that you don’t believe a word he says. 

And yet… you do. It… it makes sense, somehow. Why would America let a nondescript Soviet such as yourself in? And into cybersecurity, no less.

“It’s obvious until it isn’t, isn’t it?” Kamski says. 

“M… my legs,” you say. “Why did you take my legs?”

“You needed to have some excuse for how you felt,” he says. “You didn’t have aches in them, nor did you experience any real pain. Right?”

“Yes,” you say. “Just phantom pain. But…” You sigh. “How am I able to feel? Not touch, but emotions. I thought correctly-functioning androids weren’t supposed to feel emotions.”

Kamski furrows his eyebrows. “You never did find a ‘patient zero’ for deviancy, did you?”

“No,” you say. “All we know is that it started in Detroit, and spread… across the country…”

A horrible feeling overcomes you. You were patient zero, weren’t you? You were the first to break your programming, to feel emotion and to feel pain – even if it was only imagined. And you probably infected Connor, too, didn’t you? You are the reason for his pain and suffering and all the turmoil he’s going through. You’re the root cause for the pain and suffering and turmoil everyone’s going through. 

“You are the free radical. The outlier,” Kamski verbalizes your thoughts. “You were the spark of chaos that was required to start the revolution.”

“I didn’t want to start the revolution,” you say. Your voice is softer and more shaky than you’d like it to be. There’s a burning in the back of your throat. “I just… I just wanted to solve the case that was assigned to me.”

“But you did.” Kamski stands, then starts walking towards the exit, as does Chloe. “You are the deviant android that infected others. The others you infected started a revolution. There are no two ways about it.”

“I want to go home,” you manage.

“Chloe,” he says. “Get Connor.”

There’s a door opening, then rushed footsteps as someone comes to your bedside. You look over. It’s Connor. His LED is stuck on red. 

“Officer?” He says. His soft, brown eyes search yours, lingering on the hot tears that swell at your waterline. Your bottom lip trembles. 

Connor immediately sweeps you into a hug – one unlike the one you’d shared back at the station. This one is firm, bordering on desperate as he clutches at the back of your shirt. He rests his forehead in the crook of your shoulder and lets out a shuddering exhale.

“Officer,” he says softly. “Officer, I’m so sorry.”

“What?” You say. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I didn’t do a good enough job of protecting you,” he says. “You got shot. I… I failed my mission. And I don’t have anyone to blame but myself.”

You exhale shakily and lean your head against Connor’s. His hair tickles the side of your nose. Tears slip from your eyes, and there’s a lump in your throat that makes it hard to talk. “Don’t be. We were… we were both being stupid.”

“The revolution is still going,” Connor says. “Markus has instructed me to wake up the thousands of androids housed at the CyberLife assembly plant. I want you to come with me.”

“What?” You pull back and meet his eyes. “But that would be a suicide mission.”

“They’ll let us in,” he says, his voice full of conviction. “I’m an RK800, and you’re an android. We can act like we’re there for an emergency meeting.”

“You knew?” You snap. “You knew all along?”

“No!” Connor says, clutching you tighter. “Chloe told me. It explained everything. I couldn’t believe it at first, but… the evidence was too convincing, and it aligned with everything I had already learned about you.”

“Right,” you say. “Right. Obviously. I’m just…” You furrow your eyebrows and screw your eyes shut. “Everything’s a lot right now. And it seems like everything bad that’s happening in the world is happening to me.”

He draws you back into the hug, rubbing up and down your back. You rest your head in the crook of his shoulder, and you’re overwhelmed by a smell you only now recognize as Connor’s – clean, leather, and a hint of something else.

After a few minutes, you sigh and squeeze around his middle. “Okay. I’m ready to go.”

“Are you sure?” He whispers.

“Yeah,” you mumble back. “Let’s go before I realize how stupid this is.”

[devotional-dwams]

Just the two of us

Summary: you run into a curious girl with her large group of brothers during a festival on Pabu. Your favourite of the batch, though, is Wrecker. Wrecker x reader, she/her pronouns used.

Word count: 2726 (this one got away from me)

Warnings: there’s a slight indicator that Echo has trouble eating new foods, so keep that in mind if that’s triggering for you. But other than that it’s pure fluff!

Authors note: dude I love Wrecker so much, he’s such a sweetheart. I had the time of my life writing this. This is set after the events of s3. Tech IS alive and IS in a relationship with Phee. Because I said so.

Beneath your hands, you intricately weaved the young girls hair into braids. Your makeup and hair stand had been a big hit so far into the night, and kids had been lining up to have their face painted. It warmed your heart each time they looked into the mirror you’d propped up, beaming at the animal you’d painted onto their face, or the fun hairstyle you’d put together for them. Lyana was your favourite customer though, always sitting still and patient as you adorned her hair with braids and flowers.

“And Auntie Phee said she’ll bring back a treasure for me.”

“Wow! She sounds quite the adventurer.”

“She is. When I’m older, she’s going to take me with her at some point.”

You chuckled, wondering what Shep had to say to that. “I’m sure she will. Well, you’re all done.”

Lyana turned to the mirror, checking her reflection out before looking back to you. She wore a large grin as she wrapped her arms around your waist. “Thank you!”

“Anytime.”

The girl ran off, her braids piled securely on her head. You smiled, turning your attention to your hair tools. After putting the brushes away, you settled back into your chair and sipped your mocktail. The sun was just beginning to set, and the island was washed in pink and orange hues.

This was always your favourite festival. The day of the high tide was the mark of summer, and as the story went, the moon had shed a tear for its lost love- the sun- which dropped into the ocean, building the island of Pabu in its place. In turn, the days began growing longer as a thank you from the sun. When the island population grew, the festival grew too as a mark of celebration for the gifts from both the sun and the moon. It lasted all day, until the early hours of the morning. Each year you held a different stall, always yearning to do something for the community that had done so much for you, and this year you thought you’d put your hair and makeup skills to the test. So far it was proving a damned good decision.

You put your glass down, attention drawn to the girl approaching the stall. She was holding hands with an older man, who had scars along one side of his face, and chatting deeply with another older man. He wore a skull tattoo on one half of his face. They could only be the clones you’d heard so much about.

When she spoke, her strong accent rung out. “Hi! Lyana pointed us here, she said you do hair?”

Your hands leant on the work counter as you leaned forward. “I do indeed, makeup as well. All festival looks. You must be… Omega?”

“Yeah, and these are my brothers, Wrecker and Hunter.” She gestured to both as she spoke.

“It’s lovely to meet you guys. I take it you want your hair done too?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

“No trouble at all! Take a seat.”

As she sat, Hunter asked you if this cost anything, which of course it didn’t. Your stalls for the high tides festival each year were always free.

“Are you sure? No credits at all?”

“Why? Do you want your hair done as well, sir?”

He scoffed. “No one touches my hair.”

“In that case, you can stop your fretting.”

Wrecker laughed, loud and boisterous. You couldn’t help but smile at the sound. “Mega’s in safe hands, Sarge.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The gentle giant rubbed the back of his neck, “call me Wrecker.”

“Wrecker it is.”

Happy that Omega was content, Hunter saw her and his brother off, wishing you a goodbye. Apparently he had to go ‘monitor Cross’, whatever that meant. The girl in the seat was inquisitive, you found, constantly asking questions about the hair procedure and how to do braids. It baffled you that a girl of her age didn’t know how to braid hair, but you taught her nonetheless. Wrecker sat by watching. You weren’t sure what to make of him. He was quiet, but you got a general sense that he was gentle. It sent a tickling up your spine, a desire to know more.

“Well, what do you think?” You asked Omega, pointing her to the mirror.

“Oh, I love it! Thank you.”

“It was nothing.” You shrug it off, leaning against the counter. As you cross your arms, your eyes catch Wrecker’s, and the tips of his ears flush pink. The giant was rather cute, you’d come to decide.

Wrecker couldn’t pull his gaze away. You were so good with the kid, and your smile- he found himself smiling along with you, even if he wasn’t a part of the conversation. His eyes lingered on your dress, a floral yellow one that had a small bow beneath the dip of your chest. It hugged your curves just right, and Maker, did you look good in it. What’s more, you looked comfortable. Your hands deftly worked on Omegas hair, easily and gently pulling the strands into intricate braids. When your eyes found his, he finally looked away, sheepish at the fact that he’d been caught ogling you. As he gazed at the sand underneath his shoes, he became vaguely aware of Omega’s voice.

“Wrecker?”

His head shot up. “Yeah?”

“Wanna get going?”

“Oh uh,” his eyes drifted to you. “Sure.”

Omega took his hand again, hopping off the chair she had been sitting on. A shooting ache in his chest sprung as he left you in your stall, and the corners of his lips fell into a frown. The two of you had barely exchanged words past pleasantries, and yet he still felt so inexplicably drawn to you… that hadn’t happened before. He wondered if he was developing a small crush, but that wasn’t likely. He had always had a large crush on Senator Amidala, and this felt nothing at all like that. Wrecker bit his lip in contemplation.

Omega swung his hand. “Soooo, wanna tell me what’s on your mind?”

“Huh? What?”

“You’re being quiet. What is it?”

“Pft, nothin’s on my mind.” He scratched the back of his head with his free hand.

“Uh-huh. Wouldn’t be that stall keeper, would it? What was her name? Y/…. Something.”

“Y/N.”

Omega looked up at her big brother, noticing the softness in his brash voice. She couldn’t resist smiling at it. Usually Wrecker was so loud, so impulsive, and despite what some thought, he had a cracking brain on him. Each time he talked with Omega about bomb mechanics, or hell, even the inner workings of cooking, she was always impressed. How did he not see that he was falling for Y/N? Omega had read about love at first sight, and had always wanted to believe in it. If this was such a thing, she couldn’t be happier for her brother.

Besides, she liked you. You were sweet, gentle, and your jokes had the two of you giggling together during her hairdo. She had to get Wrecker and you to interact again.

Your watch struck eight pm. It was time to lock up. When you ran a children’s stall, you never ran them past eight pm because they were too preoccupied to join it. It also meant you had time to enjoy the festivities of the high tide party before the night completely evaded you. After packing your things away and locking the stall up, you tucked the key into your pocket and strolled towards Shep. As per usual, you wanted to express your gratitude for his permission regarding conducting your little business.

Your hand nudged his arm. “Thanks again for letting me run the stall. I had a lot of fun.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all. Thank you for running it! I can see it was a big hit with the kids this year.”

“Yeah, they liked this one. Any chance for a burger? I’m famished.”

“They’re still going. Max is directing the grill this year, along with Rosa.”

You bid Shep farewell, turning to the direction of Max and his sister. The three of you fell into easy conversation as Max prepared your food, Rosa sitting to the side taking a break. She held a cocktail in hand, and had already made and given you one too. You had somehow drunk half the glass by the time Max handed you your burger. When you were mid-way through a bite, a voice called your name.

“Y/N!”

You turned, still biting into your burger. A drop of sauce fell down to the sand as you did, and to your terror, there stood Omega, Wrecker and a bloke with a scomp for an arm. You swallowed harshly.

“Uh, hey.”

“Friends of yours, Y/N?” Rosa asked.

“I’d say so. I haven’t met this one yet, though.”

“Name’s Echo, ma’am.”

You nodded your head to him. “Hi.”

“We were wondering if we could get something to eat?” Omega asked, standing on her tiptoes to look at Max’s menu.

“Hell yeah, lil lady. We’ve got burgers, chips, hot dogs, and Rosa’s in charge of drinks. What d’ya fancy?” He rested his elbows on the make-shift counter as he spoke.

“Hmm… I think chips. What about you guys?”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“Echo, you need to eat something!”

“I’ll steal a few of your chips then.”

Omega glared at him, her hands on her hips. You giggled through your burger. Once you swallowed your bite, you turned conspiratorially to him and dropped your voice to a hush, as if sharing a secret.

“Max’ burgers are the best on the planet. You can’t fault ‘em. And he's absolutely lovely, so if you wanna change anything up, he’ll do whatever it is, easy peasy. Go on, you know you wanna.” You nudged his side with your elbow.

“Hmm, you’re quite convincing but I’m not really one for trying new foods. But Maker above, if it’ll shut you up, Mega, I’ll have chips.”

The small girl high fived you, a shared celebration of getting Echo to eat something substantial. When Max asked Wrecker what he wanted to eat, the giant looked at you, biting into the last of your burger, and decided he wanted one too.

After Max had prepared the orders for the clones, Omega ended up dragging you away with them. The family you joined were sitting around a small bonfire, Hunter sitting beside a man who had a dog at his feet. Next to him, Phee sat with a man with goggles on. You soon learnt these were Omega’s other brothers, as was Echo. You took your seat besides Phee, finding comfort in knowing someone in the group. As the night wore on, you soon became good friends with the odd group, although you put that down to Omega. She was a ball of sunshine.

“Well, I never pegged you as someone to back down from a challenge.” Phee nodded her fork to Crosshair.

He hissed back, “I’m not.”

“Then game on, grumpy.”

You giggled, leaning your chin on your folded knees as you watched Phee stand and take position. Crosshair did the same, brushing the sand off his legs.

“I now announce this fight to be in action!” Omega clapped her hands.

The two of them brawled, and the rest of you began to place bets on who you each thought would win. Hunter assumed Crosshair, Echo voted for Phee (“eh, why not? It would be funny” were his exact words), Omega voted for both, unable to decide, Wrecker voted for Phee, and Tech voted for his girlfriend. Although he was about to vote for Crosshair, but Hunter kicked his ankle and he coughed out Phee’s name instead. You voted for Phee, having not seen the sniper fight before.

Tech called out from where he was sitting, “go for the back of his knees!”

“I know, I am!”

“Well, do it better.”

Just as the fight was about to hit the eye of the storm, Wrecker belched loudly. Each of you paused and turned to him, before laughing simultaneously. Over the course of the night, he’d become more comfortable, you realised. He was still being quiet though, which was apparently unnatural according to the many comments his brothers made.

“I said, didn't I? The best burgers on the planet.” you commented, still smiling.

“Yeah, you’ve got pretty good taste.”

“Thanks big guy. If you think that, I gotta take you to a restaurant down on south street in Ord Mantell. It’s kinda seedy, but they do the most amazing noodles.”

You watched Wrecker’s eyes light up. “Really? Dinner out?”

“Yeah, why not? It’ll be nice, we couldn’t sit in, but we could all find a place to eat together.”

His eyebrows furrowed a little. “Oh, all?”

“Well-”

A yelp rang out. You and Wrecker turned your heads back to the fight, where Phee had Crosshair pinned on the floor with his arm twisted behind his back. “Fine, fine, you win,” he seemed to be grumbling.

Phee let Crosshair go, standing and throwing her arms out. “I won.”

“We knew you would.” Tech added as she slid back into his arms.

“Liar.”

“I demand a rematch on solid ground.”

“Aw, he’s salty. Fine, rematch later.”

“Fine with me,” Crosshair muttered, his fingers stroking over Batcher’s skin once he was seated.

The batch resumed talking, pulling you and Wrecker into their conversation and away from yours. Eventually Hunter stood to take Omega home, and one by one everyone followed. Only you and Wrecker stay seated by the now dying embers of the fire. With the disappearance of the others, your conversation had also dwindled. When you faced the clone, you could see as clear as day that he was nervous. His teeth bit into his lip and his eyes darted from yours to the sand. It was quite endearing.

“So,” you began, playfully leaning into his side. “Just the two of us left.”

“Heh, yeah.”

“To be honest, I’m quite happy about that. Not that I haven’t enjoyed spending time with the others!” You rushed to add. “I just… wanted to spend time with you most.”

“Oh. Is tha’ right?”

“Mhm. You guys all seem pretty tight knit?”

Wrecker’s face lit up. “Oh we are. We were always the odd ones out so we kinda naturally stuck together, and then Echo joined and it was great. And then ‘Mega found us, and it got even better. Well, not better better, I mean we had all that stuff with the Empire, but we had ‘Mega with us. Most of the time. And then we got her back, and we got Crosshair back, and now Echo comes and goes and we miss him but- well, I’m- I’m ramblin’ aren’t I?”

“I don’t mind. Please,” you smiled and gestured for him to continue.

“Well, there’s not really much else to say. We’re always thrilled with Echo visits but he’s doin’ good work with Rex.”

“Who’s Rex?”

“Only the Captain ‘imself! He’s pretty great.”

“I think you’re pretty great.”

“Oh.”

You watched the tips of Wrecker’s ears flush. He was cute when he was nervous, you thought. Your mind played back to your interrupted chat. Biting your lip, you nudged closer to him and placed a hand on his arm. The muscles beneath his shirt tensed momentarily, and you couldn’t help but drift your eyes down to his chest.

Stars, he was gorgeous, wasn’t he?

“Well,” your eyes found his again. “Seeing as you’re all so close, I feel like you and I won’t get a lot of time just the two of us?”

He deflated. “Probably not.”

“But, maybe we could get away for a bit? You still up for those noodles?”

“You mean like a- a-“

“A date.”

Wrecker’s face lit up, unsure eyebrows lifting as he grinned. “Hell yeah! Let’s do it!”

You laughed. “Brilliant. We’ll fly out on Tuesday?”

“Yeah, okay.”

The two of you stayed at the unlit fireplace for some time more. As you chatted, your mind filled with the potential of your future date. Wrecker, of course, was jovial. His laugh consumed your lungs and you ended up laughing too. It seemed you’d caught the attention of the sweetest guy on the island, and you were glad for it.

[bitchiswild]

New Year Anticipation

Karina x F! Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 824

A/n: Happy New Year’s Eve/ Happy New Year!🎉🍾🎇 GO PARTY PEOPLE AND DRINKKKKKKKKKKKKK🥂🍾 unless you’re underage then drink Apple juice 😌

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚

"Will you be here for New Year's Eve?" I inquired eagerly, anticipation lacing my words as I looked at my girlfriend while FaceTimed her.

"Absolutely, darling. My flight lands at 10 PM, and then I'll rush to you, ready to plant the biggest kiss on you," Karina replied, her grin widening.

Her words filled me with a delightful giggle, and I gazed at her, my heart swelling with affection. "I miss you, you know. Can't wait for you to be home again," I confessed, my longing evident in my tone.

Karina's eyes mirrored my longing, a silent desire to hold me close evident in her gaze. "I miss you too, baby. Just two more days," she promised, her recent trip to Japan for promotions keeping her away until New Year's Eve.

A yawn escaped me, and Karina, noticing the time, urged gently, "You should get some rest, honey. I'll call you tomorrow." But I resisted, unwilling to let go of our conversation just yet.

Amused by my reluctance to sleep, Karina chuckled softly. "I promise I'll call as soon as you text me. Go on, get some sleep. I love you," she insisted, her affectionate tone urging me to surrender to slumber.

"I love you too," I replied, my heart feeling full and content as I bid her goodnight, eagerly awaiting her return.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚

On the bustling eve of New Year's, Karina's updates became my lifeline. Her messages painted a vivid picture of her journey, filled with delays and traffic snarls, yet her determination and excitement radiated through every word. Each notification from her felt like a surge of hope amidst the rising anxiety that gripped me.

As the day progressed, the clock seemed to tick in slow motion. Every passing minute weighed heavily on my anticipation, the bustling crowd around me an inconsequential blur as my attention remained fixated on my phone, awaiting Karina's next update.

11:50 PM crept upon me, the air crackling with the energy of the impending countdown. With every passing second, my heart raced faster, a mixture of anticipation and worry knotting in my stomach. The grand celebration loomed, yet the absence of Karina felt palpable, casting a shadow over the festivities.

Despite the excitement enveloping the crowd, I stood amidst them, a solitary figure, glancing anxiously between the clock and the sea of faces. My heart longed for her presence, her warmth, and her promise of a fervent embrace.

With each passing second, hope and apprehension waged a silent battle within me. The countdown to the New Year felt more poignant, a mix of eagerness for the future and the ache of the present moment.

Yet, amidst the fervor of the impending celebration, there lingered a fervent desire for Karina's arrival—a longing that intensified as the clock's hands inched closer to midnight, each second feeling like an eternity.

In the midst of the jubilant crowd, I searched desperately for any sign of Karina. The countdown was nearing its climax, the atmosphere electric with anticipation. My heart raced with a blend of nerves and hope, my eyes flickering between the clock and the bustling crowd.

Then, amid the cacophony of cheers and the final countdown echoing around me, I heard it—a fervent cry of my name cutting through the chaos. My pulse quickened, and I turned just in time to see Karina, her eyes ablaze with determination and love, pushing through the crowd toward me.

"Y/n!" Her voice soared above the uproar, resonating in my ears like a melody in the chaos.

With seconds slipping away, our gazes locked in a magnetic pull, the world around us fading into the background. In that heart-stopping moment, with just a single second left on the countdown, Karina surged forward, her determination turning into a sprint.

As the crowd's fervor reached its peak, she reached me, her arms enveloping me in a whirlwind of emotion. Time seemed to stand still as she pressed her lips to mine, a passionate and electrifying kiss that spoke volumes of the longing and love we'd held during her absence.

Amidst the eruption of cheers and the dazzling display of fireworks, our embrace intensified, locking out the outside world. In that kiss, there was a symphony of emotions—love, longing, and the unspoken promise of a new beginning. It was as if the arrival of the New Year heralded a fresh chapter in our story, ignited by the fervor of a long-awaited reunion.

In the midst of the lively celebrations, Karina's whispered words, filled with tenderness, reached me. "Happy New Year, my love," she murmured, her eyes reflecting affection and longing.

"Happy New Year," I replied, my heart swelling with happiness at her presence. Without a moment's hesitation, Karina drew me close, sealing the moment with another deeply passionate kiss—a sweet, fervent celebration of our reunion amidst the New Year's festivities.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚

[ravenelyx]

Cobwebs - Sebastian Sallow

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Words: 2k

Chapter Warnings: jealousy, light angst/angst if you squint, fluff, Sebastian's comfort food is corn apparently idk, suggestive (barely)

Summary: When a festival in your hometown causes you to dress up with medieval clothes, dance and act, Sebastian couldn't be happier and more proud - until he realises you will have a partner through all of it. And the partner is not him.

A/N: for the Sallow Sunday challenge !! I'm late in my country but it's still Sunday somewhere - inspired by a festival I went to today (literally came back at 1 am and wrote this: it's currently 5 am)

Masterlist

You can find the whole fanfiction also here on ao3

Sebastian had woken up with the biggest grin on his face. A rare occurrence, really, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wipe it off his mouth.

Because today, apparently, was special.

He had been waiting for two weeks since his girlfriend had told him the news: at first Sebastian didn't really understand her ardour, but the delighted expression on her face was enough to propel the boy to match the enthusiasm completely.

There was a festival in her hometown: a celebration that, for one reason or another, had been impossible to arrange for about ten years. It was her favourite, she had said, because of its theme — a living re-enactment of old times, with dances and traditional clothing from her home — even more so now that she was chosen to be one of the people who was supposed to parade as an extra.

She was to wear a beautiful medieval tunic, and had to attend rehearsals everyday. As much as Sebastian wished to follow her there to see her hard work, she insisted that she wanted to keep it a surprise for when he finally saw her at the fest.

He had sulked a bit at that moment, but had been since then looking forward to seeing his beautiful girlfriend in an amazing dress.

He stood in the front row, having arrived early just to earn a perfect spot to bask in her splendid beauty ringside as soon as she came, and patiently waited for her to appear, nodding his head to the folklore music in the meantime. When the parade started, his body shook all over in anticipation, standing on his toes, eyes darting everywhere to catch a glimpse of his beloved.

And she was perfect.

Hair cascading in little twirls locked in a beautiful braid on her shoulder, adorned with a headband on the crown of her head, she smiled brightly, her lips shining with clear gloss. Her face was still natural-looking, with makeup that matched her features and made her look even more ethereal, and her green bliaut hugged her figure in ways that left little to Sebastian's imagination as his jaw fell open. It was tight at the waist, her corset even harsher around her flank under the kirtle, and adorned with a brown cincture knotted around her abdomen. Her only exposed parts were her cleavage, from which Sebastian could see a peak of her chemise, and her wrists, where the gown widened slightly. She moved with elegance and poise, careful to mind each graceful motion of her arm as she walked, and Sebastian felt his cheeks hurt with how wide his smile was,  almost tearing at the corners of his mouth.

A smile that fell as soon as his eyes darted away from her gorgeous figure.

The parade consisted of couples dressed in different ways, only interrupted here and there by close groups of musicians who accompanied them, and as such, she was on another's arm as she moved.

And, Sebastian noticed, he was very handsome — much more handsome than he was, with his chiseled jawline and elegant walk. He held her arm carefully as they walked together, chin up and perfectly in line, straight posture and measured walk. It was clear he had rehearsed for a long time.

And he had rehearsed with her.

Sebastian felt something sour and ghastly bubble in his stomach when they finally stopped. She turned to the man next to her, and he bowed gallantly at the waist before taking her hand in his.

The dance started. The musicians moved to the side, while the couples took their place in the midst of the plaza, moving from side to side at the fast paced rhythm of folklore music. When she went forward, he did the same, arms bending to meet. And then they stepped away together, extending their arms all the same, hands never separating. The steps of their frolic echoing in Sebastian's ears, thundering in his brain at the ease and preparation with which the couple moved together. She twirled in the man's arms, taking a step back and then twirled again on the opposite side, and Sebastian’s hands began to shake. Their manoeuvres were so measured, so controlled they must have rehearsed a lot. They must have spent a lot of time together to perfect it. Hours and hours, days of days of his beloved dancing with another man.

Panic seeped its way into his core: What if those days of rehearsal had awoken something in her? Something that made her realise that the man dancing with her was better than Sebastian in every way?

He didn't dare go further with his thoughts… but what if…

The crowd cheered, pulling Sebastian from his reverie, and he looked at her. And she was looking at him, too, wearing a bright smile, eyes shining as she silently asked him what he thought. Her forehead glistened a bit with sweat, a sign of her hard work, and Sebastian forced a smile on his face, nodding at her. She nodded back and turned to the man again.

A new dance began.

-

She had been on that man's arm most of the night, entertaining kids and adults all the same, dancing with him once a new folklore song started, and even re-enacting some play scenes along with the other extras.

Sebastian was left watching, embittered by the sight so much that, at some point, he had to completely avoid said sight.

Whenever he saw a glimpse of her beautiful figure, he would turn around and go into another alley, hoping to find some solace in the street food he had been shamelessly indulging in since the fest started.

"Sickle for your thoughts?" The man in front of him asked Sebastian at some point, after the brunet had visited his corn stand at least three times. "I can't give you another cob."

Sebastian scowled, but he had to admit the man was right. His stomach couldn't take it anymore.

"My girlfriend… she…" Sebastian began, kicking the dirt while the man stirred a huge cauldron of maize porridge. "She looks absolutely gorgeous today…"

"I hardly see how that's something to be concerned about," the man lifted an eyebrow. "Has the corn gone to your head? Why isn't your mesmerising girlfriend on your arm?"

"Because she's on another's arm," Sebastian blurted out, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "And I can't do anything about it!"

A beat of silence followed. Sebastian bit his lip harshly, while the man seemed to understand the situation. He handed the brunet another cob. "Maybe you do need another."

Sebastian's shoulders slumped and he took up the offer, defeated, biting on the warm kernels. "It's just…" he spoke, voice muffled by his full mouth as he moved the cob around frustratingly. "Today was supposed to be a celebration, and instead I'm here with you and those damn cobs!"

He took another bite and the man sighed. "Just go find her is my advice. You're a handsome lad, and the dress up time has been over for a while I reckon, so she can be yours for the rest of the night."

"What if she doesn't want to be?" The words left Sebastian's lips without hesitation. "He's much more handsome than I am! Maybe she's even… they're even…"

He didn't want to think about it, the idea making the back of his eyes sting a little.

"If she was, why would she invite you?" The man shrugged. "And don't finish that corn, you hear me? Give it to her before your stomach gives up on your body more than you've given up on your dignity."

Sebastian grimaced at the man's harsh words, but he could feel his stomach grumble in protest and he knew he was right. He reluctantly let his now-comfort food lay at his side in his hand, and he made his way through the decorated alleys, dragging his feet like some chained torture was pulling at him.

Maybe it was good if he found her — just to give her his corn, that was. It would have been a shame to waste it.

"Seb! Where were you?" She asked in concern once his legs came to a stop in the plaza. "You weren't at the plays. I just… did you not like them?" She asked, voice feeble and unsure, and Sebastian felt his stomach twist as he realised he'd failed her once again.

"I… got you corn," he retorted weakly, handing her the half-eaten cob.

She took it with a frown, and then she met his eyes with disbelief. "You ate corn all this time?"

Sebastian blushed deeply, before his chest turned cold again at the sight of the man standing behind her.

"You were with him all this time?" He asked caustically, shifting his weight on his leg and crossing his arms defensively.

She was at a loss for words. "What— are you serious right now?"

"Very much."

"He's my partner!" She claimed, raising her voice, the cob in her hands swinging dangerously.

"No!" He snapped, unwinding his arms and taking a step closer. "I am your partner!"

She gasped a few times, unable to retort as she saw the look on his face. He wasn't angry, despite his deep frown and lips pressed together. He was hurt.

"Sebastian," she sighed, stepping closer. "It's just a festival…"

"You danced with him," he responded, the heat radiating from her body making his resolve crumble. "You must have rehearsed a lot."

"Yes, for the festival." The hand that wasn't holding the cob of corn came to lay on his cheek, and he melted in her touch.

"Still, I didn't like the way he looked at you!" He hissed, gesticulating sharply, trying to restrain himself from pacing back and forth as he usually did. "You look gorgeous and…"

"Sebastian… he's married," she sighed, her thumb rubbing soothing circles on his cheekbone, "and he's like… five years older than me."

Sebastian was quiet at that, a small blush coming to rest on his ears when he realised. "So… well married men can… I mean…"

"Not him… trust me," she chuckled, now so close she could bump her nose to his. "Besides," she smiled, amused. "It's a small town, and he's my cousin."

Sebastian gasped, mouth falling open at the revelation. How stupid could he be? He had been sulking the entire evening, missing her plays and hard work just because… because…

"Were you jealous?" She asked, nuzzling his cheek.

Because he was jealous.

"I… I…" he stuttered. "I might have been… eating more corn than necessary."

She laughed against his skin, and he smiled fondly at the sound.

"Yes, I imagined that," she said, handing the cob to her cousin and taking Sebastian's hand in hers, guiding him through the alleys. "But no more corn now."

Sebastian frowned, confusion evident on his features, and she smiled at his face as she got a bundle of keys from the aumoniere hanging from her belt.

"It's my family home," she explained, "and it's empty."

She pulled him inside once she opened the door, immediately wrapping her arms around his neck once he was close enough.

"I'm just…" he began, feeling like it wouldn't be right to do anything without apologising for his behaviour. "I'm sorry I missed your plays," he whispered, feeling guiltier than ever as her lips pressed on his skin tenderly. "I should have valued you more…"

"You've seen the first two ones," she smiled and pressed another kiss on his jaw. "Last two were boring anyway."

"Still, I should have enjoyed them," he protested, returning her kisses. "And your dress, too… you look so beautiful… so…"

"Well… dress up time is over," she whispered, mouth hovering his. "Care to help me with that?"

Sebastian let out a low chuckle at that, smirking against her lips. "Oh, I'm so going to enjoy that."

He pushed his arm back and pressed his palm on the door, closing it loudly behind him.

[writeyouin]

Hello!! Omg I love your writing SOOOO much!!! If holiday requests are open, I was wondering if you might gift us with a V for vendetta Christmas fic? Like, something fluffy where reader is stuck in the shadow gallery and is having a real blue Christmas UNTIL... V surprises them with something unexpectedly festive? *cough* mistletoe *cough* ❤️❤️❤️

V X Reader – Christmas Blues Part 1 of 2

A/N – Okay, so I got two very similar xmas requests for V for Vendetta, so I’m doing this as a 2 parter. Part one is this, part 2 will be smut. You can read part one without part two.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

V stared at you, certain you must find his expression mocking behind the jeering grin of his mask. He had never intended to hurt your feelings, only to let you down gently as it were. He knew he didn’t do enough for you. There was never enough time, and his work was important… But weren’t you also important?

No, nothing could compromise his mission. If all went according to plan, he would be ready to blow up the Old Bailey in another two years, thus starting his revolution. Yet, doing such things took time, and there was so much that V had to learn and prepare. He didn’t have time to rest – not even on Christmas Eve. However, in telling you so and seeing your disappointment – Well, it was just another way in which he was a monster.

The worst part was that you were taking it in your stride. Granted, V could see how upset you were as your eyes became glassy with tears you refused to shed, but you didn’t complain; it seemed that you knew just how much his work meant to him.

And so, V left you, stating a humble apology as he passed you and made his way to the roof. He had to hurry. There was a train to catch – a train straight to the Chancellor that was jam-packed with priceless intel.

Even when V left you, you still refused to cry. A small part of you had known this would happen. It was quite likely that V didn’t celebrate Christmas anyway. How many times had he told you that the holiday was stolen from its pagan roots? Or that the name was changed to suit its Christian hosts? And now that the UK was stuck in a dictatorship, the Holiday was only used to control people – it was like a gift the Chancellor could give or take away at will.

If the population was good, they would get their later curfews and sparkly light shows, but if they ever needed further subjugation, then a false threat would be created by Suttler’s goons, and harsher lockdowns would be put in place. Then, said imaginary threat would then be taken care of just in time for New Year’s Day so the people would have a chance for revelry, all while feeling a false sense of security under their great and powerful leader.

So, that left you all alone, as usual, but you knew you couldn’t blame V. To act as he had was simply his nature. You could no more ask him to change than you could ask birds to stop flying or fish to cease swimming. You simply had to pull up your bootstraps, pick some traditions, and enjoy the Holiday spirit.

That was easier said than done since there was nobody to lift your spirits and hype you up as you did all the things you were supposed to do. After eating dinner alone, listening to Christmas music, and hosting a lone trivia card game, you were quite thoroughly depressed.

In the end, you put on a film from V’s collection. In your current mood, It’s a Wonderful Life seemed to be the right choice; besides, you liked picking a film from Suttler’s blacklist, and It’s a Wonderful Life had been banned at the start of his reign for its socialist views.

Partway through the film, you spotted V’s sparring partner – the suit of armour he tormented during his favourite movies whenever he thought he was alone. Well, if he could be V’s movie frenemy, then he could also act as your film friend.

Slowly, you started talking to him, giving your opinions on the film, and of its characters. At some point, you began acting out scenes, much as you had seen V do, though where he chose violence, you chose love. The suit was your James Stewart, and you, Donna Reed, though sometimes, you would switch roles if you thought it was a particularly good Stewart scene. You lassoed the moon for your metal friend, then you switched roles and offered it a broken mansion for its honeymoon.

Although there was no mistletoe kiss in the film, you stole some you had decorated the fireplace with anyway, placing it over the armour’s helm. It was almost as if you would have felt silly kissing it without the mistletoe, even though it was ridiculous to peck the metal beak either way. You turned away from the unmoving man so that when you did kiss him, you would be able to swing around dramatically and give him that world-ending, 1940’s bombshell of a kiss.

The film played alongside in the background as George Baily returned home safe – he was loved and cared for, and then, it was the perfect moment to swing around, throw your arms over the broad shoulders and kiss –

V?!

Your momentum carried you forward as your lips pressed against the cool metal of his mask.

You tried to scramble back, hurrying out apologies but V held you steady.

“Don’t.” He told you. “Don’t apologise.”

“V, I- I thought you were-”

“I came back,” He said as if it were the only thing that mattered. In truth, he had rushed through his mission, stolen the required intel on a USB and hurried back without even so much as looking at the data. Leaving you the way he had didn’t sit right with him. You were an amazing person, always forced to put yourself second since you did everything you could to please V. He didn’t want things to be that way. He wanted you to have more.

Granted, the two of you weren’t yet in a relationship, but you had just kissed him, albeit inadvertently, and V was no fool; he knew the feelings you harboured for him.

“(Y/N),” He whispered your name, placing a gloved hand on your cheek. “You have given me more than I could have ever hoped for. You are a virtuoso of my heart, vibrant and vivacious as you pass through the veneer of villainy that masquerades so violently in the vales above. Of all that resides here in the Shadow Gallery, you are the most valuable to me. Although it is entirely selfish of me to ask such a thing of you, I hope that you will stay with me… always.”

You trembled against V, entirely terrified to open your mouth in case no sound came out. He waxed poetry so eloquently, and you often failed to make yourself say all the things you thought without tripping over your words.

Still, you couldn’t stay silent at such an important time in your life. V was – He was everything and to have him by your side would be like capturing the stars themselves, cosmic and inexplicable as they illuminated your heart and mind, burning any darkness or fear away.

You couldn’t look away from V, knowing his gaze must be expectant beneath the mask. Realisation dawned upon you, you didn’t need fancy words, or masses of poetry to complete the moment. All you needed was what V valued most; the truth.

“I don’t want to spend a day without you. I love you, V.”

“Then, by all means, let us abandon our fat metal friend,” V spared the suit of armour a backward glance, thinking how you could have kissed it instead of him, “and retire elsewhere. I myself do not celebrate this holiday, but I would love to partake in some of your more beloved traditions.”

[rivendellwatch]

Elrondriel Secret Santa Schedule Update!!

🎄✨ A Corner of Rivendell: Elrondriel Secret Santa Update! 🎁🌟

Hello, my wonderful Rivendell kin!🌿💖

It’s December 6th, and today’s the FINAL day to sign up for our Secret Santa! If you’ve been lurking in the shadows of Lothlórien, wondering if you should join, this is your nudge—step into the light and join us! You’ve got until the end of today to sign up, so grab your lembas bread and quills and let’s make this happen!!🍃✨

🗓️ Extended Timeline: Because We’re Fancy Like That!

To give everyone, especially our delightful latecomers, the time they need to craft gifts worthy of the halls of Rivendell, we’ve adjusted the timeline. Instead of rushing to finish by December, we’ll now unveil gifts on January 6th—a day fit for royalty! Here’s the updated schedule:

📜 Questionnaire Submission Deadline: Today, December 6th! If you’ve already signed up but haven’t given me your Discord tag yet, I need it ASAP! This helps me get assignments to you faster than Elrond crossing a library with a dramatic cloak flourish! 👉 Don’t have Discord? No problem! If you’re a Tumblr dweller or prefer another platform, just DM me there, and we’ll make it work!!🧝‍♀️✨

🎨 Assignment Distribution: December 7th-8th Your recipient’s name will arrive in your DMs like a summons from Lady Galadriel herself—except less foreboding and more festive!!🎁

🛍️ Gift Creation Period: December 8th - January 4th This is your time to shine! Channel your inner elven crafter and pour your heart into your gift. Whether it’s poetry as poetic as Elrond’s speeches or art that could rival a tapestry of Valinor, let your creativity flow like the Bruinen!

✉️ Submission Day: January 5th All gifts must be ready and sent to me by this date! Think of me as a courier from the Grey Havens, ensuring your masterpiece reaches its destination safely!!! You can send me the link via Discord or, if you’re using Tumblr or another platform, we’ll coordinate so your recipient gets their gift with all the fanfare of a Rivendell feast!

🎊 Reveal Day: January 6th, 2024! On this special day, we’ll gather (virtually) to unveil the gifts. Expect excitement, gratitude, and a few Elrond-level heartfelt speeches. Let’s start the new year with a little magic, a lot of creativity, and some extra love for this community!!!💖

So, get those sign-ups in by tonight, friends! Whether you’re writing, drawing, creating edits, moodboards, gif or else, this is your chance to be part of something special. Let’s make this Secret Santa as legendary as Galadriel’s power stare and as heartwarming as Elrond’s quiet wisdom!!✨

Yours in festive cheer, ~ Your Friendly Rivendell Host, Bucky🌿

[brian-in-finance]

https://collider.com/outlander-series-finale-caitriona-balfe-update/

Thanks for the message, Anon. 😃

But… seriously? 🤦🏻‍♂️ Copy editor… anyone? 🤷🏻‍♂️

Let’s move on.

Starz

Caitríona Balfe Reveals How Much the 'Outlander' Cast Know About the Series Finale

As Caitríona Balfe wraps up filming on the long-running series Outlander, she opened up to Collider’s Steve Weintraub at the Toronto International Film Festival about her feelings on the emotional end of the beloved show. Balfe, who has played Claire Fraser for over a decade, shared the whirlwind of emotions she’s experiencing as the series nears its conclusion.

Reflecting on the journey, Balfe said, "It's wild. It's wild coming to the end. I feel every emotion possible sometimes all at the same time. We had our 100th episode the other day. We had a big moment for that. It's been amazing."

After 11 years of playing the iconic time-traveling character, it’s no surprise that saying goodbye to Outlander is bittersweet for Balfe. The show has been a massive part of her career and life, but she is also eager for the next chapter. "The show has given me so much and it's going to be really sad to say goodbye to it, but it's also kind of exciting to move on to the next stage," she shared.

While fans are anxious to know how Outlander will wrap up, Balfe revealed that even the cast has been kept in the dark about certain aspects of the final script.

The last script, I don't think any of us have read the full script. I think they're still keeping parts of it to themselves until the very day that we film it. It's kind of interesting, I can't give any spoilers because I don't know.

Balfe’s reflections on Outlander came as part of a conversation about her latest project, The Cut, which also stars Orlando Bloom. The film, which premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival, is already creating buzz, showcasing Balfe’s continued rise in the world of cinema. But as she moves forward, it’s clear that Outlander has left a lasting imprint on her both professionally and personally.

As Outlander enters its final phase, Balfe’s portrayal of Claire Fraser will remain an indelible part of the show’s legacy. Her emotional farewell to the series marks the end of an era, but for Balfe, it’s also the start of a new adventure. Outlander Season 7 Part 2 will premiere in November 2024, with fans eagerly awaiting how the story of Claire and Jamie Fraser will conclude in Season 8. For those looking to catch up, the first seven seasons are currently available to stream on Starz.

Stay tuned for more from TIFF, and special thanks to our sponsor Range Rover.

Collider

Remember… Outlander: During the reign of the Vikings, Kainan, a man from a far-off world, crash lands on Earth, bringing with him an alien predator known as the Moorwen. Though both man and monster are seeking revenge for violence committed against them, Kainan leads the alliance to kill the Moorwen by fusing his advanced technology with the Viking's Iron Age weaponry. — IMDb I feel every emotion possible sometimes all at the same time. We had our 100th episode the other day. We had a big moment for that. It's been amazing. — Caitríona Balfe

[trekbait]

THIS is why you keep FAILING to blend in on ANCIENT EARTH!

Getting stuck on Earth of the past is a surprisingly common occurrence for Starfleet crews. Between slingshots, Q, Devidians, orbs, Borg, kemocite explosions, rogue temporal agents and stray tachyons stuck in your ablative armour; we estimate 80% of time travel occurrences land officers specifically on Earth in North America in the 100 years between the 1930s and 2030s (give or take).

This is your guide on how to stay undercover until you escape.

What year is this?

Try not to ask this question. It is not something that comes up in regular conversation so it will look weird. Instead, look for a shop with large folded batches of paper on display. These will be newspapers and will invariably show the date in the corner of the front page. 

If you have 24th-century technology, you might also be able to tell from the level of pollution or radiation in the atmosphere, or from astrometric readings.

Continue to check the news for more information about this era, its society and historical events that you may be influencing.

Where are you from?

Try not to be specific lest they know the place and ask if you know someone there. Keep it to a general “up north”. If you’re quite far north already, substitute with “down south”.

If you stand out a fair bit, suggest that you are from France (unless you are in France, of course, but this is statistically unlikely). But do not suggest your Vulcan officer had a rice-picking incident or that you are a secret agent; such stories may be read as too outlandish. Plan your cover as soon as possible and research your era and location to get your facts straight.

Funny looking pyjamas

People of this era consider Starfleet uniforms to look like pyjamas. Go with that and say you had to leave your flat in the middle of the night due to a fire or an argument with the “missus”. This is also a good opportunity to appeal for advice on where you can find replacement clothes. 

If necessary, do not be afraid of stealing period-appropriate clothes to maintain your cover. It may not be moral, but you will be less disruptive to the timeline by stealing a shirt than walking around in full uniform. 

You should avoid high-security places when committing theft without technological aid; interacting with law enforcement can be deadly in this era. This is especially true for officers who cannot pass as humans of the local dominant ethnic group; these individuals should lay low as much as possible.

Non-human officers

The unexpected nature of time travel may preclude preparation for non-humans to hide their more obvious alien features. Some species (Betazoids, Deltans, Baku) can easily pass as humans and will have no problem blending in. Others may pose a challenge. Here are ideas of how to stay covert;

Vulcans, Romulans: Wear a hat, sweatband or long hair to cover your ears and eyebrows.

Bajorans: A band-aid over the nose and pass it off as an injury.

Trill: Pass off your spots as tattoos or wear a hood to cover the sides of your head.

Former Borg: Pass off your implants as jewellery or a body mod. Draw on some extra tattoos to add to the effect. Alternative communities can provide great cover to non-humans due to their non-conformity with the dominant society.

Orions, Andorians, Bolians: Add makeup and glitter to your face and say you’re going to a festival (Andorians should also wear a hat for the antenna - pick a flashy one to add to the festival aesthetic).

Cardassians, Ferengi, Klingons etc.: This is a lot harder. These species should stay hidden as much as possible unless there is a “comic book convention” in town. In this case, steal a lanyard and offer to pose for a photo to anyone who gets suspicious. They will assume you are in an elaborate costume seeking attention

These later examples will protect officers in casual interactions but will be out of place if entering more formal environments.

Zippers

Clothing items and bags on Earth often used a device called a “zipper” formed of metal teeth. You placed the ends together then pulled a tog up to close the two sides of the fabric. You won’t be familiar with these because they have been banned by the 2274 Oddenbery Accords after zippers were instrumental in the collapse of space-time in the Kandari sector that cost 6 million lives. 

It goes without saying that 20th-century humans should not be made aware of the mortal danger zippers pose to the universe or you may alter the timeline. Holographic versions are safe to use if you wish to practice their function and blend in.

Currency

Old Earth still relied on capitalist economics and the use of currency which had no intrinsic value. This currency often took the form of circles of decorated metal and printed slips of paper; in later decades it was also electronic, traded via plastic rectangles. The plastic rectangles will be unobtainable to you (and if stolen, would allow your movements to be tracked) but you should be aware of their purpose. 

Currency was required to even access the most essential services such as shelter and food so your first priority should be acquiring some of these scraps of paper. 

Theft: Ideally you don’t want to steal from individuals. Poverty was widespread and you could impact someone's life significantly. Instead, if safe to do so you should aim to steal from an institution such as a bank’s currency dispenser (such companies would not be impacted by small-scale theft due to something called “insurance”).

Trade: If you have on you something that holds an intrinsic value that does not contain components from the future, consider taking it to a “Porn Shop”. Tell the shop owner you have something to sell and you can obtain legal tender from them. 

Labour: Those at the bottom of the socio-economic hierarchy obtained currency via performing labour for most of the day. Your best bet is irregular work such as cleaning; this will give a very low return of currency despite intense labour but it is your best way to stay under the radar.

Gambling: Humans of this century gambled a great deal more than they had the resources to. If you have an unfair natural advantage in the games they play then you should find people willing to place a wager. Humans bet on anything, from animal races to elections or their whole economy.

Humans were particularly attached to their money and gave it names like “Abe” or “Benjamin” to create a bond with it. You should come up with your own (human) names for any money you obtain to blend in with capitalist exchanges.

Note that this region was fond of “tipping”. This is when low-wage staff were given extra money by the customer beyond the stated value of the service to compensate for their employer paying their staff less than that needed to survive. This will often be indicated by holding out a hand or a quiet cough.

Colourful metaphors

Profanity is common on old Earth in a way that is seen as inappropriately aggressive today. Nobody pays any attention to you if you don't swear every other word. So you may need to employ some yourself in casual conversation to truly blend in. Many words used then are now automatically censored by our universal translators such as ****, ****, ***** him, go **** yourself up your ******* *******, **** ** ***** **** then ***, and *. 

Transport

North America of this era was obsessed with a highly inefficient and dangerous form of personal transport known as the automobile (or “car”). These will likely end up being your primary form of transport and being a proficient driver of these vehicles is important for blending in. So you best spend an hour on the holodeck familiarising yourself with the control scheme of its interior.

Mass transit also existed, though due to chronic underinvestment in the regions you are statistically most likely to arrive in, you may find it difficult to obtain. The most common of these are “buses” which are large automobiles capable of moving around 50-100 people at a time along major routes. Usage will require currency; be sure to check the fare before boarding as some may require “exact change” to be provided.

And the timeline?

Let’s leave that side of things to the boys at the Department for Temporal Investigations. But what we will say is that this era is particularly savage. You may be tempted to right injustices left, right and centre (there are a lot) but if you, say, save a woman from getting killed by one of those deadly automobiles we mentioned then you could find out that the whole timeline is thrown off course. 

So follow these tips, keep your head down and look for a way home. That is unless you cause the death of a pivotal revolutionary figure and need to take their place to restore the timeline. Naturally.

What tips do you have for passing as a local on ancient Earth? Let us know below and Follow us for more essential tips in your Starfleet career!