#lucias nonsense

[permanent-rose]

Losing my marbles over this tweet, had to include the response cause me too. I’ve been delusional before and I’ll be delusional again. 

I am praying this is a hint and not just excitement that it is trending. I am becoming the grand high clown but idc, I love Lockwood & Co too much not to clown.

[prismaticpichu]

Angeal: You are worth it

Genesis: You are enough

Zack: You are lovable!

Cloud: You are unique

Aerith: You are beautiful

Kunsel: You will find a solution

Lazard: You can make it

Tseng: You are quite brave

Reno: You are hilarious

Rude: You are resilient

Cissnei: You will achieve amazing things

Glenn: You are a damn good soul

Matt: You are intelligent

Lucia: You are growing every day

Tifa: You are a friend

Lucrecia: It’s human to make mistakes

Sephiroth: …

Sephiroth: You are a hero to someone, somewhere, even if you don’t realize it

~

[Brought to you by Pichu spontaneously crying for no conscious reason and just wanting to spread some love~]

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

What is up with Ryan and his first time using swords???? I'm getting So curious <3<3

Plot wise, it's not that important tbh 😭 it definitely gives some insight as to why Ryan is the way he is, if anyone cares about the reasons, but yeah the short answer is just that I felt like writing it.

because I LOVE writing for the royal family

Ryan and Cardan have my favorite dynamic in the whole story. They're so evil I love them so much

But I write unimportant things very often! Usually they're only a few paragraphs, so I don't include them in the polls, but Ryan's first time using a sword ended up being a pretty long scene so I figured I might as well. Ryan would definitely think it's relevant 😭

[fourspiceblend]

Me: I need Constance so bad I've tried to pull her since 2021 please throw me a bone you dumb owl

Feh: here, a Constance banner where she's color sharing :)

Me: fine

[scntlisi]

There’s a young woman who has a laugh like a warm summer breeze and wanders around the island like she’s known it for centuries. There’s a spring in her step and a glint in her eyes and she tells stories like she lived through them. She talks with your grandparents like she’s known them their whole lives, occasionally slipping an anecdote about their childhood as if she were a doting aunt and not someone just old enough to be your big sister.

She chats in creole the most, but her English is flawless and her French even more so, she says it’s because her best friend is from Martinique. Actually, she slips and says her best friend is Martinique and you think that maybe her English isn’t as flawless as you thought.

People call her a few things, Helen, Lucia, but she tells you her name is Selipha one day with a cutlass in her hand as she chops bamboo with strength you didn’t know a woman her height could have. It’s close to Christmas and you know bamboo bursting is a tradition. You ask how she is, just to be polite, and with a look in her eyes that makes her seem impossibly old, she tells you the same thing she tells everyone, .

 “Mwen la.”  I’m here.

You wonder if she’s always going to be here, she says it often enough.

You don’t see or hear of Selipha again until you return to the island decades later, hair peppered with streaks of grey and aching bones soothed by the sun. For a moment, you think your eyes must be playing tricks on you, but it’s her. Outside of a house you know isn’t her own with a Piton beer in hand, chatting with a family in creole while the cricket plays on the TV. Perhaps a year or so older, no more. No less. Without thinking, you say her name and she turns, the spark of recognition in her eyes immediate and you pause.

She looks at you as if she were a doting aunt and not someone young enough to be your daughter. You ask her how she is, just to be polite, and with a smile on her face and a look in her eyes that makes her seem impossibly old, she tells you the same thing she tells everyone.

“Mwen la.”  I’m here.

You wonder if she’ll always be here.

[seleneprince]

Fun idea about my Lucia Wayne-Perez au (aka the Neglected daughter au):

You see, a lifetime of raising Marco has made Lucia's big sister/mother's instincts so ingrained in her mind that sometimes they just come out of her naturally at certain situations, like hearing a kid's cry or knowing they're sick. She has the habit that whenever Marco throws a tantrum or misbehaves, she grabs him from the back of his neck, like a cat, and lifts him to put him in "time out".

Dealing a secret criminal life, along with other complications, takes a toll out of her sometimes. A certain morning, she's just bleary-eyed, running on fumes, and just defaults to her ingrained "big sister mode" when she's triggered, without realizing that she's not dealing with Marco this time...

The morning is quiet—well, as quiet as mornings at Wayne Manor can be. Lucia stumbles into the kitchen, dark circles under her eyes, her hair an unbrushed mess. She's moving on autopilot, grumbling under her breath about the lack of coffee in her life as she pours herself a glass of water instead.

Alfred has had the horrible idea of trying to cut down her caffeine levels for a while, replacing it for water or milk instead. Something about how there can only be two coffee addicts in this house, and she shouldn't be one of them. A bunch of nonsense, if you ask her.

Damian is already there. He’s already had his morning training, his uniform immaculate, and his attitude sharper than usual. He’s standing by the table, critiquing Alfred’s choice of breakfast with his usual snark.

"This oatmeal is too bland," Damian mutters. "I’d sooner eat sawdust."

Lucia doesn’t even register it at first. But as the complaints keep coming, something in her brain clicks. Years of dealing with Marco’s tantrums kick in. She sets down her glass, shuffles over to Damian, and without a word, grabs him by the back of his collar.

"Hey—what are you—" Damian protests, his voice indignant but slightly bewildered.

Lucia, too tired to care, lifts him like he’s no heavier than a loaf of bread. "Time out," she mutters flatly and carries him to the corner of the room.

She plops him down with zero ceremony. "Stay there. Think about your choices," she adds before trudging back to her water.

For a moment, there’s stunned silence.

Alfred, standing by the stove, clears his throat, his lips twitching as he valiantly fights off a smile. "Lucia, dear, I believe Master Damian is—"

"I know who he is, Alfred," she interrupts, waving a hand dismissively. "He’s a kid, and he’s annoying. Let me hydrate in peace."

Damian is too shocked to respond immediately. When he finally recovers, his voice is a mix of outrage and disbelief. "You dare—"

Lucia turns her head, narrowing her bloodshot eyes at him. "Unless you want me to glue you to the corner, I suggest you zip it, gremlin."

"You—!"

"I said Zip it."

And for the first time, Damian...zips it. Just like that.

Later, when she’s more awake and her brain starts functioning again, the realization of what she’s done hits her like a truck. She avoids Damian for the rest of the day, expecting a punishment. Or a murder attempt. This time finishing what he started those years ago.

But instead, he just watches her with narrowed eyes, as if trying to solve a puzzle. And though he’d never admit it, there’s a small part of him that almost...respects her for it. Almost.

Taglist: @yuyuzi-ling @lunayaps (if someone wants to be added, let me know)

[mortuavita]

If i see another post bragging about the two columbine idiots i will block it and fuck u if you don't like it, grow up damn it, this is not nonsense, INNOCENT LIVES WERE TAKEN and KMFDM WAS UNFAIRLY ACCUSED of having influenced both of them (Lucia has already spoken on Instagram and explained that KMFDM does not agree with these ideas several times).

This makes me impatient every time I see it.

[megraen]

Chapter Two - Mensis Aprilis

WORD COUNT: 6,005

@barcelonaloverf1life @quuinyoung @justnobodynothingmore

Palace of Domitian - Rome 195AD

Rome was in celebration. On the 23rd day of Mensis Aprilis, the wine harvest, wine vintage, and gardens were celebrated in honour of Jupiter and Venus. It was a splendour that all of Rome took part in, as the wine served more than just the role of a beverage, but medicine and tonic. It was so crucial that Rome held two festivals a year to honour the celebration of wine. The wine was available in various varieties, enjoyed warm and cold, with Roman citizens of all ages and genders, including free folk and slaves, enjoying the substance.

During this celebration, the people of Rome praised the God Jupiter, thanked him for the previous harvest, and prayed that the next would be abundant. To honour Venus, wine from last year’s first harvest was drunk, and many flocked into the streets with music and laughter.

Lucia would have been one of many young girls to gather at the Temple of Venus Erycina Colline, offering myrtle, mint and bulrush in a bouquet of roses, asking for the Goddess to bless her with beauty, charm and humour, yet for her actions earlier that week, the twin Emperors had banished her to her chambers, only allowing her to leave for the use of the privy and bathhouse. Slaves would bring her meals and attend to her needs, but she was trapped in the four-walled room. They had never punished her so cruelly before, even to deny her the right to honour the Gods.

The young woman was currently sitting on the sill of the window, just wide enough to stop her from slipping through and falling to her death. The windows were the same in her mother’s chambers. Down below, she could see the public granted to Palatine Hill for the celebration yet still barred from entering the Palace. Some had noticed her and waved, with Lucia returning the warm gesture. She must have been like an animal on display in a menagerie to them, a curiosity for them to gawk and admire.

She looked away from them, her attention shifting to the lyre in her lap. Lucia had been plucking at the strings for hours, making non-nonsensical tunes. She had long passed boredom hours ago and was teetering with nothing to do. She had re-read what little scrolls of poetry she had in her room and was beginning to run out of ideas for ways to entertain herself. Had she not been confined to her chambers, she could have waltzed through the Palace gardens or had brief conversations with those visiting the Emperors. Even her mother was banned from seeing her as punishment.

“Jupiter and all the Gods damn you, Geta.” Lucia hissed, her hands tightening around the lyre. It was wise to assume that Caracalla would have had no input in her punishment, as the younger twin cared little for ruling. Caracalla would have had her thrown in a cell or dungeon as a punishment rather than confining her to her chambers. No, the plan had all been Geta’s doing.

Her head turned sharply when the doors to her chambers opened, and a young female slave entered. The girl’s head was downcast, her gaze on her feet as she padded into the room barefoot. A guard was standing by the open door, his eyes darting between the slave and Lucia, daring the princess to act. Lucia remained sitting on the window sill as the slave girl placed a silver tray on a low table, bringing Lucia her midday meal. The slave hesitated before picking up the tray left from Lucia’s breakfast, the food untouched, but she grabbed it anyway. The girl bowed towards Lucia before heading out, the guard slamming the door shut, leaving Lucia alone once more.

She had been refusing to eat for the last day of her punishment, a protest against her captors. The slaves would report each skipped meal to Emperor Geta, and the news would grate on his nerves. Both Emperors thrived on control, stemming from the fear they drew from those beneath them. It was a high to them—a thrill from the power over the Roman Empire. It’s what draws so many to desire the position for themselves. Lucia had long assumed that most who held the Emperor’s position had never been suited to rule, only wanting control rather than what was best for Rome. Too many had fallen to corruption, and her uncle had been one of them.

Lucia’s grandfather, Emperor Marcus Aurelius, was a well-loved and admired ruler. He was a Stoic philosopher who believed in practising the four virtues—wisdom, courage, temperance or moderation, and justice. Yet it was after his murder by his son, Commodus, that would bring an end to their families near a one-hundred-year dynasty. The Nerva–Antonine dynasty held six Emperors, with the first five considered ‘good’ Emperors. Nerva, Trajan, Hadrian, Antoninus Pius, Lucius Verus, Marcus Aurelius, and Commodus. All were dead, and the dynasty they created was torn from this world by the foolish mistakes of one who craved power.

Commodus was arrogant, ruling like a god among men, thinking he could break Roman laws to his benefit. He wished to create a new dynasty, born of pure-blooded children from his own sister’s womb. Incest was outlawed because it was immoral and against the Gods, punishable by exile. Lucia knew that Commodus had raped her mother, yet as a child, she hadn’t put two and two together. Lucia feared that when the time came, Commodus would have raped her too once she was old enough for marriage, as he had been so desperate for an heir.

Sighing, Lucia placed her lyre aside and stood, her legs weak from sitting for so long. She stood still, breathing as the blood flowed back into her legs. Approaching the table and ignoring the hunger in her gut, Lucia poured herself a cup of wine and took a large gulp, moaning as the sweet liquid floated around her tongue. She may have been skipping meals, but it would be a crime for her to deny herself wine. She returned to the window, glancing back over the city again. If the Emperors had been kind enough to give her more wine, she would drink into a stupor, letting herself forget about her troubles and the shame of missing out on the day’s festivities.

Lucia had no idea how much time had passed when someone slammed her chamber doors open so hard that the wood banged against the wall. She didn’t have to turn her head to know who. Only one person would dare to enter her chambers with such aggression.

“Lucia…” Geta hissed through gritted teeth. When the slave had come to him, informing him that the brat had forgone without another meal, he found his patience at its limit. Lucia and her mother were his guests, under his and his brother’s protection, with the privileges of being well cared for and provided with the comforts of the Imperial Palace. Yet there was also the concern of the rumours that could circulate. If the peasantry heard that Lucia wasn’t abstaining from meals and locked in her chambers, the lower class would turn against the Emperors more, calling them cruel.

It wasn’t easy to manage the classes of Rome and make each one happy with the laws and decisions made for their benefit. Yes, the Emperor held political, legal, financial, military, and religious power. Still, that control also lay with the Senate, responsible for creating laws, managing finances, directing magistrates, advising on policy, arbitrating disputes, seating criminal juries, and acting as prosecution and defence attorneys.

If the twin Emperors were seen in a poor light, then the Senate must have been, too. At least, that’s how Geta saw it.

“Lucia!” He barked her name again when she hadn’t turned to face him or acknowledge his presence. Lucia finally spun, swaying slightly and almost losing her footing. Geta narrowed his brows and instantly realised the woman was intoxicated. He looked to the table and picked up the now empty jug that had held the wine. His jaw tightened. Geta knew from his personal experiences and witnessing his brother what no food and much wine could do to one’s senses. Caracalla was one of the most uncontrollable drinks Geta had ever seen.

“You’re drunk,” Geta grumbled, harshly dropping the jar on the table.

“I’m free!” Lucia sang and spun around, spilling wine from her goblet.

“You need to eat,” He stressed, gesturing to the waiting food on the table. A silver tray held various meats, salted bread, eggs, vegetables, cheese, and salad. It was a typical midday meal, with enough food to feed a small group or last Lucia all day. Geta scowled at her intoxicated actions, watching her stumble to re-find her footing after spinning too fast.

“No,” Lucia replied curtly. Her tone was light, a giggle leaving her lips even as she tried to come off defiant. Geta’s jaw twitched. Stomping over to her, he latched onto the wrist of her free hand, pulling her to sit at the table. Lucia had yelled at him in protest, and when her butt met the seat, she let go of the goblet, the silver cup resting on the tabletop as she swiped at the tray, spilling its contents over the floor. Geta leapt back, narrowingly avoiding the food from staining his pristine white toga.

He seethed momentarily, refraining himself from lashing out and striking at her. Geta wasn’t accustomed to someone being too blatantly disrespectful. To his knowledge, no one ever had, not even his twin. He was Emperor, the firstborn twin; none could compare to his position and power.

“It’s clear you need more time to think…” Geta gritted out through clenched teeth; his words were dangerously quiet. He turned, heading to leave her alone, but halted when he heard something hit the wall behind him and the clung of metal across the floor. Glancing down, he spied the metal goblet rolling on the floor. She’d thrown a cup at him. He turned, staring at Lucia in amazement.

She was standing up from her seat, shifting shakily on her intoxicated feet, but Geta could see the fire in her eyes. The wine had made her bolder, acting out in a manner she wouldn’t dare to do sober. Geta had seen plenty of men do the outrageous when drunk, from thinking themselves immortal to acting boldly towards a charming woman. Lucia always behaved appropriately, even when pushed to her limits, not counting the times she fled from the Palace. To witness her now, acting, unlike any other Roman woman, having attempted to harm her Emperor, was astounding.

“I can have you executed for that.” Geta barked, pointing to the goblet on the ground.

A large smile spread across Lucia’s face, establishing she felt no guilt or shame over her drunken actions. Yet before either could act or speak further, darkness descended Lucia’s vision, and she collapsed to the hard marble floor, her intoxication leaving her unconscious.

Geta gritted his teeth again and closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. Sighing, he rubbed at his jaw, knowing he couldn’t just leave the woman on the floor as much as he wanted to. Opening the chamber doors, he ushered in the two guards he had stationed outside and ordered them to assist Lucia onto her bed. He watched them work, his eyes glued to her limp form. From now on, he would see she received no more wine, only water.

Caracalla laughed hysterically as Geta paced back and forth in the banquet hall. The news of Lucia attacking his brother with a cup made him giggle. Their rich, noble friends and prostitutes sat around the room, not speaking or uttering a sound, merely watching the scene. Geta turned sharply, staring down at his younger twin, but in his state of intoxication, Caracalla didn’t notice the seething look. Geta kicked at his brother’s feet as the man laid back on his recliner. Caracalla jerked, spilling his wine as he tried to stabilise himself.

“Out!” Geta screamed, his eyes still focused on his brother, yet the order was meant for everyone else. The prostitutes and nobles quickly scattered from the room, leaving behind their goblets. They knew not to linger if either twin was in a bad mood, not wanting to become the target of an Emperor’s rage.

Caracalla frowned at the spilt wine. Standing on shaky legs, he reached for a pitcher and poured a fresh cup. “Calm yourself, brother.” He slurred, spinning to face his twin. Geta shook his head. He wanted to smack that cup from his brother’s hand. “It seems our young princess has more fire than expected.” Caracalla teased, his eyes twinkling in delight. The younger man was affectionate for defiant things and enjoyed breaking them and moulding them into obedient pets. It’s how he ensured that every new slave that was brought to the Palace would be submissive to him and his brother.

“Had it been your head she was throwing it at, you wouldn’t be fast to praise her.” Geta lectured. Caracalla paused but started laughing again as if it was some game to him. He relaxed on his recliner, sipping his wine, not caring for his brother’s complaints. Caracalla spoke again of simply killing Lucia, as it would mean an end to plenty of their troubles, especially the heartache that the woman was currently causing his brother. Geta groaned and rubbed at his jaw, annoyed that his twin couldn’t listen to a straightforward rule: no killing Lucia or Lucilla. Yes, murdering the two women would rid the emperors of significant disturbances to their rule, but doing so would only create more. There was no easy fix. Their father’s prisoners had been passed onto them. In the past, it had only been Lucilla who’d been a threat, but she was old now, and the twins were sure she was unlikely to conceive again at her age, which left only her daughter.

Geta sat on one of the plush sofas, relaxing on the soft surface. “He’s still tormenting us from Tartarus.” He grumbled. Caracalla looked at him quizzically, unsure of whom his brother was referring to. “Father.”

As the words left his mouth, Caracalla’s mood changed. He threw his goblet, spilling wine across the marble floor. Geta was used to seeing his brother like this when the rage took hold, and his mind became lost. Standing, Geta reached for his twin, wrapping his arms around Caracalla from behind and dragging him to the floor. Geta tried to soothe his twin, reminding him to calm down. His temperature tantrums were one thing, but Caracalla’s were something else. The younger man had maimed and disfigured slaves when his episodes struck, nearly inconsolable. What triggered him one day may not trigger him again next time.

“Calm, brother…come back to your senses,” Geta whispered, gritting his teeth as Caracalla fought against his hold. The man soon stilled, trembling and panting as he lay on the floor, Geta releasing his body. “He’s gone. Dead. Suffering for his sins against us in Tartarus.” Geta soothed, staring off ahead at nothing.

Their father had been a cruel man, abusive to his wife and sons. The twin’s mother had been Emperor Lucius Septimius Severus’s second wife, his first rumoured to be murdered after eleven years of marriage when she failed to give him any children. The continuation of family names, the creation of dynasties, and the building of legacies all depended on sons. That’s what Severus had wanted, for his family to rule for centuries as Rome’s Empire expanded across the known world. When his second wife died giving birth to twin baby boys, Severus thought himself rewarded, but his cruel nature continued. He would abuse the boys, thinking it would make them strong and turn them into the perfect co-Emperors when Mors, the God of Death, came for him.

The twins lingered on the floor, each fighting with their inner demons brought upon them by their father. Geta thought back to when his father had managed to secure the position of Emperor through manipulation and assassination and moved his family into the Palace of Domitian fifteen years ago. Geta and Caracalla were boys of eleven, freshly made princes when they witnessed the Praetorians dragging a Lucilla and an eight-year-old Lucia through the Palace. Severus’s first order as Emperor was to imprison Lucilla and her daughter, but in doing so, it forced the twins and Lucilla to become friends. They didn’t have other children to play with, nor were they allowed to leave the Palace grounds.

It was astonishing how much their lives could change in fifteen years, how they could go from boys to Emperors. Yet, Lucia remained a prisoner as she transitioned from girl to woman. The twins would be her captors until her death or theirs, and there was no telling what her fate would be once the Emperors did pass. Would she fall prisoner to their heir or someone else? Or maybe she would finally be free of Rome’s Empire and Senate? Until that fateful day, she would remain at the Palace of Domitian, living a life of luxury with strings attached.

“A child in chains of gold,” Geta muttered miserably, shaking his head, thinking about how Lucia was akin to a slave with the amount of freedom she lacked.

Caracalla groaned as he rolled onto his back, staring at his brother with glazed eyes, the alcohol still potent in his system. “Speaking in poetry, brother? A child in golden chains? Do you speak of our princess?” He drawled, a slight chuckle escaping his lips. Geta nodded, confirming his brother’s suspicions. Caracalla laughed again, rolling around in a manic episode as his laughter consumed him. Geta rolled his eyes, letting his brother enjoy the drastic mood change. At least Caracalla wasn’t throwing a destructive tantrum.

Geta turned when the banquet hall doors opened, and one of the Praetorians entered. The man looked to his Emperors in concern, spotting the two men on the floor. “My Emperors.” He bowed his head respectfully. “I was alerted that there might be trouble.”

Moving to stand, Geta waved him off with a lazy hand before straightening and dusting off his elaborate toga. “Everything is well, Jodocus. I appreciate your concern.” He praised the guard. Geta looked past the man, noting that he was alone, with only the other Praetorian guards lingering in the hallway. He knew they would have come running if called or if they had indeed suspected something wrong. The guards had long since grown familiar with Emperor Caracalla’s tantrums and often didn’t flinch when the man began to throw things and scream, not unless Emperor Geta ordered them to act.

“I live to serve, Your Majesty,” Jodocus responded swiftly, deeming Geta’s praises unnecessary.

Geta’s lips twitched in a small smile as he fought to remain impassive. “Are our guests lingering outside?” He enquired, stepping over his brother’s limp form and grabbing himself a goblet of ale. It was getting later in the day, and his spectacle might have caused his guests to flee the banquet hall, but Geta didn’t know if they waited in the parlour outside to return to the festivities. Jodocus nodded. “Good. Allow them back in. Any need for concern has passed.” Geta ordered, taking a sip of his wine. Jodocus’s eyes flicked to Caracalla, but he did as told. Saluting, the Praetorian stepped outside the hall, passing on the message to the noble guests.

The nobles and prostitutes awkwardly shambled back into the hall, avoiding eye contact with Geta and remaining silent as they returned to their seats. Some stared at Caracalla on the floor, the younger Emperor still giggling as he was off in his world.

“Brother! Bring me wine!” Caracalla whined from the floor, his hand outstretched. A couple of the guests chuckled at the man. Rolling his eyes, Geta grabbed another goblet and brought it over to Caracalla as he struggled to sit up, his head too heavy to sit up straight. Caracalla didn’t thank his brother as he drank greedily from the cup.

The guests began to ease up when they noticed how calm the Emperors had become, starting to drink and socialise again. They didn’t even glance as the slave who’d come in to clean up the wine spilt from Caracalla’s tantrum, simply being happy to drink into a stupor and entertain themselves with the whores that the Emperors paid for. After all, Mensis Aprilis was a day for all Imperial citizens to celebrate, with them being banned from working unless they happened to be servants to the Temples. Slaves were also barred from having the day off or any festival celebration, as they were not citizens and were entitled to the same privileges as Freemen and Freewomen.

Geta sat back and watched as the celebration returned to its revelry before he had been rudely advised of Lucia’s hunger strike. He knew he’d have to have another word with the woman once she had slept off the alcohol and sobered up, a conversation he wasn’t looking forward to having. Still, between him and his brother, Geta was the only one responsible for taking on the authority. Caracalla would yell, swear, and threaten the princess, undoubtedly ending with him acting on those threats. Caracalla wasn’t a man of patience. Nor was Geta, but at least he knew when to remain calm.

Needing to clear his mind of such stresses, Geta clicked his fingers at a random prostitute who wasn’t entertaining a guest, gesturing for her to join him. She smiled at his attention, sauntering over and taking the spot beside him on the sofa. Her hands immediately wrapped around his shoulders, massaging at the flesh. Her perfume was a sickly sweet scent that clogged the air around her, and the fabric of her chiton dress was near see-through as it hung closely over her figure.

“How may I please you?” She purred into his ear, making a pleasurable shiver roll down Geta’s spine and into his loins. He smirked. It was just the type of distraction he needed. Geta took a long sip of his wine as the woman waited on his response, looking at him eagerly. She fluttered her eyelashes, trying to urge him to answer.

Geta laughed. “Eager, aren’t you?” He retorted teasingly. He wasn’t stupid. Geta knew she would only serve him because he paid for her time. The woman wouldn’t have looked twice at him if he had been some lower class with no coin to his name. A prostitute was a slave who served her master by selling her body, bringing her owner riches. If she was fortunate, another man could buy her if he liked her enough, but other than that, she was a whore and nothing more.

She smiled up at him. It was a false smile, only used to entice him further. Geta didn’t care, and he paid for the pleasure of her body. She could give him as many fake praises as she wished; he would still fuck her and toss her aside when done.

He looked away to check on his brother, noticing Caracalla had somehow crawled back to his recliner and was now lying awkwardly on the face, laughing loudly as two prostitutes gave him attention, giggling at whatever joke had fallen from his lips. Geta took another sip of his wine, his eyes closing as the woman beside him massaged his shoulders, relaxing him further.

Lucilla didn’t know what to make of the situation. She had often warned her daughter of infuriating the Emperors too much, knowing that her daughter had a defiant strike in her that reminded Lucilla of her brother. The thought put a foul taste in her mouth to be free of her brother, yet his spirit lingered on in Lucia. For that, Lucilla was grateful that her daughter had been born female. Rome had plenty of foul emperors, and seeing her child grow to become one was distressing.

She had gone to see her daughter many times over the last few days but was always turned away by the guards stationed outside the chamber doors, who only allowed slaves and the emperors access. Lucilla had even been halted from seeing her daughter when the young woman was taken to the bathing chambers.

In times like these, Lucilla longed for Acacius so that her husband could speak reason to the twins and beg mercy for Lucia. While Lucia was very much a woman in body, she was still a girl, naive to the world and the politics of Rome’s elite. Lucia didn’t think. She only acted, disregarding the consequences she would face later. Now, news of Lucia’s refusal to eat had been brought to her attention by a guard who’d served loyal to Lucilla’s father. Lucilla prayed to the Gods to show Lucia mercy where the Emperors had not, that Lucia could be forgiven for her crimes against the twins so that she could be freed of her confinement.

Lucilla had made many similar prayers over the years, wishing for the Gods to free her and her daughter from their imprisonment so that they might escape Palatine Hill and Rome altogether, fleeing into the countryside where they might settle down in a villa to live the rest of their days in peace. But it was just a dream. Lucilla knew the imprisonment would never end.

She did have other plans in mind. When Acacius returns, Lucilla arranges for Lucia to be married to a worthy Roman soldier of Acacius’s choosing. All the offers she had received in her husband’s absence had come from ageing senators and cruel rich men. Lucilla never even allowed one of them to make their offer, scoffing at and dismissing them. Men who saw Lucia as someone to serve their benefit made them beneath her. While it was commonly accepted that marriage was a practice to increase a family’s power and influence, as love was a luxury of the peasantry, Lucilla feared the abuse her daughter would suffer at the hands of her future husband if she failed to bear a son.

Instinctively, Lucilla’s hand dropped to her stomach, resting over the flat surface. She had been fortunate twenty-three years ago to birth a healthy set of twins, showing God’s favour upon her by blessing her with a son and daughter. Lucius and Lucia had been her pride and joy. When her first husband passed, Lucilla wanted only to focus on her children rather than remarrying, even if she was expected to within six months of becoming a widow. As the Emperor’s daughter, she had the luxury of avoiding such expectations. She had hoped to bear more children after marrying Acacius, but Emperor Severus’s cruelty knew no bounds.

Despite Severus’s ban on abortion, threatening exile to any who dared the act, it was years later, after many failed pregnancies, that Lucilla learned that the Emperor had been lacing her food with Silphium, a plant that, when ground up and digested, caused miscarriages. He feared so much that the princess would bear a son that would threaten his rule that he broke his laws and, in turn, after so long, left Lucilla barren and unable to conceive.

She would have loved to give Acacius a son, even a daughter, which would have been a worthy gift for such a loving and caring husband who broke customs and married her for love. Lucilla feared the same fate for Lucia: that Severus’s sons would also lace her food with Silphium, leaving the girl’s womb scarred and unable to carry children. Lucia deserved to be happy and free, not to be born into the imprisonment that had befallen her.

“You will let me in!” Lucilla demanded of the guards stationed outside her daughter’s room, her head held high, oozing the confidence of an Imperial princess. The guards didn’t flinch under her order, but she had seen their eyes twitch slightly. They didn’t know what to do. The emperors banned everyone but themselves and slaves from entering, yet Lucilla was a princess of Rome, and Lucia was her daughter.

With tight jaws, their heads turned, and their eyes met, a slight conversation transpiring between them. After a moment, the guards stepped aside, granting the woman entry. Lucilla’s shoulders dropped, and she released a sigh that she wasn’t aware she’d be holding. The guards wouldn’t report this to the Emperors or anyone else, not wanting to risk getting in trouble, yet the idea of denying a woman access to her child, no matter the age of that child, seemed heartless and cruel. Lucilla didn’t hesitate to rush inside. She found no evidence of the discord between Lucia and Geta, a piece of distressing news shared by the guard loyal to her late father, and assumed that a slave must have cleaned up the spilt food and wine.

Lucia was still passed out on the bed, her hair tousled from sleep, when Lucilla sat down on the bed next to her, admiring her daughter.

“I’m so sorry, my darling,” Lucilla murmured, brushing the loose dark strands from her daughter’s face. Lucia looked peaceful as she slept, untouched by the chaos that had taken place early in the day. Lucilla had never drunk herself to the point of intoxication as Lucia had, her father always demanding a level of decorum from her, but Lucia didn’t have a constant father figure in her life to guide her, only a mother who had failed to protect her. This is why Lucia clung to Acacius when he was in Rome and not during war campaigns. Lucia needed someone in her life other than her mother, who had just moped through her captivity. Lucilla knew her daughter deserved better; they both did, but she was old now, ageing out of her beauty into a mature woman who couldn’t offer anything to her husband besides a companion. Some men divorced their wives, who got to Lucilla’s age, wanting to marry someone younger who could give them more children.

“Five years. I pray this war with Numidia ends soon, so the tides will bring Acacius back to us.” Lucilla sighed. She smiled when Lucia shifted in her sleep, rolling her head to the side.

Accepting that her daughter was well and safe, Lucilla stood, placing a chaste kiss on Lucia’s temple before exiting the bedchambers. She thanked the guards, knowing they had risked much to allow her entrance to Lucia’s room. She had a hardened resolve and a new level of determination. If the gods wouldn’t end her daughter’s confinement on such a holy day, she would. Nearly stomping her way to the banquet hall, Lucilla ignored the cautious looks from slaves, guards and guests as she them. Her head was held high again, and an air of arrogance existed. She was Princess Annia Aurelia Galeria Lucilla, daughter of the late Emperor Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, and she would not be denied.

When she entered the banquet hall, she only found the linger few guests that hadn’t departed for the night and the prostitutes attending to them; the guests stood, shoving the whores aside as they bowed in respect to Lucilla. Her upper lip curled in distaste at the hedonistic scene.

“Where are Emperors Geta and Caracalla?” She questioned. Her eyes narrowed accusingly at the guests, who hung their heads in shame. Emperor Marcus Aurelius would never have stood for such debauchery in his home if he was still alive.

“They have retired, Domina.” One man spoke, his eyes still downcast. As Lucilla turned to leave, he begged her to stop, warning her that the Emperors had left for their personal chambers accompanied by a woman each. Lucilla just blinked, unfazed by the information. She had seen worse.

Leaving the banquet hall, Lucilla went to Geta’s chambers, knowing that barging in on the Emperor with a prostitute was the least of her concerns. The guards outside his chambers had taken one look at her, not expecting the woman to do anything as they informed her that the Emperor was indisposed. Yet, Lucilla had moved swiftly between them, throwing open the heavy set of doors, her eyes landing on Geta as he had a naked woman bent over his bed. He stared at the princess in complete shock, his guards bolting in to grab at Lucilla before he could bark an order.

“Emperor Geta.” Lucilla hissed, jerking out of the guard’s hands. “You and I need to speak.”

Geta stared at the woman in utter disbelief at her lack of respect or decorum. He now knew where Lucia had inherited the ill trait. Reaching for a loose robe that was tossed across his bed, Geta quickly covered his naked body as his cock slipped from the prostitute’s warm heat. He was grimacing, fighting not to throw into a rage at Lucilla’s audacity.

“You barge into my chambers, interrupting my private moment, and demand my time?” Geta gritted out. He secured the front of his robe, hiding his erect manhood from view. Behind him, the prostitute crawled onto the bed, laying there waiting for Lucilla to be carried away by the guards. “What reason do you have to demand words with me?” Geta stepped forward, towering over Lucilla, which was a different task, as Lucilla was a tall woman who was level with his height.

“Your actions could have cost Lucia her life,” Lucilla spoke firmly, stepping forward to meet Geta head-on. His eyes narrowed. He knew of what the woman spoke of, yet how she came to understand what had occurred meant someone had purposefully blabbed. Geta would have to arrange for the guards and slaves to be questioned to determine who the leak was. “You will end her confinement,” Lucilla ordered.

Geta laughed. It was pretty humorous that she thought she had the power to order him around like a child. “I planned to extend—”

“No.” Lucilla cut him off. The smile fell from his lips. First, she’d barged into his room, then ordered him, and now she cut him off. His jaw tightened.

“Your daughter must be punished for her actions, princess,” Geta spoke, his lips twitching. “She has repeatedly offended her emperors, and now you too. You both must understand your place in this world and how fortunate you are not to be locked away in some prison.” He spoke as if his family’s treatment of her and Lucia was a gift, a luxury they’d taken for granted. “Take her away,” Geta ordered firmly; his eyes never flickered to his guards as he addressed them, but they understood, obeying the orders and reaching out for the woman once more. Lucilla didn’t fight against the guards as they gripped her arms, her eyes strong as she was pulled from his chambers, their grip bruising into her skin.

“Maybe you need to be confined for a while, too?” Geta said rhetorically, gripping his chambers’ doors with a cruel smile. “Both you and Lucia need to learn to be thankful for my hospitality.” He barked, slamming the doors closed with a heavy thud that echoed down the hallway, signifying Lucilla’s defeat.

Her lip didn’t tremble, nor did she fight back as the guard continued to take her away, leading her back to her chambers. She knew his threat was real, and her defiance had cost her the freedom to leave her chambers, but it had been an acceptable risk. Lucilla would have done the same again even if she had known the outcome. She knew that sooner or later, the peasantry would learn the truth of her and her daughter’s fate at the hand of Severus and his sons, the cruelty dealt upon them, and it would be then that Geta and Caracalla would cower and beg forgiveness for their sins before the lower class came for them, demanding their lives in payment.

[mangotheguy]

Overloaded Beneath the Vigil

AO3 link

Ships: Commandant/Lee, Commandant & Lee (Lee's and Commandant's relationship is up to interpretation.)

Tags: gn!reader, sfw, Lee:Hyperreal, Canon Compliant, Light Angst, M.I.N.D overload, Sensory Overload, Duty, Caretaking, Sleep Deprivation, Overworking, Reader-Insert, Y/N

Summary:

The Commandant fell asleep in his office again, only to be found by Lee: Hyperreal. As Lee carefully carries them to their room, he battles his own inner turmoil.

Notes:

First time posting. I've been really into Lee lately, especially after exploring his affection stories. I haven't finished the main story yet, so sorry for any inaccuracies! I based everything on his voicelines, secrets, etc.

Lee sighed. This was a common sight for him, but nonetheless a little disappointing. Was this their way of revenge on him? To make him worry by showing off that humans can also stay up for three days straight like he does?

“Commandant. I brought the documents you req–” Lee wanted to finish his sentence but was interrupted by what he saw in Y/N's office. They were asleep at their desk.

But he brushed his worries aside and walked towards their desk, placing a few papers on top of the other stacks of documents.

Lee thought that their desk was always riddled with those. “Annoying. Let them rest sometimes,” he muttered unconsciously under his breath.

He looked up at the Commandant again. His expression softened, and he leaned his head on the side of the desk. There's no hurry, he thought. With his left hand, he reached out to Y/N's hair, fiddling with it. He curled it around his fingers, analyzing how it felt and moved between his digits. A gentle smile wore on his face as he enjoyed this quiet moment. When he was about to reach out and caress the Commandant's cheek, he was startled and froze.

Lee stood behind the desk, next to the Commandant's chair, which had now become their bed. With a sigh, he crouched down next to them, but instead of his usual gentle nagging, he just stared at Y/N. He was getting sick of them overworking constantly again. His gaze shifted to the ground. Why isn't their paperwork automated at this point? We have damn constructs, yet more paperwork. Nonsense.

Lee huffed, annoyed.

“Lee… ” said the leader softly. Were they awake?

Lee stood up. He recognized that he was acting strangely and tried to recover by doing his usual routine. “Commandant..? Commandant! Are you awake?” he said very softly.

“Nghh,” only grumbling could be heard from Y/N as they shifted in their sleep.

Lee placed his hand on Y/N's back: “Commandant..?” No response. Thank god, they were still sleeping. Lee became flushed and facepalmed, screaming at himself from the inside.

“Ugh. What's wrong with me?” Lee whispered to himself. He'd never done that before. Usually, he'd quickly scoop up the Commandant and get them to bed. Tonight was an exception he didn't anticipate. Maybe he needed to recompile some of his system.

After chewing himself out, Lee lifted Y/N up bridal style. He noted how light they were compared to a few months ago. Or maybe he had just become stronger? “Either way, they should gain some weight,” Lee said to himself.

On his way to Y/N's room, he took great care to avoid any witnesses. Every night he'd keep hacking into the camera system, unnoticed. Mostly because he didn't want rumors spreading about Gray Raven's great leader. But in the back of his mind, he knew that was the perfect excuse to be more… selfish. Only he would see Y/N sleepy and vulnerable like this. Although he knew other constructs, especially Lucia and Liv, knew about this bad habit of theirs, he was the one by their side every night. It was his moment. “Everyone has their eyes on you, Commandant… ” Lee whispered as he pressed his forehead against theirs. “Just let me have this.”

Lee's M.I.N.D started to deviate. A potential M.I.N.D overload was imminent. “Shit,” cursed Lee, and he quietly placed the Commandant on the ground, leaning against the floor. He sat next to them, letting them rest on his shoulder while he waited to be overloaded for a few seconds. For some reason, he kept having these issues, especially in front of the Commandant, which he felt embarrassed about. He thought that performing multiple highly precise calculations at the same time was one of the only ways to get a M.I.N.D overload, but that wasn't the case anymore. At times, he couldn't convince himself anymore that this wouldn't cause any data errors or affect his daily work.

“Urgh…” Lee groaned, his M.I.N.D spontaneously overloading. He held his head between his hands, leaning his arms against his knees. They usually lasted only a few seconds, but every time those few seconds were excruciating. And this time he didn't have a conscious leader to rely on. “Rely… on? Urgh,” Lee groaned again, cursing his newfound weakness. He had been relying on others more, but he didn't want anyone to know about this, especially his Commandant. But their mere presence made these moments ever so slightly more bearable. Every time a M.I.N.D overload happened and they were there, he'd gain more conviction. He would keep the Commandant safe, no matter how painful these moments were.

Lee closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. “Ahh…” Relief. Finally. He pinched the space between his eyes, readjusting his focal length. As he came to, Y/N was still resting on his shoulder. “Hah. You could probably sleep through anything, Commandant,” Lee laughed. As if on instinct, Y/N curled up and readjusted their sleeping position. Seeing this, Lee fought back his inner voice's reactions to the sight. He felt guilty for seeing this side of Y/N. Lee gave up on checking the security cameras. He convinced himself that overchecking the cams was the cause of his M.I.N.D overload. If there were any witnesses, so be it. He leaned his head against Y/N's and closed his eyes.

“If I no longer see you here at this time one day, I'm sure it'll take me a long time to get used to it…” he confessed. To whom? Who knows. Best not to ruminate on it.

A strange feeling of comfort enveloped him as he embraced the idea that his time with them is limited. No matter how many philosophical books he read about time, everyone agreed that there's no escaping it. Life is followed by death. Destruction creates energy. “Miracles” come at a high price. If miracles did exist, he would gladly become the price for them. For they are priceless to him.

When Lee had fully accepted the stillness around the two of them, he had made a full recovery and could finish his task of tucking the Commandant into bed.

As he laid down the blanket, he stared at them a while longer. His excuse being that he was guarding them just in case they were followed. After making sure Y/N's breathing and status seemed stable, Lee leaned by the bedroom door. He closed his eyes and crossed his arms, staying like that for the rest of the night. Thirty minutes before Y/N's alarm went off, Lee left the room.

When the Commandant entered the kitchen that morning, they were greeted by Lee.

“Morning. You awake? I made too much coffee, so you can have some.” It was a blatant lie, and they both knew it. Nonetheless, Y/N chuckled as Lee lowered his head to hide his slightly flushed face. He didn't need to lie to them about such a small thing, but old habits die hard.

They enjoyed the rest of their breakfast together. The Commandant ate some breakfast as Lee gave them a briefing on tomorrow’s mission. He couldn't help but notice them spacing out instead of listening to him.

Notes:

He said jokingly: “Why do you keep staring at me? Do I have the mission brief on my face?”

Thanks for reading! Please leave your thoughts in the comments.

[altocat]

SO. While I'm still in full off my rocker galaxy brain mode, @heraldofcrow and I have been speculating on this for quite a while now.

Does the logo for First Soldier look like something to you? Obviously throughout this franchise, the logos are always very, VERY spoilery for the main plot of the game.

Looks like the traditional FF7 comet, right? Except there's something weird about it. It's very ridged, almost like some sort of shattered illusion. Almost like...

Kinda like bullet damage on glass. A bullet huh. Now that's odd. Why would that be the main logo for First Soldier? Who do we know that uses a gun? Lucia, obv. But Lucia's pretty much a side character. Who else...

OH.

(obv this is pure conspiratorial nonsense. And yes I know the logo was created as far back as when FS was a battle royale. And yeah, it's prob still just a distorted comet but WOULDN'T IT BE NEAT 👀👀)

[permanent-rose]

This just dawned on me, but the parallels between the March sisters and the Bridgerton sisters are so incredibly obvious when you think about it.

Meg and Daphne are the eldest. They want to marry and have children, and they feel responsible for their siblings. They connect the most to their mothers and support them in their fathers absence. (That girl who is mean to Meg at the dance because the March family are abolitionists is so Cressida Cowper coded)

Meg's line "just because my dreams are different from yours doesn't mean they are unimportant" to Jo could have been seamlessly included from Daphne to Eloise.

Jo and Eloise are brilliant, headstrong, and articulate beyond what is expected of them. They share dreams about revolution, a life without marriage. Both are blunt and struggle socially. They are admired but profoundly lonely in their own way. (Also, both have been argued to be lesbian coded) They are suffocated by society but cannot escape it. Therefore, they lash out at their loved ones. (Eloise would totally burn Daphne's hair off before a ball).

Beth and Francesca are sweet and gentle, easily forgotten amidst the mayhem of their families. I can’t remember 100% but I'm fairly sure Franny is a talented pianist like Beth. They lend a compassionate ear and struggle with their health.

Amy and Hyacinth are rambunctious and passionate. They feel left behind when their siblings start growing up and leaving them. They dream of great adventure and go on travels away from their families where they get together with their husbands. (Hyacinth would totally burn a manuscript and then get very apologetic)

In conclusion, I'm going nuts about this, and I needed to scream into into the void.

[rottenpumpkin13]

What if Zack Fair met EC Mini Sephiroth? (Zack no please don't be a bad influence on him)

*Zack hands Sephiroth a "KICK ME" sign*

Zack: Here, put this on Glenn.

Sephiroth: Why?

Zack: Because it'll be funny and he'll laugh too!

Sephiroth: Hm...okay!

*Sephiroth goes up to Glenn and starts kicking him*

Zack: SEPHIROTH NO

-

Zack: Did you know that you can have fun with a plastic straw and spit balls?

Sephiroth: Really?

Zack: Yup! Just spit them at your target through the straw.

Sephiroth: That sounds mean....

Zack: Nonsense! Everyone laughs afterward.

*2 minutes later, running from Glenn*

Sephiroth: I THOUGHT YOU SAID HE WOULD LAUGH

Zack: I DIDN'T KNOW HE HAD A KNIFE

-

Zack: Here, take this fake cockroach and throw it at someone to scare them!

Sephiroth: Okay!

*Sephiroth throws it at Glenn. The cockroach is real. Glenn screams and starts swatting the air with his sword. It hits Matt, who trips and falls onto Lucia, who was building a fire, which quickly catches to their tent*

Sephiroth:

Zack: Oh....my bad. That's the real cockroach I trained to play dead.

Sephiroth:

*Zack takes out the real fake cockroach*

Sephiroth:

Zack: This is the fake one.

Sephiroth:

*Zack throws it at Sephiroth*

Sephiroth:

[lime-bucket]

People who claim to love Lilith know shit about her.

Once I wrote in comments that Lilith was a rapist and somebody replied: "Why would she raped somebody who she didn't want reproduce with? Are you even can read?"

Another time when I made video about I got comment saying "Lilith didn't SA Adam." In that video I put google screenshot telling that she did. I replied to the comment saying "But google says that she did." They replied something along the lines. "I know that she didn't." (Like do you know her personally.) I answer with "Can you prove me that she didn't." And I got no answer.

There was post on Reddit about Lilith's orgin (it was a meme. People who know vs people who don't know) and still people call her the first feminist. Feminist? A FUCKING RAPIST?!

Lilith fans force the narrative that she was a victim, like bro, when you talking about her history, talk also about THAT part. It's not so hard to find.

"Well Lilith SA'd Adam, becouse he SA'd her first." Girl, show me the proof.

Adam wasn't even controling. He just didn't want to be at bottom. Which is fine. We should stop shaming Man and male characters not being comfortable with certein sexual things.

I'm still angry that (Hazbin Hotel) Adam is mocked for not liking giving oral sex. If he was a woman people would be on his side.

Btw story of Adam, Eve, Lilith, Sameal and Lucifer and Eden would be treaten differently if genders would be swap.

Adam would be probably shamed for Lilith leaving and Eve eating the Apple, if he was woman and Eve with Lilith were a man. Fem. Adam (Adamina) and Fem. Lucifer (Lucia) or Fem. Sameal (Samantha) would be put in "Madame and Whore complex" categoriesm

Male Eve SA would be forgotten. Female Adam SA'd maybe wouldn't, but she could be shipped with her abuser like orginal Eve.

Eve was raped by serpent in myths and in the show Lucifer (who is the serpent in the show) admits he sleep with Eve and probably Viv creates narrative that she like it? Ew.

Adam and Eve LOVED each other. They had healthy relationship. But she needs to make Lucifer better than Adam in anything, doesn't she?

Sorry that happened to u.but unfortunatly thats the result of modern reimaginings of ancient myth,as they present a safe version of the tale to audience wich when they find the original story,they fund it difficult to come in terms w/ their faves being..not so well liked to put it nicely.i myself had the same issue w/ the story of hades & persephone

Ughh dont remind abt lucifers comment abt eve,wich is just a can of weird/nonsensical implications i dont wanna dive in rn.nontheless i cant rlly agree on the gender swapping parts,theres already narrations mentioning adam was SAd but still got blamed fr it,but never have i heard abt the serpent assaulting eve,maybe its meant in a metaphorical sense?

U can call it overexageration,but i find it insidious when writers make the relationship of adam & eve unhealthy or unequal.since theyre the first humans,is it hard to not believe that love in it its most primitive form wont be beautiful?pure even?

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 35**

I wrote this while on holiday so any mistakes I blame on sun stroke and cocktails! This is the second to last chapter! I'm not ready! Chapter 36 will be the last chapter and then I've got an epilogue planned. How will I say good bye to these two!? Please enjoy what's left 😭

Series Master List

Chapter 36- Warnings have their own post - Word count: 10.4k

The night passes quietly, and you watch the sunrise over the eastern horizon across the river while Frankie sleeps in the tent with baby Jack. As the sun starts to warm up the cool prairie air, you make some breakfast, dreaming of the days you could have coffee, and hear Frankie stir as Jack begins to cry. You listen to your husband soothe him, and with a pang of longing you wonder if Frankie makes the same soft cooing sounds for Jack as he did for Lucía. Frankie had told you years ago that he’d been petrified when Lucia was born, he’d been in such a bad state and not able to enjoy having a baby girl. But he’d grown into such an incredible dad by the time you met him, it was hard to imagine him being anything but a proud doting father.

The zipper of the tent slides open and Frankie crawls out, Jack held tight to his chest with one hand. The boy is staring up at Frankie’s beard and as you watch, Frankie carefully gets to his feet and smiles at Jack, dipping his chin low enough so that one chubby little hand can come up and grab at the scruffy hair.

“Ouch, you little scoundrel,” Frankie chuckles, “you’ve got some grip in those tiny hands.”

You smile and hand Frankie a bowl of ravioli as he gently sinks down next to you, “Careful, he’ll give you another bald patch,” you tease and Frankie rolls his eyes at Jack.

“Listen to her, going after my poor beard now, as if she doesn’t love my bald patches.”

“True, I do love them,” you lean forward and press your lips to the one on his right jaw, “pull harder, Jack.”

The baby gurgles happily in Frankie's lap, reaching up for the beard again.

“I’ve prepared some food for him too, I cut up the ravioli,” you pick up the bowl, “do you want me to feed him while you eat?”

“No, I’ll do it, if you wanna pack up the tent?”

“Sure, I’ll pack up,” you give the bowl to Frankie and you can’t help but smile as he takes it, barely looking at you as Jack grabs his finger and blows a spit bubble. In all your years with Frankie, in an increasingly hard environment, you’d never have guessed that a little foundling baby would be the thing that made your husband melt into a puddle.

As you take down the tent and roll up the sleeping bags you listen to Frankie talk to Jack, an endless stream of baby nonsense. When the baby swallows the last bite of food, Frankie praises him, gently wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. As you put Frankie’s pack next to him, he wraps Jack into the makeshift kangaroo pouch and ties it around his chest.

“I’ll take him, since you carried him all day yesterday, rest your shoulders today, cariño,” he says, adjusting Jack’s legs.

“Are you sure? You’ve got a pretty heavy pack,” you say, slipping one of Frankie’s socks onto Jack’s head to protect him from the sun.

“Yeah, if you take the rifle today it’ll be fine.”

…

The three of you keep walking west, the endless prairie slowly giving way to more hills and trees. Far off in the distance you can see the high peaks of the Rocky Mountains, impossibly high in the clear air. At the end of another long day of walking you’ve climbed up, away from the prairie and into low hills that slowly stretch up towards the high mountain range to the west. While you rested at midday you’d actually managed to run down some sort of chicken, it looked fairly domesticated and Frankie guessed that chickens must’ve escaped from farms after the outbreak and multiplied. Whatever it was, you managed to wring its neck without getting too squeamish and hang it from your backpack.

You feel like you’ve crossed all of Wyoming on foot when the sun finally starts dropping and nothing worth noting has crossed your path since you left the pick up, no infected, no people, only animals in the distance. The farms and houses you’ve passed have been empty and mostly looted, people have passed through here before you but it’s impossible to know when. You realize finding Jack’s uncle will be like finding a needle in a haystack, if the group he was with even got as far as Wyoming, it seems unlikely you’ll meet anyone out here and maybe that’s for the best..

At sundown you make camp a mile from the road you’ve been following. It’s far enough away from anything that Frankie risks a campfire and grills the bird you’d caught whole. Even Jack can eat the tender meat when you cut it up and he even seems to enjoy it.

“I’ve been looking at the map,” Frankie says, bringing it over to the campfire so that you can see, “and I’ve got a couple of options, tell me what you think.”

You lean into him as he spreads the map out onto the ground in front of you. “There's a place up here, about five miles from the road.” He points to a spot on the map, “It’s got a small river running next to it, the mountain on one side and this open valley on the other side. It’s marked as a private ranch on the map key. It could be what we need. But there’s another place,” he moves his finger and points to a place much further north, “it’s another twenty miles into the mountains, up this valley that we’re in.”

“I’m guessing there’s a good reason why you want to walk another twenty miles?” you say, looking at the long stretch of land that lies between you and the spot Frankie’s fingers is resting on.

“Yeah, this place is a small hydroelectric dam. If we get there I could probably get it up and running and we’d have actual electricity, heating, hot water.” He looks up at you with an excited smile, “I was thinking about it today, even if it doesn’t work now, I could fix it somehow and the place is so remote, it’s bound to have all the equipment needed on site. I know it’s a long shot, but it’s only another half days' walk, with a potentially huge reward.”

You look at the dam location, tucked away at the river mouth, a few miles from the main road. Plenty of fish in the lake probably, and open land full of game, provided you’d be able to craft something to hunt with.

“It looks like a better location than the ranch, but probably a bigger risk of infected, if the people who worked there didn’t get away.”

“Yeah, that’s the main drawback,” Frankie says, “we’d have to be very careful clearing it out.” He’s tapping the map thoughtfully before he looks up at you. “It’s up to you completely, if you don’t want to risk it, we go with the ranch, live settler style. Maybe that is the better option, safer for now at least.”

“The dam could attract other people too, if they have the same idea as you,” you say and Frankie nods.

“Yeah, there’s always the risk of other people too, although, so far Wyoming seems pretty empty to be honest.” He folds up the map, “We’ll sleep on it, see how we feel tomorrow, we could just go check out the ranch first, it’s almost on the way.”

Behind you Jack shifts and begins to cry and you pick him up, tucking him into your arms.

“I’ll set up the tent and take the first watch, cariño, see if you can get him to go back to sleep.”

“He’s usually asleep by now, maybe he got a tummy ache from the food,” you stand up and start rocking him the way you used to rock your nieces when they were babies. The thought makes you wince, over the years you’ve come to terms with all the people you lost when the outbreak happened, your parents, siblings, friends. But sometimes, when you do something that reminds you of them, it’s like touching a piece of glass inside your chest and the cut is fresh. Gently bouncing on your feet you try to remember how old they’d be by now but you get stuck, in your mind they’re forever little girls, just slightly older than Lucía.

Jack just won’t settle, his cries cut through the still night, no matter how much you and Frankie try to soothe him. Even Frankie’s beard goes untouched, the tiny fists clenched hard as Jack wails in Frankie’s arms. It feels like he cries for hours, sleeping is out of the question, you can’t shut your ears to Jack’s crying and you’re starting to worry that anyone or anything in the vicinity will hear and come to investigate.

“Give him to me,” Frankie suddenly says, handing you the rifle, “I had an idea, my abuela once told me I had tummy aches as a baby every time I’d eaten and she’d hang me over her shoulder.” He gently takes Jack from you and hangs him, belly down, over his shoulder. His large hand holds Jack steady as he gently begins to rock on his feet and you walk around his back so that you can see Jack’s face. He’s still crying but as Frankie moves back and forth he seems to calm down a little.

“Keep going, I think it’s working,” you say and Frankie starts walking circles around the fireplace while you keep watch around the campsite. There’s a new moon in the clear sky and you look up at the thin sliver and all the bright stars. You’ll never get over how bright they really are once you’re out in the countryside. When the world came crashing down it took a long time before you had the peace of mind to sit in the dark and look at the sky. It wasn’t really until you were out on the boat, sailing from New York, that you’d noticed them again. Now you search out familiar constellations and find the North Star. Behind you Jack is finally quiet, you can hear Frankie gently humming a lullaby you don’t recognize.

“Arroz con leche me quiero casar, con una señorita de Portugal….” and he hums a few notes, the words forgotten, before you hear him sing again, “Con esta sí, con esta no, con esta señorita me caso yo.”

You turn and smile at him and you hear a branch snap behind you, fear shooting through your veins like ice. Your heart drops into your stomach as you swing round, raising your rifle towards the sound, you suddenly see several shadows moving in the corner of your eyes. You hear Frankie rush up behind you, his back against yours as he turns and scans the dark forest.

“Lower your guns, there’s more of us than you,” comes a man’s voice from in front of you as several people step into the light of the campfire, guns raised. You can see at least five of them, and from the footsteps behind you, at least another five you can’t see.

“Lower your gun, cariño,” Frankie says, his voice low, “and take Jack.”

You give Frankie a scared look as you lay your rifle on the ground and take the baby from him, tucking him into your arms, one hand protectively cradled over his head. Frankie raises one hand and slowly pulls his gun from the back of his pants with the other, laying it down on the ground.

“Step away from her, five steps back,” the man barks, jerking his head at Frankie.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Frankie says, “We’re just passing through, the baby was ill.”

“Step back,” the man snaps, taking a step forward and raising his gun, aiming at Frankie. You look over your shoulder at Frankie, he gives you a small nod.

“It’ll be fine,” he says, slowly backing away from you.

“Have you been around any infected?” the man asks and behind him you see a woman stepping forward, a German Shepard on a leash.

“We haven’t seen anyone since we left Nebraska,” Frankie says, “no people or infected.”

“If you’re lying the dog will sniff it out and rip you to shreds,” the man keeps his rifle on Frankie and nods to the woman to unclip the dog. It growls and runs over first to you and sniffs around your legs before padding over to Frankie and doing the same. Satisfied that neither of you are infected, the woman whistles the dog back..

“We’re looking for a man named Jack,” you say, before the man with the rifle has a chance to decide what to do next, “We found his sister in Nebraska, she’d escaped from slavers with her baby boy,” you nod down at baby Jack in your arms. “She was dying and asked us to find her brother and bring her son to him.”

You see how the woman with the dog and the man exchange a look, a blink of recognition, before the woman speaks up.

“The woman, her name was Julia?” she asks and both you and Frankie nod.

“Yes!” you exclaim, “Do you know her?”

The man with the rifle holds up his hand but the woman answers anyway, “Did she say what Jacks’ last name was?”

“No...” you hesitate, “she only said the boy’s name is Jack Connolly and that he was named after her brother. He was heading to Wyoming with a group of people.”

“We were heading for White River,” the woman replies, “Jack, his last name was Connolly too, was with us until two months ago. I’m sorry, but he died.”

“We didn’t know him,” Frankie says, “and we didn’t know Julia either, but I’m sorry to hear he died. It would’ve been nice to bring baby Jack to his family.”

“Juan,” the man with the rifle says, looking at a man somewhere in the tree line, “don’t let them move, I need to talk to Maria.” He motions to the woman with the dog to follow him back into the trees, out of earshot. You glance over at Frankie who’s still standing five steps away from you and he gives you a small smile, but you can see the concern in his eyes.

You look back down at baby Jack, sleeping in your arms now. You had been thinking about the possibility of not finding his uncle, and then you and Frankie would have to take care of him, but it had been a vague ‘what if?’. Having a child of your own with Frankie had never been an option ever since the outbreak, not even in the relative safety of Arlington or Boston. But taking care of an orphan child who really has no one else, that seemed like a very easy decision to make when you were faced with it. But Jack was never yours, you were only taking care of him until you found his family. But now? If his uncle was gone, you felt responsible for him, for the promise you’d made to his mother. Looking down at him, you couldn’t help reflecting over how strange it felt to suddenly be an adoptive parent of this little boy.

The man and the woman called Maria come back through the trees and wave Frankie and you over.

“Alright, I’m Patrick, this is Maria. Sorry about the curt welcome committee, we can’t be too careful about people out here.”

“Yeah, we get that,” Frankie says, taking Patrick’s outstretched hand. “I’m Frankie and this is my wife.”

You shake Patrick’s hand and then Maria’s, giving them your name.

“You seem like decent people, and you have Jack’s nephew to care for, so we’d like to give you two options,” Maria says, looking between the two of you, “We have a settlement not too far from here, you’re welcome to come with us and seek shelter. We’ll have to confiscate your guns until we know we can trust you and we’ll expect you to help out with whatever you can. If you don’t like it, you’ll be free to leave whenever you want.” She looks at you and then down at Jack sleeping in your arms, “But I think that once you see how the community works, that you’ll be able to keep baby Jack safe, you’ll want to stay,” she smiles at the little boy, as he stirs in his sleep, his little hand waving free from the blanket. “He actually looks like his uncle, does he have blue eyes too?”

“Yeah, he does, big blue eyes,” you smile, looking at Jack and tucking in his arm again.

“So what do you think?” Patrick asks and you glance over at Frankie, it sounds almost too good to be true, but if this is the group Jack’s mother wanted you to seek out with her son then maybe it’s worth a shot.

“What’s the second option?” Frankie asks.

“We leave you to fend for yourself out here, no hard feelings. But we would prefer it if you came with us. Every person we leave out here is a potential infected down the line.”

“But we’d really like you to come to Jackson with us, especially seeing as you have the baby. Jack was a good man and we’d like to make sure his nephew is safe,” Patrick says and from the corner of your eye you see several of the other people nod.

“Can I talk to my wife in private for a minute?” Frankie says and Maria nods and steps back a little with Patrick. Frankie takes your hand and you walk to the other side of the fire.

“What do you think, cariño?” he asks in a low voice, his fingers threading between yours.

“I think it might be worth the risk to trust them,” you say, “They seem genuine.”

Frankie nods, “I think it might be our best chance at getting to a safe place, even if our plan was to get somewhere safe just you and me.”

“But with baby Jack, we could really need a community, it’s not just you and me,” you say, stroking your hand over the baby’s head. It’s only been a few days but you’re already feeling very protective of him.

“Yeah, and about him, with his uncle dead, I guess it’s on you and me to take care of him? Are we gonna be his parents?” Frankie looks down at Jack, you can see his eyes soften as gently caresses the rosy cheek with his finger.

“It’s not how I imagined this ending but I don’t think I could give him up now, could you? I feel responsible for him after what we promised his mother.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking the same,” Frankie says, looking back up at you, “So I guess we’re parents now and we go with Maria and Patrick? At least to check it out? Hopefully they meant what they said about us leaving if we don’t want to stay, but I think we can risk it?”

You nod and together you walk back to others.

“Alright,” Frankie says, “We’ll hand over our guns and come with you. We feel responsible for baby Jack and it seems you might be the option to keep him safe.”

Maria nods, “I’m happy you think that, I hope you’ll wanna stay with us once you see what we’re building.” She turns and waves forward a younger man, “Ned, get Winston please, if you can ride with Nellie on the way back these two can ride him with the baby. She turns back to you, “Winston is a very steady and gentle horse, he’ll keep you safe on the ride back.”

The horses had been left out of earshot of the camp and you’re delighted to see a small herd of them once you’ve packed up. Winston turns out to be a large bay horse who lets you reach up and stroke his soft nose while he nickers gently. Frankie swings himself into the saddle with ease and a happy look, giving the horse a pat on the neck. You hand Jack to him and Maria helps you hang your packs on the side of the saddle before you get on behind Frankie.

“All these years, Frankie,” you smile as the group sets out, “and I never knew you were such a cowboy.” You’ve got your arms around his waist, Jack is safely tucked into the makeshift pouch on his chest.

“My uncle had horses,” he says, “and he taught me how to ride, just haven’t done it in years, but it’s like riding a bike.” He clicks his tongue and Winston sets off, following Maria and Patrick’s horses. “How about you, are you ok back there?” he gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah, I’m ok,” you bury your nose in his soft shirt, holding on to him, “I was never a great rider but I know how to stay on at least.”

“Just hang on to me, cariño, Winston and me won’t let you fall.”

The ride back to the group's camp only takes a couple of hours, Maria and Patrick leading the way cross country rather than following the road. The sky lightens and Maria rides up next to you and points down a hill towards a large lake.

“That’s Jackson,” she says, “and that’s the dam we’re trying to get fixed. If we manage we’ll have electricity.”

“That’s the dam we saw on the map, cariño,” Frankie says, “We were thinking about coming here and seeing if it was fixable.”

“Do you know anything about how hydroelectric dams work?” Maria asks, raising her eyebrows at Frankie and he shakes his head.

“No, not really, not more than the theory of it. But I’m used to fixing a lot of different things, I used to be a pilot before the outbreak.”

“I don’t want to get into it now, but we will have a conversation with the two of you later about what skills you have that can be useful for the community,” Maria says as the group rides up a large gate set in the wall surrounding the town. “But for now, let's get you settled, it’s been a long night for us all.” She waves to the men guarding the gate and someone on the inside pulls it open.

“We’ll put you up in one of the empty houses for now, we’ve cleaned them all out and there’s sheets and pillows in most of them.”

You look around you as the horses pass through the gate. The sky is light, the sun almost up, and it casts a golden glow over the western themed houses. Maria points down the street and you see a wood barricade at the end of it.

“Down there is the rest of the town, we’ve only walled off this smaller area so far, it was already a gated community so we built on the existing walls.”

“Is the rest of the town cleared of infected?” Frankie asks and Maria nods.

“Yeah, we had to do it bit by bit, but we cleared the last house a month ago. But it’s outside the wall so it’s not completely safe, we still get infected wandering in sometimes.That’s why we have guards and patrols to handle them and any potential raiders.”

She leads you to the stables and you dismount, Ned comes over and takes Winston’s reins.

“I’ll get him dried off, just go with Maria and get settled,” he says with a smile and Frankie slides off, one hand on Jack and then gives you a hand down. You yawn wide as you get down, the sleepless night is catching up with you as you feel safer.

Maria leads you to a small house near the outskirts of the gated community and opens the door.

“This will be your place for now, or at least if you decide to stay with us,” she says, motioning you inside. “There’s no food here, come to the mess hall for that. But try to get some rest first, there’s a crib for Jack in one of the upstairs bedrooms.”

“Thanks Maria, we’re very grateful for your help,” you say and she gives you a quick nod.

“I’m sure you’re hoping you didn’t make a mistake in trusting us, and I’m hoping we didn’t make a mistake in trusting you,” she says, “We’re a small community and we need decent people to keep this place safe and thriving, I hope my gut feeling about you two is correct.”

“It is, we’re just looking for somewhere good and safe to settle down, even before we found baby Jack,” Frankie says, “If you are who you say you are, we’ll be happy to help build the community.”

“Good, that’s great to hear,” she says, moving towards the door, “I’ll see you both later today, there’s firewood outback if you want to heat up water and clean up.”

With that she leaves, closing the door behind her, and you find yourself alone with Frankie in a house, a safe house, for the first time in years.

“Hermosa,” Frankie slides his arm around your waist, “you look dead on your feet, c’mon, let’s sleep before we do anything else.”

You nod, yawning big again and letting Frankie guide you up the stairs to the second floor where you found what looks like a master bedroom. The house looks well preserved despite all the years it’s been abandoned and there’s pillows and sheets with thick blankets on the bed. It looks very inviting and you groan at the sight of it. Sliding off your backpack you sit down on the bed while Frankie smiles at you, bouncing Jack on his arms. He’d woken up during the ride but now he’s yawning again.

“I’ll find the crib for Jack,,” Frankie says, “Just go to bed, cariño, I’ll be right there.”

You give him a grateful nod and start unlacing your boots and peeling off your clothes. Everything you own is grimy and unwashed but you find your least dirty t-shirt and change into it. As you pull back the sheets Frankie comes yawning through the door.

“The crib is in the room across the hall,” he says, “Jack fell asleep instantly but I left the door open so we’ll hear him if he wakes up.”

“Hopefully he’s as tired as us and we can get a few hour’s sleep,” you yawn, sliding into the bed as Frankie starts pulling off his clothes. It doesn’t take him long to climb in next to you. You yawn again and Frankie pulls you into his arms, tucking your head in under his chin.

“Sleep, hermosa, I think we’re safe here for now,” he whispers, running his fingers through your hair and you feel yourself slip into sleep without even trying. The last thing you register is Frankie’s lips against your cheek.

When you wake up a few hours later you think for a minute that you’re in a dream. You’re warm under the covers, Frankie’s arm is wrapped around your waist and you can feel his shallow breaths against your neck. The bed under you is soft and a shaft of sunlight is filtering in through the closed curtains, hitting a painting of a mountain landscape. You let your eyes drift around the room and take it in as you slowly remember where you are; Jackson, a safe place at last.

Frankie stirs behind you, tightening his grip around your waist, “Morning, cariño,” he mumbles and pushes his nose into your hair, inhaling and kissing your neck.

“More like ‘afternoon’,” you smile, reaching back and threading your fingers through his curls.

“Mhmm…I slept like a log,” he rolls over and stretches out, pulling you with him so that you end up half on top of him. You lean your chin on his chest and trace your fingers through his scruffy beard.

“Me too, and it seems like Jack did too,” you mumble, kissing his chest as he strokes your hair. And right on cue, Jack whimpers from the room across the hall and begins to cry.

“I’ll get him,” you say, pushing yourself off the bed, “he’s probably hungry, it’s been hours since he ate.”

“I know how he feels,” Frankie mutters, “I’m starving, we should see if we can give him the last of the spagettios and then go to the mess hall Maria mentioned.” He sits up and shoves his fingers through his curls, making them stand on end.

While you get Jack and get him to stop crying, Frankie gets the camping stove out and heats up some food.

“Hey, look,” he calls from downstairs, “someone’s left some supplies on the porch.” He comes in with a bag as you bring Jack down. “Looks like some clean clothes both for us and Jack, and some diapers.” He holds up some reusable diapers, “they’ve thought of everything.”

He comes over to Jack and gives his little belly a poke, “did you poop your pants, little man? Yeah, you did, I can smell you.” Frankie chuckles as Jack giggles and squeals. “Do you wanna do food or poop?” he asks you with a grin and you immediately hand Jack over to him.

“Food, you’re on poop duty,” you reply, grinning back at him and Frankie makes a grimace.

“Knew you’d say that, cariño,” he sighs, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Too late now, Frankie,” you laugh and grab the last can of spagettios from his backpack.

Frankie starts cleaning up Jack as you warm the food and when Jack’s got a clean diaper on Frankie comes over.

“I was thinking about what Maria said before,” he says, setting Jack down on the counter and holding on to him, “About everyone doing what they can to help out this community.”

“You’re thinking about what they’ll say if you tell them about your background?”

“Yeah…” he trails off, watching Jack open his mouth for a first spoonful of pasta. “I’m not going to tell them about the PTSD or the drugs, it’s none of their business and I’ve got it under control. But if I tell them about my army background, they’ll want me to do patrols, and I’d like to do that, if you’re ok with it?” Frankie looks over at you, his eyebrows drawn together in that slightly worried look.

“I can’t imagine doing patrols and guard duty here is anything like what it was like with FEDRA, Frankie,” you say, putting your hand on his arm, giving him a reassuring squeeze, “And if you start feeling it, please Frankie….” you gently take his chin between your thumb and finger and give him a little tug with every word, “You’ve. Got. To. Tell. Me.” You look into his warm brown eyes and he gives you a crooked smile.

“I know, no more hiding things,” he nods, taking your hand from his chin and pressing his warm lips to your palm, “I promise, for real this time.”

“Good. Because we didn’t just go through all that shit and travel halfway across the country for you to do all of that again,” you smile as he pulls you in by your hand and leans his forehead against yours.

“I promise, I really, really mean it, no more lies, no more hiding, I’m going to be what you deserve now, cariño.” He dips his head and finds your lips, one hand still holding on to Jack who’s gurgling happily on the counter, the other slipping around your neck and holding you just as close as the little boy.

Once Jack is fed and changed you heat up some water on the old wood fired stove. The old house you’re in has a modern kitchen but both the living room and the kitchen have the old fireplace and stove and plenty of firewood stacked next to them. You light a fire and Frankie gets water from the hand cranked well outside. It’s not exactly a hot shower or bath but it’s warm water to wash in and you take the chance to wash some of your clothes too, hanging them to dry in front of the fire before you leave for the mess hall.

The mess hall is easy to find, it’s the largest building in the old gated community and used to be the community center. Someone has made a rough wooden sign and it hangs over the door of the western style building. Frankie holds Jack on his hip, his other hand holding yours as you walk down the main street towards the hall. You can’t help but glance at Frankie and Jack. It’s almost hard to believe the change that Frankie’s undergone in just a few weeks since you left Boston. The withdrawals had left him haggard and tired looking, and you know he’d struggled with the more psychological symptoms longer than the physiological symptoms. But traveling further away from Boston had changed his mood and with the added responsibility of Jack, a child to care for, you started seeing a version of Frankie that you hadn’t seen since before the outbreak. You don’t think he’s even realizing it himself but you’re seeing how he’s slowly turning back into the dad he was to Lucía, treating Jack like a son even though he might not be ready to see him as such. At least not yet.

Now he bounces Jack on his hip, tickling the boy's chin as Jack happily gurgles up at him and you see Maria smiling at the two of them as you enter the mess hall.

“Hey there, I was wondering when you’d show up,” she says, coming over and smiling at Jack who gives her a toothless grin.

“Thanks for the supplies,” you say, “I’m guessing you had something to do with that?”

“Yeah, I thought you might need some things to feel a bit more human after traveling for as long as you have.” She gestures to a cantina set up at one end of the room, “Have some food and come and sit down with us.”

You grab some bowls of rich looking stew and say hello to the woman overseeing the cantina. She’s delighted by Jack’s gurgling smile and gives him a small bowl of fresh blueberries that she mashes up with some honey.

“Someone kept bees in one of the gardens before the outbreak,” she says, “so we now have a huge bee colony and more honey than what we know what to do with.”

You thank her and join Maria and Patrick at a table in a corner of the mess hall. The stew is warm and hearty, and you have to pace yourself or you’ll inhale it, hungry as you are by now. Maria and Patrick let you finish your food before Patrick leans forward and leans his elbows on the table.

“So, you seem like decent folk, but I’m sure you understand we’d like to know a bit more about you now that you’ve had a chance to see our community.”

You both nod and Maria looks at you, “Where have you come from?”

“Originally, when the outbreak happened, Arlington, a town down south. But we’d been in Boston for about five years by the time we left.”

“What made you leave? You’re a long way from Boston and it’s a dangerous journey,” Patrick glances between you and Frankie and Frankie answers first.

“Have you heard of a group that calls themselves The Fireflies?” he asks and both Maria and Patrick nod, “They were causing a bit too much trouble in the QZ. They blew up a guard station, a truck, and FEDRA responded as you can imagine, making life very difficult. So we decided to leave.” Frankie glances over at you and takes your hand and rubs little circles into your skin, “We met a year before the outbreak, she’s been my wife for over ten years and I wouldn’t have survived without her, luckily for me she was willing to risk it all and come with me when it became necessary to leave Boston.”

Frankie’s telling a truncated version of the story behind why you left but for now, there’s no need for anyone to know anything else.

“She used to work the civilian radio in Boston and we know the Fireflies are making trouble all across the QZ’s so at first we just planned to get away from Boston and find an isolated farm and try to survive on our own, how long that would be didn’t really matter, as long as she was with me.” Frankie continues to tell the story of your journey across the Midwest, ending with how you found Jack and his mother and how you stole the slavers’ pickup.

“We’ve heard about slavers from some of the people who have joined our community,” Maria says, “the outbreak really brought out the worst kind of behavior from certain people.”

“We’ll certainly make use of your radio skills,” Patrick says to you, “there’s a radio tower nearby that we haven’t managed to fix yet, we need to fix the dam first, but you might be able to help us with the radio when it comes time for that.”

You nod, “I can fix most things on the particular model we had in Boston, if we have the right parts, but Frankie’s the real fixer.”

“What have you worked with, Frankie?” Maria asks and you see Frankie inhale, there’s so much trauma connected to what he did both before and after the outbreak, and you take hold of his hand, squeezing it lightly, giving him your support, and you can tell both Maria and Patrick senses the tension.

“Before the outbreak I was retired from the army,” Frankie begins, trying to keep his hand from nervously shooting up and rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m ex special ops, Delta Force, I was a helicopter pilot, a soldier.”

You can see Maria and Patrick exchange a quick glance and Patrick nods, “I’m not gonna lie, Frankie, we live under constant threat of raiders and infected here, to have someone with your background on our side would be a great help.”

“I realize that, and so did FEDRA, they recruited me in exchange for letting myself and my wife stay in the QZ we got to at the beginning of the outbreak. But I didn’t stay with them for too long, their ways of doing things…” Frankie trails off and shakes his head. “So, we,” he glances at you, “did what we needed to do to stay alive. We both smuggled, got stuff into the QZ’s we were in both for our own survival and benefit. But we did good too, I hope,” he looks at you again and you nod.

“We did good, Frankie, you know that. We brought in medicine and supplies that FEDRA was denying the population.”

“Everyone here has lived under FEDRA rule,” Maria says and Patrick nods in agreement, “we know all too well what it’s like. I don’t judge you for being smugglers, as long as you’re good people.”

You feel Frankie tense up at the last words, but he bites his tongue as you squeeze his hand.

“We stopped smuggling a while back though,” he says instead, “I couldn’t handle the risk it put her in,” he looks at you and his eyes soften as you smile at him, “and then, when it got more dangerous, I didn’t want to risk leaving her behind alone if something would happen to me.”

“Well, we don’t need smugglers here, but we do need good guards and we all take turns doing guard duty or go on patrols,” Maria says, “We run this place like a commune, everything we have is owned by everyone, and we share the resources we bring in.”

“I’m in charge of the hunting parties,” Patrick says, “so if either one of you is a good hunter, let me know. We eat mainly meat that we trap or shoot, but it’s hard work feeding everyone.”

“Our crops are starting to ripen, we’ve worked hard all year to cultivate local crops and we hope to have greenhouses too at some point. But for that, we need electricity, so that’s our first priority,” Maria explains, “but we’ll give you some time to settle in today and I’ll show you around tomorrow.”

“Frankie, if you don’t mind, can I take you up to the dam tomorrow?” Patrick asks and Frankie nods.

“Yeah, sure, whatever works for you,” he replies, “If you’re ok with taking Jack tomorrow, cariño?”

You nod and Maria reaches over the table and strokes the baby’s hand, “We don’t have any babies here, yet at least, but we hope that Jackson will be safe enough for people to raise families in the future.” She looks up at you and Frankie and seems to hesitate, “I know you two accidentally became Jack’s caretakers, but I get the sense that you’d like to continue to care for him?”

You both nod, “We feel responsible for him now,” you say as Frankie puts a protective hand around Jack and smiles at him, “and we did promise his mom to keep him safe, at least until we could find his uncle, and with him gone, that feels more important than ever.”

“What happened to his uncle?” Frankie asks, looking up again and Patrick grimaces and shakes his head.

“It was two clickers, three of us were clearing out one of the last houses in Jackson, outside the gated community, and we'd killed three runners and heard nothing else. But they were inside a shed in the yard and came rushing out as we approached. Jack was unlucky, got bit as we took them down.”

“We’ve been here just over six months now and we’ve lost three good people to raiders and infected,” Maria says, “and it never gets easier. But we’ve learned a lot from each death, we’re safer now, better guarded.”

“Sorry to hear it,” Frankie says, “but you seem to have built up a good perimeter defense, judging by what we saw when we rode in.”

“I would love to have your eyes on it, Frankie,” Patrick says, “give us some advice on improvements.”

Maria gives a low chuckle, “Give the man a break, Pat, he’s been here all but two minutes and you’ve already commandeered his time.”

“It’s alright,” Frankie said, shaking his head, “No problem at all, if we’re staying here I’m more than happy to help out in any way I can to keep this place as safe as possible.”

“Speaking of staying then,” Maria says, smiling at you and Jack now, “why don’t you have a wander around Jackson, and see what we have to offer. It’s not big but I think it’ll give you an idea about what we’re trying to build here and we’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

“Sounds like a plan,” you say and Frankie nods, shaking Patrick’s offered hand.

“Welcome to Jackson.”

It doesn’t take you long to see all of Jackson, the community is clearly very small but like Maria had said, you could see what they were planning. People were working on a number of projects around the small gated community and the park in the center had given way to crops that looked almost ready to harvest. The garden of one of the biggest houses has been converted into a stable yard and a stable is almost fully built up against the wall that surrounds the community. You say hello to Winston and Ned, who turns out to be the one responsible for Jackson’s horses.

At the furthest end of the small town is the slaughterhouse, where fresh game has been brought in by two women and hung up, the blood trickling from two white tail deer.

As you wander back towards the house you’re staying at, Frankie hooks his arm around your waist and pulls you close.

“This all feels very…normal,” he says, “like maybe they have a chance at making this work.”

“Normal, apart from the infected and the raiders?” you say, looking up at the high wall that surrounds the small community, guards with rifles patrolling at the top.

“Yeah, but Maria and Patrick seem to have the right idea about how to run this place, so maybe they can make it work,” Frankie glances around the small town, “It’s kinda like the settlers in the old west. You were somewhat safe in the towns but it was dangerous to travel outside them. The biggest problem with what’s happened after the outbreak isn’t the infected, it’s how FEDRA handled the situation.”

You’ve arrived at the house and Jack’s fallen asleep so you put him down and join Frankie out on the porch.

“So what do you think?” he says, pulling you down onto his lap and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Do you think we should stay here and make a go of it?”

“I think so, Frankie, if you think you’ll be alright with patrols and guard duty?”

“Yeah, I think so…” he rubs his hand up and down your back, looking out over the small street the house is on, “It’s not for FEDRA, it’s for this place, for you and for Jack, to help keep you and this place safe.”

“I think you’ll be able to help them a lot too, you can use your skills for something that really makes a difference for this place.” You run your fingers through the curls at the back of his head, long enough now for you to wind around your fingers. Frankie’s looked away from the street and is looking at you, his warm brown eyes soft as he smiles up at you.

“And they have sturdy doors on these houses,” his hand has drifted up from your back to wrap around your neck and he’s gently pulling you closer to his lips. As you smile the pink tip of his tongue comes out and licks his plush bottom lip, you don’t even need to feel the bulge growing under you to know what he’s thinking about. You press your lips against his as he pulls you closer, his mouth opening to let you in with a low groan.

“Cariño,” he mumbles, “this is all I ever want,” his hand presses against your back as he deepens the kiss, “you and me in a quiet place where I can give you everything you deserve.”

“You deserve it too, Frankie,” you mumble, his hand tangling in your hair as his tongue slips in between your lips. You can feel him nod under you but you lose all train of thought as he bucks his hips under you.

“Fuck, hermosa…” he mutters, “we need to move inside or our new neighbors…”

You pull him up, take his hand and slip through the door while he wraps his arms around you from behind, kicking the door closed with his foot.

“Bring Jack upstairs and put him in the crib,” you say, as Frankie starts kissing your neck, pushing your hair out of the way.

“Do you really think we’ll make it upstairs,” he mutters, his hand already tugging at your t-shirt, slipping it under it and pushing under your bra.

“We have a kid now, Frankie,” you chuckle, “no sex in front of the baby.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he grumbles and pulls away from you, keeping it decent as he picks up Jack, carefully to not wake him, and follows you upstairs. Once Jack is safely nestled into his crib and the door closed but with a crack open in case he wakes up, Frankie comes into your bedroom with a smirk.

“You’re gonna need to be quiet or you’ll wake him and alert the neighbors, and I’m gonna make sure you really wanna scream my name, cariño…” he wiggles his eyebrows at you and you hold your finger up to him.

“Francisco Morales, you wouldn’t dare,” you wave the finger threateningly in front of him as he stalks across the room, making you back up until your legs hit the bed, his grin is lethal, all wicked intentions and mischief.

“Just let me take care of you, mi hermosa, mi amor de mi vida,” he croons, slipping his hands around your waist and gently pushing you back onto the bed, making you crawl up towards the top as he bends his head and starts kissing every inch of skin he can reach while peeling off your shirt, quickly followed by your pants. When his wide shoulders pushes your legs apart you groan and fall back against the sheets. You can feel his hot breath against your core as he settles down and grabs your thighs, kneading them and letting his fingers caress the soft skin.

“Frankie,” you sigh, reaching down and threading your fingers through his curls.

“Fuck…” he grumbles, “I’ve missed this, this sight, this smell, cariño, you’re so fucking sweet,” without warning he dips his head and runs his tongue through your folds, a long deep lick that ends at your clit. The sensation explodes through your nerve endings and you arch your back up, pressing your hips against his mouth.

“Did you miss this too, hermosa?” he chuckles, looking up at you from between your thighs, a smirk on his face, but before you get a chance to answer he dives back down, tasting every part of you as his nose circles around your clit but never really touching. The teasing makes you moan, canting your hips up against him and he pins you down with an arm over your middle.. When he slips in two fingers you’re already on the edge, with a whimper you cry his name, trying to keep your voice down. He pumps them slowly, curling them back as his lips seal around your clit. You glance down at him and he’s got his eyes on you, his black eyes are glowing as he watches you pant, your body taught as a bowstring.

He lifts his head slightly, his mouth hovering just over you and every one of his breaths sends tremors through your body.

“Come on, let me feel you come on my mouth and then I’ll fuck you, I wanna feel you around my cock so badly, cariño, you have no idea how hard I am…” he grinds his hips into the mattress, dragging the tip of his tongue over your clit again. His words and his eyes, still burning up your body makes you groan, barely able to keep looking at him. As his lips close around your clit again, ramping up the pressure, you throw your hand over your mouth, biting down hard on your lip as you moan. When you fall over the edge his fingers almost stop moving as you spasm around them but the rough pads keep pushing you through every wave that crashes over you. Frankie doesn’t let up, his tongue flicking over your clit as heat courses through your body until every muscle in your body relaxes and you fall back against the bed.

“So fucking good, cariño,” Frankie moans, trailing sticky kisses along the soft skin of your thighs, moving up to your hips, resting his head there and looking at you as he caresses your skin.

“Come up here and fuck me then, Frankie,” you mumble, reaching down for him and he groans, hiding his face against your hip, sucking a mark into you, making you hiss under him. His tongue comes out and soothes the mark before he sits up and quickly pulls off his shirt and pants before crawling up the bed, hooking his arm under your knee as he goes. He’s painfully hard and weeping, you can feel him drag over your leg, the contact makes him exhale sharply and he grabs his cock firmly. He slides the tip through your sensitive slick folds as he bends down and slips his tongue between your lips. You feel the familiar stretch of him as he pushes the blunt head into you, forcing your knee up higher and grinding his way deeper.

He gasps as you involuntarily clench down around him, “Bebita…fuck…so tight..I…I can’t fucking move…” With a deep groan he pulls out a little before slamming in deep again, making you bite down hard on your lip to stop yourself from crying out. Your arms come up around his neck and pull him down closer as he begins to move in earnest. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and moves in and out, slow at first but soon he picks up pace, groaning over you as his own high draws near. The familiar tingling is building inside you again as he hits a spot deep inside and he can feel you starting to tremble around him.

“C’mon…please…again, hermosa, fuck…” he pushes himself up on one elbow and looking down at you, his sweaty curls hanging over his forehead as his hand slides down and grabs your hip, “I’m…fuck…” he drops down with his forehead against yours, his eyes squeezing shut as your climax explodes through your body and you feel him follow, grinding deep. Both your moans mix in the air, all attempts at keeping quiet forgotten until you collapse on the damp sheets.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his face against your neck, “I came inside you, is it ok?”

“Yeah, I would’ve stopped otherwise, I forgot to tell you it was ok,” you mumble, kissing his damp forehead and pushing back his curls. As you start caressing his hair, scratching his scalp he snuggles deeper into your neck and sighs contentedly.

“I missed this so much, cariño,” he mumbles, “you and me, a bed, nothing else.”

“And a sturdy door?” you smile as his arm comes up around your body, his hand resting on your breast as his thumb lightly strokes across the nipple.

“Yeah, a sturdy door with a lock,” he nibbles at your neck, pressing light kisses along your jaw until he settles down again, humming under his breath.

“I wish there was some way we could let Will and Benny know about this place,” he says after a while. “It’d be good to have them here if they could make the journey.”

“Yeah, I miss them, and Eve and Diana,” you sigh, “and I think Maria and Patrick would love to have two more ex Delta Force guys here.”

Frankie rolls over, pulling you with him so that he can pull your back against his chest and wrap his arm around your waist, “We’ll keep an eye out, maybe we’ll figure something once we fix the dam,” he kisses the back of your head, tucking you in under his chin, “sleep now, cariño.”

…

Patrick comes by next morning and knocks on the door as you’re finishing up breakfast. Frankie grabs his pack and leaves after giving you a kiss and dropping a peck on Jack’s head. He makes you smile when you hear him give the baby instructions to behave and be a good boy for tu mamá .You hadn’t even thought about yourself as his mom, Julia was still his mom, but you guess Jack would have to call you something once he started talking, and Frankie seemed to have settled on mamá for now. It made your heart warm to hear his affection for the little boy, finding him and his mother had maybe been very lucky for you and Frankie, as well as for baby Jack.

For the first time in years, Frankie didn’t feel worried about leaving you behind as he left and went outside the safety a wall entailed. Jackson felt safe, not just because of the wall, but because of the people on the inside. He glanced back up at the gate as it closed behind him, it looked strong and sturdy, and the guards on top were alert.

Patrick, or Pat as he asked Frankie to call him, had brought a group of men and women on the short ride across to the Jackson dam. As they rode Pat pointed out how they’d started building a wall that would circle around the dam structure too.

“That way we won’t have to worry about raiders cutting the electricity once we get it up and running, or infected getting in,” he says, “both possibilities are something we have to take into account whenever we go to the dam now. We have to clear the dam compound every time.”

This time there’s nothing in the building or around it, and Pat leaves three guys to keep watch on the wall over the main entrance.

Together the crew looked over the different components and Pat explained to Frankie what parts they’ve been having problems with. It took them the better part of the day to figure out that something is blocking one of the mechanisms deep inside the dam, then another hour to find the right maintenance hatch and get it open. The tell tale sound of a clicker comes up from the deep hole as they wrench the hatch open. Ladders, however, seem to be something, infected can’t handle so it’s not too much of an issue to shoot the poor dam worker through the head as he scratches against the wall under the hatch. For good measure Frankie and Pat toss a few rocks into the maintenance tunnel and lower a flashlight to lure out any remaining infected. When they deem it safe enough Pat carefully climbs down while Frankie and another man, Walter, cover him.

“Alright, all clear down here,” Pat’s voice comes back up from the tunnel and Frankie climbs down, followed by Walter.

They follow the tunnel down to the entrance in the dam wall and climb out, spotting the problem immediately. A large mess of plastic scraps and synthetic rope has tangled into the mechanism and it takes an hour to clear it without creating further damage. Eventually the machinery turns smoothly and Walter remains behind as Frankie and Pat climb back up to the main operating room.

“Now, if we’ve done everything right, things should work now, and the first turbine will start generating enough electricity to start the main turbines and produce electricity for the town,” Pat hoover his hand over a button and gives Frankie a tight smile, “So far, this hasn’t worked once, so fingers crossed, Frank.”

He pushes the button and in the distance they hear machinery kicking into gear, running for a few seconds before shutting down.

“Fuck…” Pat mumbles, scratching his head, “that’s more than we’ve had before but I don’t know why it shut down.”

“It sounded like it started fine but short circuited,” Frankie says, “Let me open up and check behind the console.”

“Let me know if you need anything, I’m gonna go check on the turbines,” Pat says, leaving Frankie to grab a set of mismatched tools and pry open the console. He sees the issue as soon as he opens it, a thin tendril of smoke is rising from one of the wires, the insulation has corroded and it’s touching another wire. It’s a matter of minutes to rewire it and make sure the inside is protected from any dampness. Once the dam is up and running the heating will keep this dry and protected.

“Pat,” Frankie calls, “I’ve fixed I think, let’s try it again.”

Pat comes back and motions to Frankie to hit the button, “Do the honors, you’re the one who fixed the last bit.”

“Here goes nothing,” Frankie grimaces and gently pushes the button again. This time the machinery kicks into gear, running smoothly for a couple of minutes until a louder rumble starts up, the main turbines starting to turn and suddenly, making both men startle, lights flood the room their in, lights go on all over the console and static starts pouring out of an abandoned radio on the window sill.

“Oh shit! It worked! It fucking works!” Patrick yells, punching the air before clapping Frankie on the shoulder with a big grin. From the outside they can hear yells of delight from the other men and women of the work party. They go out to join them, leaning over the edge of the dam and watching the water pump through the turbine hall and the lights in the lamps lining the edge flicker to life.

“All the cables feeding electricity to Jackson are underground so we’re hoping they’re unharmed, the town should have electricity now!” Pat says, grinning widely, “Come on, let’s head back and make sure everything’s working.”

Three of the guys are staying behind to keep guard and make sure the dam runs smoothly, they’re to be relieved in a few hours, for a night shift.

“We can’t leave the dam unguarded now,” Pat says, “and we might need to do something about the lights, black them out for now, so that we don’t draw too much attention to it.”

When they get back to the Jackson gate people are waiting for them, you’re there with Jack on your hip. The lights in the house had suddenly come on, a few of the light bulbs immediately broke, but the fridge started humming and the tv buzzed to life with loud static that startled Jack enough to make him cry. You had to run around and turn as much as possible off, checking what worked and what didn’t. The hot water boiler seemed to be working just fine and was full of water that was slowly heating up. Even the radiators came to life, warming the house. Maria had shown up a little while later, on her way to the gate.

“Let’s go greet our returning heroes,” she laughed, “I can’t believe we’ve got electricity!”

All of Jackson turned out, forming a crowd just inside the gate and everyone cheered as the work party, led by Pat, rode into town. Frankie quickly found you in the crowd, grinning wildly as he came over, his horse in tow.

“What a welcoming committee;” he grinned, bending to kiss you and then Jack.

“How does it feel to be a town hero on your second day, Frankie?” you laugh, hugging him tightly as he took Jack from you, putting him on his hip.

“Feels good, feels like coming home, cariño. Feels like coming home.”

Chapter 36

If anyone reading knows how a hydroelectric dam actually works, don't tell me all the mistakes I made, I'm playing fast and lose with the technical details here!

I'm also kinda playing lose with any abandonment issues Jack should, realistically, have after being taken from his mother at six months. But I'm excusing that by thinking that he probably didn't get to spend too much time with his mother anyway, in my mind Julia would've been forced to work straight after giving birth and Jack was left behind whenever the slavers wouldn't let her bring him to whatever work she was made to do (seriously, the last part of The Last of Us 2 is horrifying, it gives a very nasty view into how a slaver's camp worked in this world).

The song that Frankie sings to Jack is called Arroz con Leche and is a well known Latino lullaby. You can hear the version Frankie sings if you look for Arroz con Leche sung by Soleada Arboleda on Spotify!

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko @javicstories @nunya7394 @welcometothepedroverse @harriedandharassed @meveispunk @hiroikegawa @jwritesfanfics @vickie5446 @your-slutty-gf

[ilmietitore]

"Ciao, we're here for a health and welfare for Ciprianni."

Welcome to my ask blog for mah bastards, Matteo Schiavoni, Elian Rivera, and Jamie Schmicht, I'm your host, H :3c

Here be some ground rules:

All asks will be drawn out!!!

We're all a-okay with anything pertaining to violence & gore, suggstive stuff is cool, but keep Tumblr's policies in mind when asking! No penises, sorry :(

On that topic, I'm comfortable with depicting most things, just nothing involving the bodily harm of children.

Please don't spam.

Racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, and anything of the sorts is not tolerated, your butt will be blocked.

Dm's are 1-800-Closed.

Asks that are 1 word or nonsensical will be passed on.

Some factoids about Schia:

He's 47 and 6'4"

Goes by Matteo or Schia

He/Him, Cisgender, and Unlabled

He's very blunt, charismatic, and sadistic

He's Italian and bilingual in English and Italian

Fronts as a "businessman", but works as a hitman for the Mafia

He and Angus Ciprianni are business partners and partners in crime (and in toxic yaoi lol)

Elian Rivera is his current underling

He is married to a Lucia Schiavoni (she may make an appearance or two) and they have a young daughter, Emilia Schiavoni (may make some appearances too)

His text will be yellow

Some factioids about Rivera:

She's 28 and 5'10

Goes by Rivera

She/He, Nonbinary, and Lesbian

She is smug, hardheaded, and immoral

She is Mexican and bilingual in Spanish and English

Also a "businessman", is a newly mademan and is working under Schiavoni.

May or may not be living a second life... the men mey never know...

Her text will be red

Some factoids about Jamie:

He's 34 and 6'

Goes by Jamie

He/Him, Cisgender, and Asexual

He is quiet, calculated, self-reserved

He is African American and trilingual in English, Italian, and German

You guessed it, a "businessman", designated sniper and intel collector for the mafia. Also sells organs on the black market for dopples.

Works for himself for the most part, but does work along side Schiavoni and Ciprianni. Is also teaching Rivera under the table (fun with organs lol)

His text will be green

And some factoids for yours truly:

Name's H

21 and 2 nickels tall

Main blog is @double--hh

I use All/Any pronouns

Timezone is EST

I have a full-time job (im not a businessman I swear), please be patient with the response times </3

My text will be pink

So yeah, have fun pookies <3

[bittybattybunny]

Couple of doodle sheets of my newer pressure ocs Jolene Louisa Solace-Clark; Sebastian's niece who has wound up an expendable because her ex boyfriend was mad she broke up with him but he had no real idea the mess he set himself into.

Currently I'm tying her plot to Lucia's

Then there's Coraline. I just wanted to draw some fluff couldn't find a ref for seb's wife so opted to just make myself a no nonsense former NYC er nurse who was hired under false pretenses for Urbanshade and happens to bond with the giant fishman