#serene seattle

[alteredstatesstuff]

storm over head

[cpunkbubby]

Some Garages doodles i did while listening to The Penumbra Podcast. Baby Triumphant, Serene Moss, Mindy Rahman, & River Clembons (& Jesús).

[lumiii-nescent]

Home, once again.

[melon003]

Something about water, just puts me at ease ~

[sykoangels]

RING RING

kinktober prompt : phone sex!

pairing: fem!reader x emily prentiss

warnings: praising / masturbation / established relationship

author note: happy kinktober!! also should I do more criminal minds fics let me know please!!

Being married to an FBI agent comes with its own unique set of perks and challenges. From the constant protection and occasional vacation days to the intriguing yet sometimes disturbing stories that come home with them, there's never a dull moment. However, being married to the unit chief of the behavioral analysis unit also brings its own set of responsibilities and considerations.

Agent Prentiss is a hardworking woman you met on a case in Seattle. You thought she was pretty cute, but it wasn't really clear if she was into women. After the case ended, which was pretty gruesome, you kept in touch and started learning more about each other. This blossomed into romance, then marriage, and now you're living in Washington DC with her, taking care of your kid named Sergio, who is just her cat.

Ever since you and Emily tied the knot, her frequent case trips made her feel like a stranger at times. In the early days, it strained your relationship as it seemed like you hardly ever saw each other. And when she did come home, she was often too worn out from her unavoidable challenging cases to engage in much else. You understood the demanding nature of her job and admired her dedication to making a difference, but you couldn't help but long for your wife's presence.

Currently, Emily is on a case in Baton Rouge. I’m trying to solve some mysterious death that happened in that area. She was supposed to be coming home today, but unfortunately, due to the severity of the case, she has to stay there an extra week with the team. It was an ideal and was kind of heartbreaking in your opinion. All he wanted to do was spend time with your wife, but there was this overwhelming feeling that you had for the past couple of days while she was gone. The feeling of desire deep inside of your core. It didn’t help that your house smelled like Emily, especially on her side of the closet. You would go wear her shirts from time to time taking in her scent that lingers behind.

As night fell, you carefully closed up the house. The lights in every room dimmed and then went out, leaving only the gentle glow of the bedside lamp in your bedroom. The entire house was immaculately clean, with every surface wiped down to a pristine shine. As you moved from room to room, you noticed the faint scent of red wine and rich mahogany, mingling with the cool draft of air from the vents.

You chose to ring up Emily as usual, especially since it was getting late. This was your customary practice whenever she was involved in a case. The night in Baton Rouge was serene, with the moon casting a gentle glow over the tranquil neighborhood. Its soft light filtered through every window and seeped through the gaps in the hotel curtains, bathing the surroundings in a serene glow. Emily heard the vibrations of her phone, praying and hoping it wasn’t work. She just wanted to rest for a little while, but a smile appeared on her face when she realized it was her lovely wife. She immediately answered you can almost feel the smile on her face through the phone.

Emily’s voice crackled through the speaker, a mix of relief and exhaustion. "Hey, babe," she said, her tone warm but tinged with fatigue. "I was hoping it was you." "Miss me already?" you teased, trying to lighten the mood. The silence on the other end of the line was punctuated by the rustle of sheets as she shifted in bed. "Always," she replied softly, the smile in her voice unmistakable. "How’s Sergio? Did he eat his dinner?" You chuckled, glancing at the cat lounging lazily on the windowsill, bathed in the moonlight. "He’s fine. Just enjoying the view. But seriously, Em, how are you holding up?"

There was a pause, and you could almost see her running a hand through her hair, the same gesture she made when deep in thought. "It’s been tough," she admitted. "This case… it’s one of the worst I’ve seen. But hearing your voice helps. It really does." You leaned back against the pillows, the warmth of the bed enveloping you. "Then let’s make it worth your while," you said, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Tell me what you need, Emily." Her breath hitched, and you could hear the faint echo of her heartbeat quickening. "God, I need you," she whispered back, her voice thick with longing. "But I can’t… not right now."

"Then let’s do this," you suggested, your heart pounding in your chest. "Close your eyes, imagine me here with you." "Alright," she murmured, the mattress creaking as she settled back. "I’m closing my eyes… and you’re lying next to me, your hand on my thigh."You closed your eyes too, picturing her silhouette under the dim light of the bedside lamp. Your hand drifted down your own body, mimicking the movement you knew she longed for. "Good girl," you breathed, your thumb brushing over your nipple through the fabric of your shirt. "Now, tell me what you want." "I want…" she hesitated, her voice breaking slightly, "I want to feel your touch, everywhere."

You bit your lip, the sensation sending a jolt of arousal through you. "Describe it to me, Emily. Tell me where you want me to touch you." "My neck," she said quickly, her voice trembling. "Kiss my neck, baby. Feel the pulse there, taste me." Your mouth watered at the thought, your fingers trailing down to your damp panties . "And then?" you prompted, your voice husky. "My collarbone," she continued, her words coming faster now. "Let your lips slide down, trace the curve of my shoulder… oh God, I can almost feel it."

"My breasts," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Lick around the edges, tease the nipples… make them hard for you." You groaned, your fingers circling your own clit, mimicking the motion of your tongue. "And what about down here?" you asked, your voice shaky. "What do you want me to do to you?" "Touch me," she pleaded, the vulnerability in her voice making your stomach flip. "Slide your fingers inside me, feel how wet I am for you… please." You didn’t need any more encouragement. Your fingers found their way past your folds, pushing inside with a gasp. "Oh Emily," you moaned, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "Are you touching yourself too?"

"Yes," she gasped, the word torn from her throat. "I’m stroking myself, just like you told me to. God, it feels so good." "Not as good as you’ll feel soon," you promised, your fingers curling inside you. "I’m going to make you come, Emily. Just like this." "Please," she whimpered, the desperation in her voice fueling your own arousal. "I need it… I need you."

You moved faster, your thumb pressing against your clit in rhythm with your thrusts. "Tell me what you see," you demanded, desperate to lose yourself in her fantasy. "Paint the picture for me." "I’m lying here," she panted, her voice strained, "my legs spread wide, waiting for you. Your hands are everywhere, teasing, touching… driving me wild." "And then?" you pressed, your own orgasm building with every word.

"Your face between my legs," she said, her voice breaking. "Your tongue… oh God, your tongue sliding inside me, licking, sucking… making me scream." You cried out, your climax crashing over you like a tidal wave. "Emily, I’m coming," you gasped, your whole body shuddering with the force of it. "Me too," she sobbed, her voice raw with emotion. "Oh God, yes… right there…"

You collapsed back against the pillows, your breathing ragged, your body still humming with aftershocks. The line went quiet, the connection between you both still humming with the intensity of the moment. You lay there, your heart still pounding, the memory of her words echoing in your ears. "Wow," she breathed, her voice filled with wonder. "That was... intense." "Mmhmm," you agreed, your own body still humming with residual pleasure. "We make quite the team." She laughed softly, the sound warming your heart. "Yeah, we do. Can't wait to be in the same room again." "Neither can I," you admitted, your voice filled with longing.

"Agreed," she said, her tone serious. "Love you, Y/N .""Love you too, Emily," you replied, your heart swelling with emotion. "Sweet dreams.""You too," she whispered before hanging up.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, the memory of their shared moment still fresh in your mind. The taste of her words lingered on your lips, the scent of their mutual arousal in the air, and the thought of the warmth of their bodies pressed against each other. It was a perfect night, one that would be etched into your memory forever.

[bebemoon]

look for the name: SERENE

simone rocha embellished tulle bodysuit w/ adjustable thigh attachments in neutral color

{from lucky vintage seattle} vintage 193o's-4o's peach rayon silk blend charmeuse tap shorts w/ embroidered ecru floral lace inserts

the row elastic leather ballet flats in off-white

avon "precious doe" field flowers cologne, c. 197o's

retro basketweave marbled lucite handbag w/ clear, crystal-cut lid and handle, c. 195o's-6o's

[urcursebreaker]

burning body waiting. (ellie williams x fem!reader)

read chapters one, two, and three here.

warnings: 18+ content, canon-typical violence, gore, angst, graphic smut, scissoring, fingering, use of marijuana. | word count: 11.7k.

chapter 4: match in the dark

❝ the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it. ❞ — richard siken.

. . .

The stories always say that love is something you fall into.

For you, it's always been a bludgeoning, throttling force, bone-shattering and breath-robbing; sudden and violent and jarring.

So why does this feel not like a punch to the gut but a slow and tortuous ailment of your health? An intrusion of sickness and vein-pulsing agony?

Instead of pummeling you with a lethal blow, your feelings for Ellie crept and slunk through your bones, a terminal parasite, malignant and festering inside. Until it was a sure thing. A cancer. Until your veins were blackened with heady need. Until there was a dark, frothing plague teeming from your heart, hammering to a consistent tune.

Ellie, Ellie, Ellie.

Or maybe you don't love her.

Maybe it's some third sinister thing. Living in the cracks of cruelty that stretch between friend and lover.

Last night, after baring witness to Ellie's breakdown, the sound of her wailing, heaving sobs followed you into a tenuous sleep.

You dreamt of a young girl, a smattering of freckles garnishing her sun-kissed face and arms, familiar, mossy blue eyes brimming with unshed tears. She clutched a watch in her fist, it's face splintered, cracks like lightening fracturing across the broken surface. She lurched it into the rapid waters of the river she stood before, her eyebrows pinched in earnest, chest heaving.

"Why are you so sad?" You had asked the girl, your voice a whisper in the wind, not fully belonging to you.

The girl only released a long, heavy breath and pivoted away, marching down an unmanicured path of ferns and overgrowth. She grew taller and leaner as she strode away, until the figure that dissipated through the line of trees was one you have slept beside. 

And now you are woken up in that damn 7/11 to that same girl firmly shaking you.

Except now she's older— and a new scar marred her lip. A new slit cleaved her brow. And a new, harsh edge of ferocity contoured her face— still so young, in a world that would never allow her to be.

She had to shake you a few times before you came to, snapping awake in a bleated panic, lurching up. She was huddled over you, a finger to her lips, a solemn alarm flaring in her pale eyes. The overhead vines careening from the high rafters billowed gently with the breeze; the serenity of it deceiving to what prowled the weeds.

"To the left," she mouths meticulously, and you nod, carefully slipping out of your sleeping bag, heart drumming ceaselessly.

She unsheathes her switchblade and slinks away, her eyes trained on the glassless wall as she stations behind a counter, distractedly gesturing for you to follow.

You slowly retrieve your shotgun from the littered floor and pocket a shiv you crafted the night prior, shooting brisk glances over your shoulder as you inch to Ellie's side. A faint whistle rises from the swaying grass.

Fuck. More Seraphites.

They must be tracking you, if they're spreading this far into Seattle. They tend to lurk on the outskirts, basing along the edges of the city so they can terminate anyone who attempts to get inside.

You never heard of them abandoning posts before. Killing over a dozen of them must have earned you their vengeance.

Ellie must have a similar thought, for when you reach her side, she whispers, "I should have gone to their base and killed every last one of them." Her face was grim and hard with fury, jaw barred, as she glared over the counter in the general direction of the whistle.

You follow her gaze and your muscles tense. The piercing afternoon sun glints off the metal tip of an arrow— aimed directly at you.

"Get down!" You shout jitterly, just as the potent snap of the bows tension unleashing splits through the silence of the day. You shove Ellie down and duck over her right as it spears loudly through the chipping wall behind you, where her head had been precarious seconds before.

She looks up at you with wide eyes, her knuckles gleaming white against the shine of her blade. Her momentary shock morphs into a scowl that manifests on her face.

She shrugs her shotgun off her shoulder and aims it for the weeds— blasting through the first outline of a human that she sees without a second thought. Thickets of seared, chunky blood burst through the air, followed by a series of sharp, undulating whistles. Your ears ring boisterously from the gunshot.

You sense movement to your right and crawl past Ellie— who clips another Seraphite, her body rocking with the force of the shot— to investigate. Fortunately, your backs are covered by two withstanding, cavernless walls, leaving only the hole to the right and the sizeable gap overhead.

Ellie seems to have the other wall covered.

You use a rusting shelf as a barricade, crouching, shiv in hand, the blade biting through the cloth you wound around the bottom. You turn it over in your hands, tongue prodding your lip, casting furtive looks above you every couple seconds to ensure nobody inflicted an unexpected aerial attack.

Arrows rain down, piercing the walls, clattering off the concrete. Gunshots boom thunderously, reverberating through the vacant city, paired with the guttural screams of those they met. You chance a peek at Ellie to find her completely unscathed, propped on one knee, squinting through the thick scope of her rifle. She must've swiftly exchanged weapons while you were looking away; always efficient.

You swivel back around and feel the tiny hairs on the nape of your neck raise at the shaved head poking through the whirling canary, only about ten feet away. You hold your breath and flush your back with the shelf, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

He slithers into the room, bow drawn, frame veiled by a cloak seeped with rain water. Brutal, discomfiting burn scars eclipse half of his face, as if he were lowered, sideways, into a pit of roaring flames.

Back at the Front, everyone always refers to the Seraphite's as Scars. It's starting to make sense why; you had never seen one this close before.

He puckers his lips to whistle, and you deign that as your opportunity, before he summons another Scar. You spring out from behind the shelf and drill your blade through the side of his neck, tearing through tendons. "Gotcha!" you breathe sardonically.

His large body crumples in your arms. You lower him to the floor with a dull, sappy thud, blood instantly pooling across the concrete, lapping at the tips of your boots.

An insistent whistle echoes closely from the weeds he emerged from, and you mutter a curse, hoisting up your gun and loading it with bloodied fingers. You're about to shoot the nearing figure when a brutish man descends from the crater in the ceiling— landing on top of you.

"Fuck!" Your scream of raw surprise rips through your throat as you plummet under his weight, your arm twisted unnaturally and agonizingly beneath his body.

He yanks you back by your hair, peeling your body off the ground with ease, and you wrestle with his unyielding grip, grunting as you squirm and peer at him over your shoulder. His eyes are crazed, a deep, rigid scar splitting his cheek, fatal determination overtaking his face.

You think fast, hastily fumbling for the blade in his companions sputtering throat, writhing under his formidable hold, your breathing sparse as he crushes you. "Feel Her love," the man growls in an accented drawl, his pick-axe reered back, poised to strike.

You successfully dislodge your blade just in time.

You arch your arm back as forcefully as you can from the obstructive angle, nicking him in the chest— just enough for him to stagger back and graze his digits over the superficial wound— and for you to crawl out from underneath him.

You only make it up to your knees before the handle of his pick-axe is caging your throat, crushing your windpipes, a hoarse whine wheezing from your lips. He hauls you back, and you flail for the bar compressing your neck, feet aimlessly lashing and kicking the floor. "El—"

Dots swim and flood your vision. Your flickering pulse rattles droningly in your skull. You can't breathe. You're dying. You're going to die. You're going to—

"Don't you fucking touch her!" Ellie bellows.

Suddenly, the pick-axe falls from your throat, clattering with a resounding echo to the floor, and you drop right along with it. Through the haze of your disjointed vision you see the previous keeper of your fate— Ellie's switchblade protruding from his head, before he slams lifelessly to the floor.

You rake in breaths hungrily, the sudden, painful burst of oxygen blazing like fire through your lungs. You claw listlessly at your throat, as if that will stop the blistering burn, or vanquish the coppery tang of blood rendering your tongue.

Ellie then shoots his already deceased body twice— his immobile carcass lurching, jolting with the swift bullets— and doesn't spare the dead Scar a second glance before shooting the one approaching in the weeds with masterful precision.

He thumps to the ground with a muffled groan of anguish, and his departure is followed by a wave of dense, apprehensive silence.

Ellie lingers in that taut, defensive stance for a moment, her shoulders tense, face lined with concentration as she sweeps her gaze over the sprawling field. Eyes skittering over the towering buildings in a speedy examination.

And then her eyes fall to you, alarm leeching the color from her sharp face. She quickly lowers her gun and bunches her stiff shoulders. "Are you alright?" She demands brusquely.

You nod skittishly, chest heaving with your rapid, hungry breaths. "Fine," you croak out, voice hoarse and gravelly, scraping out of your raw throat.

She nods absently, slinging her gun over her shoulder and bending down to fist the knife puncturing the man's head. She gives it a forceful, ruthless tug, his upper body heaving off the blood-blemished ground. A harrowing crimson cascades down his skull, glistening over her fingers. She yanks it out of him with a second, ardent jerk, and he slumps onto the floor, his own gore splattering repellently through the air. She surveys the blood and bits of cartilage on her blade before calmly wiping it off on her pants.

You scarcely register the disturbing scene of the Seraphite's you downed together.

Ellie's callousness must be wearing off on you. The dark pond of sudsy blood gathering around your feet ignites only a faint ripple of disgust in you; and a hint of knee-buckling relief, that you had someone so unapologetically cutthroat at your defense.

She offers you a steady hand and you take it. She hauls you to your feet, and you waver, your grip unabashed and bruise inciting. "Are you okay?" You ask attentively, a tremor underlying your tinny voice as you eye her top to bottom.

On the exterior, she's untouched by harm, and the relief that floods you is instantaneous.

"I am if you are," she says with a dim smile, surveying you for injury in turn. "We should get the fuck out of here, though. You sure you're good?"

"I'm fine," you offer a meek, hopefully reassuring smile back, unhanding her. You clear your throat and discard your broken, useless shiv on the floor, your breathing evening out. "Lead the way, my noble Knight," you tease with a shaky grin.

She rolls her eyes with affection and mimics a flourishing bow. "Yes, my Queen," she snorts, before pivoting away, heedlessly overstepping the dead body of your attacker and trudging for the opening she'd been guarding, her backpack already slung over her shoulder.

Your scratchy, cackling laugh scorches your throat, but you stifle the dizzying pain, her responding laugh, breathy and chittering, making the hurt worth it.

It was the sweetest thing you have ever heard. So light and natural and opposing to the violence she had wielded mere minutes ago to protect you.

As you trail after her, trusting her direction without question, you think you'd let her be as mean to you as she needed to be if you could hear her laugh like that again.

Which may be the scariest thing of all.

• • •

ELLIE

Her resolve was dissipating through her fingers. Now particles, everything she fought for was reduced to inconceivable dust, streaking through the wind, escaping her clutches.

She had destroyed versions of herself, tapered off past selves, trimmed and manufactured herself into this precarious thing that she was now.

A shell, filled by a need to take back all that had been stolen; a vessel for her grief and anger. She felt like she lived and breathed the horror that clung to her insides, fermented and congealed, taloned rage clawing it's way out of her with every step she took closer and closer to reclaiming the vengeance she was owed; the debt that was due.

But now the calamity in her mind has quieted. Her pain felt distant and hushed; it watched and whispered. She was never truly liberated from it. Only when she's with you does she feel that boulder lift, that bone-crushing mass of misery eased off her soul. But it's hearty weight lingers phantomly, etching itself into her bones.

She glances at you through the waning firelight, your thoughtful expression dim in the flickering amber glow. Your eyebrows are skewered, lips pursed, eyes indulgently roving over the pages of the tattered book splayed across your lap.

She had no idea how you found the room to store useless objects. From your brothers stuffed childhood bear, a chunky, faded hot-pink cassette player, to a couple weathered, worm-eaten books, you seemed to carry only your indulgences.

When she was fourteen, her backpack was similar. It overflowed with graphic novels and worthless trinkets. Joel had everything they needed, carrying double his weight in supplies. Despite everything she'd seen, despite everything he did, he gave her a simple life. One she could not envision herself pursuing ever again, without him there to urge her on.

She wonders if your brother was that guiding light for you, too, a match in the dark, as Joel had been for her.

She looks at you, and she wonders if you have ever truly been alone.

You perform with a buoyancy and easiness she cannot replicate. Either you have never known suffering at all, a portrait of innocence under a brush of death; or you knew it too well, with an intimacy that left you unblinking and acclimated to its sharp edges. When it tried to cut through you, it's relentless knifing was fruitless, it's slashes meeting metal, sliding off the shine of your armor.

Do you even know it's there? That even though you are not brutal and unforgiving— as she herself had become— remaining steady and balanced under the ruthless beat of the worlds bitter drum was a shield in itself?

She both admires and envies your ability to let it all roll off your back as it's hurled at you.

"What?" You drawl at her notably indiscreet examination, amusement seeping into your tone like liquid gold, eyes unstraying from the pages— though she can see, even from the distance that separates you, that your eyes are bright and swimming with it.

For months now, she has locked her feelings down, imprisoned them behind walls of adamant, impenetrable steel. Had deliberately tailored a mask that would keep them from slipping through.

And then there's you. Feeling unabashedly and unapologetically and, unknowingly letting her know she can do it, too. That you see the wounds that gauge her soul and do not flinch at the sight of blood. That you see the hurt that shines in her eyes and do not pity the tortured girl, but embrace the wrath of the killer that torture had birthed.

Being understood was once something she ached for. But now that someone is starting to understand her, to see through the defenses she constructed, she is afraid. She is terrified of being seen, of being known.

Almost as much as she fears being alone.

She is facing that fear day by day, and it is just as fucking scary as she anticipated.

She was cripplingly alone, and she felt the aftershocks of it belting through her. She's a lost, untethered soul, searching for its other end, though the thread had severed and all that remained was remnants of fragmented, disjointed memories, and rippling regrets that would never be ironed out.

She has nothing to return to; no home, no person. Instead, she keeps coming back to that hollowness inside, where the grief is stored, and fed to the flames of rage that blaze there. It is the only consistency she knows now. Even you are not a promised thing. Not when you had a brother somewhere out there waiting for you.

And not when she had a list of lives to end.

You are not enough to mend the gaping hole inside of her; you will never match the shape of that gauge. No one will. No one can replace the things he taught her, gave her.

But at least now... when she lays her head to rest, there's a beaming voice, illuminating the shadow-shrouded void of her mind. Beckoning her toward the light.

And it's yours.

She fights the darkness. Wrestles out of its restraints— the guilt and sorrow that anchors her down— and runs to that voice, desperate for the sun.

But the darkness always seems to win in the end.

"Ellie?"

Your soft, tentative voice lulls her out of her clouded thoughts, and she averts her gaze from the fire to look at you. She blinks the dark specks away and discerns your earnest face. Your attention is honed in on her now, the book dog-eared and closed in your lap, head tilted inquisitively. "Where'd you go?" You ask quietly, your voice a whisper under the crackling embers.

She feels her head shaking before she even forms a response. "Nothing. Nowhere," she insists, blinking rapidly, stroking a spectral scar on her forehead. "I'm just tired. How's your book?" She urges casually, craning her head back and resting it on the tree stump of the sprawling oak behind her, studying you.

A big, unadulterated grin contorts your face. Your cheeks dimple, smiling teeth luminous in the firelight. Her heart skips a beat at the mirth glimmering in your eyes. "So good. It's my favorite. I've read it six times," you chuckle at the look of disbelief that slips through the cracks of her facade and continue, "My mom used to read it to my brother and I a lot when we were kids."

She nods, plucking the grime out of her fingernails, swiping her tongue over her teeth. She glances down at her hand to conceal the warmth rising to her cheeks at the sight of your infectious smile. There is no other way to describe it; it is debilitating, impossible not to mirror.

"What's it about?" She murmurs, ducking her head, her emerging smile evident in her tone. She hopes the shadows eclipse her face from your view.

"Oh, it's just a collection of fables," you sigh contently, wistfully, reclining back, clutching the fraying book endearingly to your chest. You sway your knees back and forth, feet planted to the ground, peering up at the star-speckled sky before tilting your head to face her. "Do you like to read at all?"

Ellie yawns gingerly, extending her legs out in front of her, staring down at her muddy, threadbare Converse. "I used to read comics. There was this series I collected... Savage Starlight?" She winces as she pronounces the humiliating name.

Your responding gasp is so sudden, an animal audibly skitters through the weeds. You lurch up in astonishment, wisps of staticky hair fanning around your shocked face. "Wait, really? My brother loved those!"

Ellie laughs, and you visibly loosen at the sound. She pretends not to notice. Just as she pretends not to feel the warmth budding and blooming in her chest, a sprout of something gentle taking root in her heart.

"Yes," she huffs out, rewarding you a vague smile. You were the only thing that made her feel like she could smile anymore. "I read them all. Probably more than 6 times, actually. So. I got you beat."

"Pfft," you bat a hand of dismissal, rolling your eyes playfully, laying back down— resting your head on a smooth, upturned rock, leisurely prying your book back open. "Does looking at pictures even count as reading?"

"Comics have words!" Ellie protests defensively, straightening.

Your boisterous laugh echoes through the dense forestry, booming out of you, as you drop the book and cradle your stomach, rolling over with the force of your guttural laughter. "You are so easy to rile up!" You cackle tearily, wiping your eyes.

Ellie snickers. "You're an ass," she chides, laughter bubbling in her chest, threatening to escape her sealed lips. She threads her fingers through her unruly hair, sweeping the russet strands out of her face. You jeeringly stick your tongue out at her, and she flips you off, earning her another one of your exuberant laughs.

"Read your book," she scolds with a raspy chuckle of her own, pointing at the now discarded fables. She rummages through her backpack, the sound of your stifled giggling following her as she fishes out her journal.

She waits a couple minutes, until you're helplessly engrossed with your novel, your brows once again pinched in concentration, before thumbing through her journal, flipping to that tarnished, browning page. Her eyes flicker over the names she memorized distastefully, that familiar anger burning bright.

Abby

Nora

Owen

Mel

Jordan

Manny

Whitney

She absently ghosts her fingers over that taunting, four-lettered name. Abby. Her throat swells with grief, searing-hot anger boiling in her stomach. The condemning red marks slashing through the names of those she already killed grant her only momentary satisfaction. It's not enough to quell the hatred the unmarked name at the top sparks within.

Nora she killed weeks ago. She let the spores smother her lungs, debilitate her of breath, ring her dry of any vitality and will to resist her tragic fate. Then she took a pipe to her head. Over and over. Just as Abby had done to Joel. Just as she would do to her.

Then she killed Nick, and Jordan, after the Wolves tailed and captured her. They beat and chained her to a counter, as if a pair of copper-rusted handcuffs would restrain her— would save them from her blinding wrath. The scar she brandished him with was rigid and pink and poorly stitched, dismantling his otherwise smooth cheek. She told him that stopping her from extracting her revenge would be futile.

Then she broke free and stabbed him persistently, with ferocious, vehement arches of her arm, until his blood had coated her face in fine beadlets and puddled in heaps that sapped her feet to the floor.

And, most recently, she killed Whitney. At the hospital, where she took you to bed and tasted every glorious inch of you, high with adrenaline, pulsating with want.

She told you she took out a few infected.

But it was only Whitney there, alone, guarding the sewage system, swaying to the boisterous music that reverberated through the concrete-walled boiler room. She slit her throat and kicked her into the murky, sludgy water. Then shot her twice just to insure that she did not inexplicably survive.

After the night you shared, a part of her was horrified of you unveiling the deplorable, merciless acts she committed. She did not know if she could face you. She slaughtered a person in cold blood and touched you with the stained hands that did it.

She left, just in case you found that bleeding body floating in the basement, and turned terrified, accusatory eyes on her. She did not know if she could bear your disdain. Or worse— you being disgusted by the harrowing life she has dedicated herself to.

Because she could not change.

She has a purpose, now.

To take everything from those fuckers. Leave them with nothing as they did her.

She's going to take and take and take. The life of Abby's friends, crushed and squandered beneath her foot. The solid foundation of security they built, ripped apart at the seams, until walls topple and plans expire— until all the Wolves are scurrying through the wastelands, tails tucked, howling for mercy.

She abandoned the safe, armed walls of Jackson for this mission. Nothing could jeopardize it; not even her captivation with you.

Fortunately, you never found Whitney's body.

She should've been relieved. But when she stumbled upon you again, in that blossoming valley, there was spite there, and for a completely different reason. One she never considered; that you were truly scathed by her abandonment. She thought you would be better off without her; better rid of the sucking parasite leeching the good out of you with each moment she spent in your presence.

"Hey, Ellie?"

She snaps the journal closed briskly, sucking in a sharp breath. She thought you had fallen asleep; you had not shifted or spoken for an impressive duration of time. Especially for you.

"Yeah," she responds groggily, scratching her head, slipping the journal back into her bag, the list temporarily forgotten. She glances up to find you gone.

She staggers straight to her feet, calling your name, her tone dripping with apprehension. "Where are you?"

"Shh," you instruct quaintly from the shadows, whispering meticulously, "Over here."

She peers through the darkness encompassing the camp you'd assembled together, trailing your voice, conveyed through the cloying, nectary wind. The warming spring breeze fetters her hair.

She deciphers your figure in the tall, swaying canary, your stature hunched and diligent. "Come here," you whisper urgently, loudly, beckoning her over fervently. She reaches for her gun but freezes when you make a noise of disapproval.

Instead, she follows your voice, curiosity and concern weighing the scale in equal measure. "What is it?" She rasps quietly, cresting your side. Your eyes are trained intently on a small, shapeless shadow, lithely prowling the weeds.

"Come here, kitty," you drawl sweetly, clucking your tongue, drumming your thigh. The small creature pauses its strides, slowly lowering itself to the ground, giving an impassive lick of its paws.

"It's a cat," you mutter to Ellie, as if she had not already gathered that.

She refrains from rolling her eyes. "I can see that. Why were you even over here to begin with?"

You pointedly disregard her, taking a heedful step forward, crouching to be level with your new feline friend. "Come here, sweet thing. Come on. It's okay," you lull in a reassuring tone, patting the ground insistently. The cat only stares at you.

You sigh, arms draped defeatedly over your knees, frowning. "Okay. Never mind. Go back, please, I think you're scaring it."

"What?" Ellie snaps, and the cat startles, bracing it's paws in the dirt, back arched. "No way. Animals love me."

"Kay, well, it was coming to me before you came over here, stepping on every single branch you could find." You argue flippantly, shooting her a glare.

"It's your fault, you're the one who called me over here, dick!" Ellie defends airily, waving her hands.

You clap a hand over your mouth to conceal your automatic chuckle. Your rumbling shoulders and escaping snorts give you away. "Okay, okay, fine," you chortle breathily, shaking your head. "God, that look on your face never gets old."

She groans out a husky laugh, falling back a few paces, propping a mocking, insulted hand over her heart. "You are evil."

You flash her a sinister, lippy smile, mischief twinkling in your eyes, before averting your focus back to the cat, who had inched closer while you argued.

"Yes, that's it. Come here, baby," you click your tongue in a series of encouraging noises, and the cat— ears perked, nose sniveling— prances over to you, as if you waved a heaping bag of treats.

You tenderly, dubiously scoop the cat into your arms. Though acutely tense, it allows you to hold it, claws hesitantly retracting from your sleeve, piercing green eyes slitted and alert. "She's hurt," you inform, scratching it's matted, furry back. You slowly ascend to your feet and nod back toward the camp, following Ellie as she begins to trudge back. "I saw her limp by and followed her over here. Do you have some more gauze?"

"For the cat?" Ellie drawls incredulously, shooting you a look over her shoulder, stepping over a cluster of unearthed roots.

"Uh, yes? She's small, it won't take much." You assert, hiking the cat up as it starts to thrash and mewl anxiously. "Please?"

She wanted to tell you no, but she found that it was impossible to form the word— especially when you were gazing at her with sheer hope, head tilted pleadingly. "Fine."

"Woohoo!" You exclaim triumphantly to the cat, softly stroking between its luminous eyes with your thumb, easing its trepidation. It whimpers, pink nose prodding your jaw, pawing at the latticed hem of your tank top. "She said thanks, El-Bell!"

"How do you know it's a she?" Ellie asks as you enter the fire-illuminated clearing, the light casting ominous, flickering shadows over the deep, towering pine trees.

You shrug, hoisting the cat by its underarms, promptly spinning it around and baring its tattered, grimy belly to Ellie. "Yeah. You were right. Girl." She concedes with a grimace.

Ellie resumes her original position as you perch cross-legged across from her, planting the knotted cat in your lap. She's coated in a sweep of sleek, midnight black fur, so sumptuous it reflects the moon's sapphire glow. Her green eyes are unnaturally bright against her dark coat, penetrating through Ellie as she unpacks her gauze.

"I'm getting it," she mumbles to it warily, and it pivots away from her with unnecessary drama, curling it's tail.

"Don't be rude," you reprimand the cat, who ignores your scolding and persistently licks her splintered paw.

"Here you go," Ellie says, tossing you the gauze and medical tape. "You better hope your little friend doesn't get hurt again. I don't have enough supplies to fix her boo-boos."

She swears the cat fucking glares at her, before curiously, reluctantly sniffing at the gauze.

You must have seen it, too, for you giggle smugly. "What was that about animals loving you?"

"Shut up," Ellie grumbles, leaning back, hiking her knees to her chest. Exhaustion weighs heavy on her eyelids. She surveys you, bleary-eyed, as you scoop the cat into your arms and gingerly pry the wound, a pained shriek tearing from it's tiny body.

"Shh, it's okay," you comfort genially, petting her back as you fumble with the gauze, lightly encasing her wounded paw. "See? Almost done, already."

The cat relaxes in your gentle grasp, allowing you to seal the bandage around her paw. Ellie herself is nearly lulled to sleep by the pacification in your tone— the soft, honeyed melody of consolation rolling off your tongue.

"All done," you state quietly, pressing a forbearing kiss to her nicked ear, delicately peeling her out of your lap and placing her on the ground. "Be free, little one."

The cat lingers, staring at you nearly contemplatively. She blinks slowly, languidly, before swiveling away and skittering through the craning grass, disappearing through the trees.

You watch her go with a bleak, placid smile, the wind whipping your hair. Then you turn to Ellie. "You sleep, I'll keep watch."

She opens her mouth to refute, but you slice her a cutting, silencing look. "You're actively falling asleep as we speak. I'm good. You rest. I want to read some more, anyway," you insist blithely, dusting off your pants and walking back to your previous spot.

Ellie merely mumbles a response, her head already drooping. She falls into a brisk, fitful slumber, so tenuous that the snap of a twig could send her lurching. For once, she does not dream. Visions of terror did not cleave her conscious or beat her breathless. She saw only the flicker of light through her eyelids, and the quiet fragility of her own mind.

Until a faint meow has her bursting out of her slouch, eyes darting frantically around the clearing.

The black cat has her uninjured paw primly resting on Ellie's thigh, peering up at her expectantly with eery, incandescent eyes. Upon her attention, she nimbly removes her paw and demandingly rubs her head against her leg instead, another tinny meow ringing out of her.

"She's back. And I think she wants to lay with you," you explain humorously over the pages of your book— now nearly finished.

"Oh?" She replies in bewilderment, as the cat spins and pads her feet a couple of times before nestling into her side, resting her head on her dark paws.

"Can I come lay with you?" You murmur sleepily, casting fleeting, cautious looks at her as you stow your book away. As if already bracing for the sting of her rejection.

Ellie's heart throbs perniciously in her throat; she swallows in trepidation, sweat gathering on her palms. "Yeah. Yeah, of course," she forces out, wiping them on her jeans, straightening. Even after viewing your body after dark and eating your pussy, you make her nervous as fuck.

Even more so now that she knows how good you taste. And how perfect you are. Now she's burdened the knowledge that she cradles something precious in her hands, and she could unintentionally destroy it.

"I added some wood to the fire," you announce wearily, words punctuated by tiny, bursting yawns, as you adjust your oversized corduroy jacket around your shoulders and clamber over to her, a sheepish smile transforming your fatigue-dulled face.

"Come here," Ellie finds herself muttering, mimicking your exhaustion, spreading her legs and gesturing to the grass-cushioned ground beneath her. The cat still pressed into her, undeterred by her shifting.

You crawl delicately into the space between her legs, smiling through the yawn splitting your face, drawing a yawn out of Ellie, too. "Want me to keep watch again? You need to sleep some more," you say, reclining back against her chest and comfortably situating yourself, humming richly in unsuppressed delight.

Ellie wraps her arms around your shoulders, steering you back into her embrace, resting her chin on your mussed head. The affection should not come so naturally; she should not instinctively reach for you. It's not good.

Not fucking good at all.

"No," she whispers navally into your ear, eyeing the blazing fire through the tendrils of your unbound hair, that gleam with the dwindling light. "You sleep. You didn't sleep at all last night."

You tense fragmentarily in her grasp, muscles tightening under her arms. You hesitate, before craning your head back to face her, eyes searching. "You didn't either..." you whisper heedfully, lifting a hand and resting it on her forearm, stroking soothingly.

She had suspected you heard her cries last night. Instead of the confirmation making her feel ashamed, she felt... free. You saw the depths of her despair turn inside out and you did not cower at the hideous, wretched pain she unleashed.

"I never do," she replies baldly, swaying you gently, mouth hovering near the crest of your ear. Your thumbs tenderly caress the scars garnishing her arm, your eyes fluttering blissfully, your body sinking into her warmth. "Just sleep."

The lack of resistance proves just how desperately you needed it. You are whisked into a precipitated, fragile sleep, your breathing light and measured, your frame tucked up and slumped into her chest.

Her mind wanders only briefly to the violence lurking in its dark crevices, as she watches dense tendrils of smoke arise from the tamed fire, whirling and cascading toward the abrasive, glistening night sky, polluting her view of the stars.

She fantasizes of a smoldering house; a massive fire roaring from its pits, erupting in rippling flames that smolder the caving ceiling and dissolve the weak floorboards. She imagines the sear of blistering skin and the melting screams of anguish, of those who had incinerated her heart. She envisions all the relics and archives of her past being licked up by the fire and consumed by the glaring, ravenous heat.

Then she glances down at you, your blank, unconscious face illuminated by the flickering, dim orange glow. Something inside her softens, and she knows, grievously, that she has become malleable and pliant under your molding hands.

She stares at the slumbering, unbothered cat before returning her gaze back to you.

All of her hatred seems an afterthought to what she had right in front of her.

• • •

YOU

Blood pools on the fractured pavement. Firefly laps at it ravenously, her whiskers tinged crimson. "That's disgusting," you scowl disapprovingly, snatching her off the ground. She hisses in protest, clawing aimlessly at your sleeve, eyes crazed with hunger. You tap her bloodied nose reproachfully. "Bad."

She nips at your finger and you relent with a hearty sigh, placing her back on the ground. She skitters behind the rotting carcass of a clicker, it's head blown off in odious, blossoming cordyceps, pulsating dimly in a puddle of venomous blood. It's the first of hundreds.

You lift your head and examine the carnage that laid, revoltingly and obscenely, before your squinting eyes. Dozens upon dozens of butchered infected— cleaved into indistinguishable bits, sputtering blood, gushing decayed organs and crumpled flesh— piled in the lush street.

"What the fuck happened here?" Ellie drawls with a surprising amount of disgust, eyebrows furrowed as she ascended from her crouch, kneading a clump of clotted blood between her fingers.

You gulp down the thick lump of trepidation bulging in your throat, fretfully shaking the tremor out of your hands. "Don't know. It's gnarly, though," you respond, fighting the wobble out of your tone.

Truthfully, you recognize this distinctive gore.

After your parents tore each other to bits, Zander adopted a newfound disdain for infected. Before, he humanized the restless, ungovernable creatures— sympathized with their fucked up fate, to be killed and morphed into a monster.

But after the accident, he hated them. He found impressively disturbing ways to terminate them. Eventually he founded a signature method; to slice them into pieces as your parents had done, unbidden and under the influence of the infections debilitating madness.

This was him. You know, in the deepest caverns of your soul where your joint grief was stored, that this was his doing.

Not to mention the ragged Z carved into the blistered, yellowing flesh of one of the dead runners. You kick it's gnarled, unseemly body over to hide the exhibiting brand from Ellie, curling your lip with rehearsed repulsion. "Gross," you whisper, though internally, relief swarms your nerves, cacooning your apprehension in a warm blanket.

He is alive.

And the mark signifies that he is leaving signs for you to find.

"I'm just mad they beat me to it," Ellie complains under her breath, glowering at the expanse of cadavers cloaking the broken road. She tips your chin up, extracting your lingering gaze from the reeking bodies. "You good?"

You brush her off with a forced, invigorated smile. "Yep!" you chirp, nodding robustly, side-stepping a clicker. "At least we don't have to deal with all of them. Whoever did it, we should thank. Saved us some ammo," you craft your words meticulously as not to unearth your burrowed truth.

Ellie studies you a moment before dropping her hand. "True," she eventually yields, eyes wandering to Firefly, who was attacking a cord of muscle that protruded from the gaping stomach of a dead clicker, gnawing at the tough tissue. "Get your batshit cat. We're losing daylight."

"She's a perfectly normal cat," you retort, though your rebuttal is contradicted by the face you make. You grimace as she swats at a springing cordycep, growling ferociously. "Firefly! Stop that!" You shout, snapping your fingers.

Her ears twitch, head lurching up, green eyes wide. She is deathly still. You snap again, and she darts after Ellie skittishly, following her lead.

You chance another look at the wreckage, toying with the gold wedding band dangling from your throat. It was your mother's. Zander wore your fathers matching one around his neck. You usually kept yours stowed in the pits of your backpack, but you needed that touch of home.

Ellie had lifted your hair and gently latched it around you without questions asked, a hint of understanding in her eyes. You were grateful for her silence in that moment. Usually it unnerved you when she didn't speak. But in that moment it felt like a gift as opposed to a punishment.

"Where are we heading?" You question plainly, tucking the wedding band under your shirt, the memories a wild, unleashed zoo animal, tranquilized and thrown back into its enclosure. The ring is damp with your incessant, sweaty fidgeting.

"There's a place up ahead I like to go. Thought we could rest there for the night," she replies vaguely, glancing furtively at you, then the cat, her lip curling. "I still can't believe you named that thing Firefly."

"It's a cute name," you grumble back, sweeping your sweat-glistening hair off your neck and fanning the hot skin. "You could've come up with something too, you know."

This morning, you had awoken in Ellie's arms, jovial and recharged. For the first time in months, you had an uninterrupted, rejuvenating sleep, one that added a spring to your step and an effortlessness to your trekking. The cat was curled snugly in your lap, her affectionate purrs vibrating against your legs.

Ellie was stiff-necked and ill-tempered for the better half of the day, massaging the tension out of her shoulders and grumbling her responses.

"What should we name her?" You had asked, sprawled on your back, hefting the cat into the air as if she were a wailing baby in desperate need of motion and entertainment.

"Dramatic?" Ellie had quipped dully, and you rolled your eyes skyward.

"What about... oh!" You jerked upright in excitement, still cradling the cat in your arms. "Firefly."

An indecipherable emotion passed over her, tension lining the contours of her face. A hint of contempt glimmered in her eyes, and it felt like she was glaring down her nose at you, judging you like God weigh's pupils of sin, even as she sat at your eye-level. "Don't tell me you believe in that Firefly bullshit, too?"

Her reaction both intrigued and befuddled you. You possessed minimal knowledge on the Fireflies beyond the basics— that they were a reformed militia group that was majorly massacred by a man, who resulted in the death of Abby's father— and that she recruited a few friends to go after said man.

And someone was hunting them down for his murder. You had lost Nora and Jordan to the spiteful hands of his avenger; which is the only bright side to being excluded and shunned from Abby's circle— you were not involved in the man's murder, meaning you will not be involved in whatever vengeance they earned themselves.

Every now and then, back at the base, they get a few former Fireflie's filing in to join the Wolve's. Isaac— the focal overseer and governor of the WLF— was wary of stragglers that claimed past allegiances to the Fireflies, but welcomed them anyway, if they guaranteed to defend the base and protect his established citizens, as you and Zander pledged to do.

"No. Not at all. All of those stupid groups are bullshit," you agreed ardently, shaking your head in aversion, stroking Firefly's tummy. "I meant the actual insect, fireflie's. I just think they are so pretty at night. And I swear I could see the moon reflecting off her. Just seemed fitting."

Ellie had paused the sharpening of her blade. She analyzed you in the dewy, clouded sunlight, combating the interest off her face. But it flashed too late for her to conceal; her eyes lit up. "What other groups do you know about?" She asked carefully.

You shrugged, feigning indifference. "Like the Seraphites," you hummed, finger-combing Firefly's shiny black coat. "And I've seen another group around here. But I think they were just travelers."

Ellie said nothing, resuming her survey of her switchblade. She polished it with a tattered cloth and studied it, and that was that, the subject abandoned.

Now, Ellie snorts, peeling back a looming, overgrown branch to allow you passage. "Nah. That's your cat." She says as you saunter by, even as the cat pads after her, nose tipped to the air, breathing in the sent of damp soil, heady rot and the faint, sweet traces of a budding spring.

You trudge along the rocky, uneven path, bricks and shattered molasses-brown beer bottles specking the dirt, holding hope tight to your chest.

After stumbling upon Zander's mess, all the worry you harbored for your brother had ebbed away. He's alive. You hope the others are, too.

Even if you are not amicable with a large number of his group, a couple of them treated you fairly. Whitney was the closest thing to a friend you had there; she always tracked you down in the mess hall and shared her lunch. She even alternated her watch-shifts with Manny to join you on yours when she could, and shared her access card to the armory to practice shooting with you.

When you had first arrived, you scarcely knew how to use anything beyond a hand-gun. She trained you on a variety of firearms when your free time corresponded; you owe the new capabilities that kept you alive on this expedition to Whitney. She was the only one who never made you feel bad about it. She simply demonstrated for you without comment or judgement.

You hope whoever was sent to retrieve you— if anyone at all— was safe. Though, considering that Isaac didn't even send out a search party for Owen when he went missing, you doubt that he would gamble the life of his prized soldiers just to find a meaningless girl who was bullied and deluded out of his faction.

Clearly it did not stop Zander from looking for you, if the mutilated bodies of those infected were any indication. It could not be a coincidence. You know it was him. You just know it.

A strange part of you just hopes he doesn't find you yet. You have an intuitive, twisting suspicion churning in your gut, that this tenuous thing between you and Ellie will snap if anyone, or anything disrupts it.

You have a feeling that in finding him, you'll lose her. And you don't know what that means. You don't know where you're supposed to go from here; but you know that you can't just let her go.

With that, you saunter up to Ellie and flash her a winning, mindless smile, slithering your hand snugly into her back pocket. She tugs you flush into her side with a finger curled in your belt loop, and you stumble into her with a stunned laugh, Firelfy at your heels. You wish things could stay this easy.

You look at her and find strength beyond what had been forced upon you— a strength to fight for a better future.

• • •

Tangled, warm white Christmas lights dimly illuminate the abandoned teen-girls bedroom. Peeling posters are plastered to the walls, fraying with age and weathered by earth's course battering. A threadbare beanbag chair collected dust in the corner, the once vibrant purple now grimy and muted with time. Cobwebs edge the corners of the room in a luminous sprawl, their thick tendrils sparkling under the light.

You could see why Ellie found comfort in this place.

A black rack of CD's lined the desk, where the residue of ripped and prodded band stickers marred the refined oak. A thick coating of dust blanketed the surface. Your eyes flicker from the impressive album collection to the hot-pink poster board taped haphazardly to the closet with leopard print duct tape. Emboldened words scrawled in bright marker and glitter gel pens jut out in bubbled letters— MAISIE'S SUMMER BUCKET LIST 2003!

You avert your attention back to the desk, and the stack of mussed, tattered sketchbooks. The black covers are stained with charcoal and splotches of solidified paint, pages scattered. You rummage through one idly, thumbing through the doodles that range from gleaming sunrises to descriptive depictions of infected in a variety of stages, flowers blooming from their skulls instead of cordyceps.

You hum, grazing your pinkie over the elaborate drawings. "Have you seen these? They're..." you trail off in bewilderment when you glance up at what had captured Ellie's attention.

The dead body of a fallen solider.

Ripped camo dangled in tattered strips from the skeletal frame slumped against the unhinged door. It's jaw was missing, baring decaying teeth. Flies rattled in its hollow skull and buzzed busily about its frame. Ellie crouches and examines the chain enveloping it's neck. "They were a firefly," she informs you bleakly from over her shoulder, smoothing a thumb over the raised design etched into the pendant.

She rips it off it's neck sharply, and an involuntary screech bursts out of you when the head rolls off the body with a sickening crunch, thudding to the floor, sending up a cloud of dust. Ellie watched it fall with disinterest, holding the necklace up to you. "We should put it on your cat," she says, glaring pointedly at Firefly, who nestled herself into the bean bag and chewed on something dead she scoured, tail waving lethargically.

"Go ahead. I'd wait until she's done eating, though, or else she might maul you."

She releases a long-suffering sigh but ascends from her crouch, jingling the pendant tauntingly in your face, eyebrows raised. You laugh as she pursues Firefly with rightful caution. Her deliberate movements do not stop the cat from freezing and glowering at her, dark fur elevating.

"It's okay," Ellie drawls with no conviction. "Relax, dude."

Firefly makes to dart away, but Ellie swiftly wrestles her into her arms, holding her firm, as she hisses and screams in protest, squirming. "Come here, little devil," she grunts out harshly, sloppily clipping the pendant around her neck. Firefly swats violently, nicking her with a razor-sharp claw.

Ellie relinquishes her grip and Firefly wastes no time scrambling away, scurrying under the half-dilapidated bed. Her brilliant green eyes flare with menace from the shadows, narrowed at her.

"The shit I do for you," Ellie clicks her tongue and brandishes the furious scratch that superficially sliced her arm.

You ignore the jest. "Should we get rid of... of..." you stutter, gesturing at the body apprehensively, shifting from foot to foot. "That?"

Ellie nods, and you follow her to where it's rotting. She carelessly scoops up the skull and chucks it out of the gaping hole in the wall, before bracing her hands on the remnants of its body, leveling you with a look. You scramble to aid her, mustering a confirming nod back.

With joint effort, you shove it over the edge of the building. You peer over the jutted lip of the bedroom; numerous stories stretched between you and the pavement. Mist gathers in a dense, ominous cloud, shielding your view of the ground below. The bones clatter and deconstruct until they're engulfed by the haze. You were so far up, you couldn't hear them break against the earth.

You glance at Ellie to find her already observing you.

"What?"

She simply shrugs and rises, dusting the loitering essence of death off her hands, changing the topic with a fluidity that came with her consistent avoidance. "We can either try to fix that bed or sleep on the floor. Take your pick."

"I don't think Firefly would appreciate it if we took away her hiding spot," you quip, and it was settled.

The day was not yet done, but you set up camp regardless. Both of you maneuver in a pleasant silence as you unbundle your sleeping bags and roll them over the stained, carpeted floor. Ellie positions hers a whopping ten feet away from yours, the distance nearly offensive. "What are you doing?" You ask in disbelief, pausing your bed-making to gawk at her, open-mouthed.

"What?" She snaps in alarm, glancing around, looking for tangible evidence of her misdeed.

You point at her bed roll incredulously. "Why are you so far from me?"

She tenses and flicks her gaze away, her bag sliding off her shoulder and to the floor with a hefty thud. "I didn't want to assume you'd want to sleep by me."

You blink fervently. "Ellie."

She watches uncertainly as you punctuate her name and drag her sleeping bag next to yours, until they're close to overlapping. "You literally had your tongue inside of me. Stop being weird all of a sudden."

She visibly reddens, a vicious blush blotching her cheeks. You open your mouth to continue, adrenaline coursing through your veins, when she charges at you and cups a silencing hand over your mouth, a pained smirk tugging at her lips. "Just stop!" She hisses, her lips a wobbling line as she resists a grin of her own.

You chuckle and stumble back, licking her palm. She blanches and releases you, wiping her spit-damp hand on her jeans, her sudden movement sending you plummeting to the floor. You drag her down with you, your breathy laughs mingling as you collapse in a tangle of limbs onto the sea of slippery blankets.

You both burst into another fit of laughter when Firefly growls at all the commotion. She pads out into the foyer, swaying her tail with sass.

"Do you ever shut up?" Ellie mutters lowly, laughter clinging onto every lulled syllable, as she props herself on an elbow and gazes down at you, running a finger over your bottom lip.

You smile, and she traces the shape of it.

"Do you want me to?" You whisper humorously, and her thumb joins her finger in its exploration of the curves of your face, stroking your cheek with an unlikely tenderness that had the power to undo you.

"Never," she mumbles back, applying a chaste, shapeless kiss to the corner of your mouth. It's not enough. She deigns to pull away but you sling an arm over the back of her neck and hold her in place, lips seeking hers with repressed fervor.

She groans into your mouth, the decadent sound rumbling through you, alighting a glimmering need within. You increase the speed and intensity of the kiss— her noises an invitation for more— and propel yourself up with a hand plastered unsteadily to the floor, combing your fingers through her hair with the other.

Her hand rests on your throat, the pressure existent but not imposing, as she guides you into a languorous dance with your tongues. You buck your hips up to sate the craving for pressure and she slips a hand down to your waist, guiding you up and into her.

"I want you for real this time," she blurts breathlessly, words blasting into your tingling, swollen lips. Her eyes are teeming with earnest, pupils so dilated with lechery, they reflect you, doe-eyed and wanting. "No interruptions. I don't fucking care what it is... I'm not going to stop." She utters the words with quivering determination, fumbling with the button of your jeans.

You desperately nod your assent, arching up to assist her in removing your jeans. She brushes fluttery kisses to your exposed midriff where your tank top had ridden up, hurriedly tugging your jeans down, until they pooled at your ankles. She shucks them over your cowboy boots and hurls them to the side.

Your heart hammers with anticipation, core throbbing at the sight of her absolutely unraveled with yearning. Ever since that night in the hospital, you've wanted more. Needed more. You were just as fucked up by your need for her. It consumed you, ate you from the inside out, until all that was left was a thirst that could not be quenched without her hands on you.

"Fuck me, Ellie," you demand hoarsely, winding your hands up her thighs and shakily unbuttoning her jeans as she looms over you. She arches back and unabashedly shreds off her shirt as you hike down her jeans, unveiling small, supple breasts and hard, tantalizing nipples.

You kiss up her pelvis, across her toned, bruised abdomen and to her sternum, licking a slow stripe over one of her nipples and swirling it on your way up, eyes trained on hers lasciviously. You nip and suckle at a spot on her neck and she cranes her head back, hiccuping a sharp cry. She pants and lulls her head as you kiss and nibble the bared column of her throat, her hands roaming up the front of your body, palming your tits through your shirt.

She lifts herself off of you momentarily to kick off her jeans over her Converse, discarding them quickly, before she's back on top of you.

She's framed by the dying daylight penetrating the gaping hole behind her, her eyes flickering over you hungrily. She glides her hands under the hem of your tank top and yanks it over your head, tousling your hair, rejected with all the other articles of scattered clothing.

She pries your legs apart forcefully, and you squeak, as she pulls you closer to her. "How do you want it?" She croons gravelly, voice rich with heady desire, eyes honed in on your face with predatory focus. As if she could take every hint of pleasure you show and have it for herself. She straddles your pelvis and slowly, faintly swipes her pussy over yours, your clit throbbing at the contact. "Like this?"

She cradles your leg in her arm and drags her pussy across yours again, this time with more force. You bite your lip to suppress a whimper at the delicious sensation. "Or do you want me to really fuck you?" She thrusts against you hard for emphasis and you choke back a stunned moan, jerking.

"Yes," you breathe carnally, hair fanning around your head, mouth agape— all subtly gone with the wind that billowed through the room and cooled your slick skin.

"Yes, what? Use your words," she demands, hand encasing your throat, rocking into you with that same jarring force, another moan escaping you.

"Fuck me," you pant, nearly drooling, the husk of her words a fuel to the kindling that was her pussy moving against yours, "Please just fuck me. I need you, Ellie."

She smirks haughtily, wicked satisfaction gleaming in her blue eyes. "That's my girl," she praises knowingly, leaning down until her mouth brushes your panties. She sinks her teeth into them and tears them straight off your body, her hand never abandoning its anchoring hold on your throat. The movement was so effortless you could feel yourself dripping, the duality of this woman stupefying you.

How she could go from awkward at your flirting, to claiming your body as if it were a land she possessed and ruled in the matter of minutes.

You whimper unintelligible nonsense, unable to form coherent words to convey your debilitating need. Wanting her feels as natural and essential as breathing. Explaining it is nowhere near as simple.

She removes herself from you just to slide her own panties off, repositioning herself between your legs, holding your leg to her chest. She offers no warning before she grinds her bare, wet pussy into yours, the skin on skin making tingles of pleasure erupt through your core.

It was nearly too much.

You emit a shuddering moan and arch your back as she returns her calloused hand to your throat and slams into you, rolling her hips, your clits rubbing and chafing. "That's it. Fuck," she hisses out, her tattooed arm stark against your thigh as she hoists it to her, using it to drive into you with fierce precision, your pussy's slapping together stickily.

"Oh my fucking god," you mewl dumbly, tits bouncing, as she angles her hips and relentlessly drives her pelvis into yours, her breaths clipped and high-pitched. You undulate your hips and grind up into her, meeting the ferocity of her thrusts, your juices coinciding and glistening on your thighs. "Ellie."

"Fuck, yeah," she pants blissfully, peering down at you. "You feel so good."

She leans over you, slapping a hand next to your head, folding your leg up to your chest, the position allowing for better movement. She grinds into you from the new angle, your clits gliding and throbbing, and you feel yourself ascending higher and higher, toward that peak you nearly met the other night, at the hospital.

She fucks you nearly senseless, your frame wracking with her thrusts. She burrows her face into the crook of your neck, hot breath ghosting your skin, tiny grunts departing her lips. She grazes her teeth over the flesh and you shudder, her hand that was planted to the floor snaking up and finding yours, interlocking your fingers.

"I'm gonna cum," you whimper into her mussed hair, writhing beneath her, choppily grinding up, your muscles tight. You use the hand that's not intertwined with hers to fist her hair and reer her head back, until your faces are level, gazes locked. Both of you are heavy-lidded and pupil-blown, her eyes brimming with that same pleasure that was mounting in you.

"Cum with me," she orders breathily, your noses compressing, and on demand your body convulses and a blinding white light shreds through your vision, an uncontrolled moan belting out of you as she continues to fuck you through your orgasm.

"Fuck," she groans without restraint as your pussy's squelch, a cry leaving her as she reaches her own peak, her eyebrows furrowed, a dimple surfacing between her brow. She breathes into your open mouth, and you claim it as your own, granting her fleeting kisses through the aftermath.

Not a single thought filters through your head. Nothing beyond her drenched pussy, resting dormant upon your slick thigh, and her lips eloping with yours. You don't even know where to begin when it comes to processing the unprecedented feeling that roared throughout your body, or the swelling off your heart.

Neither of you say a word, your harsh, heavy breathing mingled and protruding the silence. Ellie peels herself off of you, her legs shaking as she thuds to the sleeping bag adjacent to you, her damp forehead pressed into your bare shoulder. She peppers a few kisses over it before falling back, expelling a deep, contented sigh.

You angle your head to face her, a dazed grin splitting your face. "What. The. Fuck. You've been holding out on me," you muse dreamily, playfully swatting at her.

She snickers huskily, scratching her head, propping it on an elbow. Her bare chest glistens and heaves with her labored breaths, as she reaches under the broken bed and slips out a shoebox. She dumps the contents out on her abdomen— a packet of finely minced weed, rolling sheets, a mini box of matches and one pre-rolled joint. "You smoke?"

"I have. Don't do it much though," you admit with a sheepish chuckle, watching her. She licks the length of the joint to insure its sealed before slipping it between her lips and lighting a match, bringing it to the tip. She waves out the tiny flame once smoke billows from the end, taking a measured, steady drawl.

She closes her eyes briefly at the sensation before passing it to you. Her lips quirk as you survey it dubiously before holding it hesitantly to your mouth, sucking in. Her smirk morphs into a resounding laugh when you sputter out a choppy haze of smoke, a profound burn blistering your lungs.

"That shits gross," you cough gutturally, passing it back, batting the swirling smoke out of the air. "You keep that stuff here?"

"No," she responds, smirking, inhaling another graceful heap of smoke. Exhaling slowly. You watch her watch the tendrils churn through the otherwise still air. "It was here when I found this place. Whoever lived here before was stashing it," she glances to the summer bucket list, "Maisie was a stone-er." She chides, flicking the ashes off and taking another hit.

She is noticeably put at ease. Her muscles are relaxed, and her smiles form innately and without dictation. As if all her worries have been laid to rest, now that she got to feel you.

It had the opposite affect on you.

The dark, possessive thoughts that have been circulating your mind like vultures preying on rotting roadkill did not flea at the taste of her.

All it did was amplify your morbid longing.

You snuggle into her embrace and rest your head against her drumming sternum, entangling your sweat-glowing legs together, fusing your bodies. She holds the joint to your lips and you take a drag, careful not to invoke another coughing fit, and she takes one after you, blowing precise, opaque O's with the smoke. She gently runs her fingertips up and down the length of your arm, clutching you to her.

"Can we do it again?" You blurt, angling your head up to face her, and she pauses her stroking. She says nothing as her hand winds down your arm, coasts over your hip, and creeps between your legs.

You suck in a breath when two fingers collect the wetness pooling at your entrance and drag your slick to your clit, rubbing delicately, the feather-light application of pressure evoking a whimper out of you. You squirm and rock into her hand, and she chuckles on a weed-laced breath, "Mm. You want me to fuck you again?"

You nod frantically as she works your pussy with her fingers. She sits up suddenly, taking you with her, until your spread in her lap. She holds the joint between her lips as she uses one hand to palm your breast and the other to expertly thumb your clit, smoke coiling from her nostrils. "Needy fucking girl," her approving groan is muffled by the joint, as she inches her fingers down your wet folds, teasing your entrance. "You want my fingers again?"

"Please," you whine, as reeking smoke tickles your earlobe and wafts into your face, the hand that wasn't easing fingers into your cunt slithering down to keep one of your legs spread, curling around your thigh, kneading and caressing, the joint between her massaging fingers.

You reach back to feather your fingers through her hair, riding her hand, breathy gasps escaping your lips. "Mhm. Good girl," she praises gravelly into your ear, curling her digits inside of you, stroking that sweet spot.

You tug helplessly on her hair and crash your head back onto her shoulder, arching desperately as she makes you cum for the second time, this time drenching her rough fingers.

She doesn't stop there. She maneuvers you out of her lap and sprawls you onto the bed roll, your legs spread, pussy gleaming and sated before her devouring eyes. She braces your thighs in her arms, takes a hit, and exhales onto your clenching pussy, the faint gust stimulating your throbbing clit. You moan and attempt to inch away, but she pins you down and eats you stupid, until her chin is dribbling with your juices, her sardonic smile highlighted by the cum glistening on her lips.

After she was done, she unburried herself from your legs and licked the juices off her lips, eyeing you sensually. She acted as if she were about to go right back down, when Firefly began scratching at the door insistently, meowing manically. Both of you redressed, hefting your tops and underwear back on.

You let the cat in and enveloped yourself in the near-translucent, cotton sheets, observing her as she tiptoes in, sniffing the air. She follows the scent to the crumpled joint on the floor, nosing it curiously. Ellie clicks her tongue in reprimand and tosses it over the side of the building before she tries to eat it. The last thing you needed was a high cat.

After discarding the joint, Ellie plops down on the hazardous edge, swinging her legs. She looks at you from over her bruised shoulder. "Come on," she urges, patting the space next to her.

You oblige, the sheet trailing you as you wander over to her. She takes your hand as you gingerly lower yourself beside her, effortfully prying your gaze from the dizzying height.

The mist had cleared with the days dissipating humidity, revealing the enchanting sweep of ocean that spread before you, dark waves emphasizing the curve of the earth. The sun gleams amber like a glass of whiskey caught in the light, painting the clouds a mass of colors, descending toward the seam of sky and sea.

You avert your attention back to Ellie. Her eyes are sealed, brown lashes fluttering with the breeze, tawny hair cascading with the salt-tinged wind. Her freckles are emphasized by the golden, showering glow, gilding her features. You sit on your hands to keep yourself from tracing them.

Firefly inches over, perching next to you, her green eyes mirroring the setting sun. You close your eyes and drop your head onto Ellie's shoulder, wrapping the sheet around her.

There's a prolonged beat.

And then she tilts her head and rests it on yours, hand gripping your thigh proprietarily. You don't even hesitate. You slide your hand over hers and stroke the bruises blossoming on her knuckles, smiling to yourself.

taglist: @elliesexual @jottedinklings @a-little-bit-of-everybody … let me know if you want to be tagged for updates

[disguisedchaos]

This is the fifth of my 12 LGBTQIA+ Sims - They represent the colors in the Progress Pride Flag 🏳️‍🌈🤎🖤🩵🩷🤍💛💜

TRIGGER WARNING: I mention Su*c*de!

This is Blake. She was born in Okinawa and spent the first few years there. Blake is the result of a short-lived romance her mother had with an American soldier (who's half polish). After he went back to Seattle, he sent a package that contained a short apology with a name suggestion, a few toys for Blake, and a check for 700 US Dollars. Blake was four years old when her mother couldn't deal with the work-related stress and the responsibilities of being a single parent anymore. They traveled to Kyōto where Blake met her grandparents. Her mother left without her and committed suicide just 10 months later. Blake's grandparents tried their best to give her a childhood filled with happiness and laughter. And they succeeded. But a few months ago, her grandmother was diagnosed with cancer and is now unable to work at the family owned restaurant. Blake decided to help out and is now trying to turn the restaurant into a more popular place with a social media presence. She already organized some well received events. Blake thankfully has the full support of her grandfather and her uncle.

A big thanks to all the cc-creators! You made this possible! If someone sees their stuff and I forgot to tag them .. let me know :) Also, let me know about grammatical errors because english is not my first language 😅

@serenity-cc @aharris00britney @caio-cc @joliebean @twisted-cat @pralinesims @jius-sims @sentate @helgatisha @goppolsme @kijiko-sims @okruee @obscurus-sims @lamatisse @aladdin-the-simmer @giuliettasims @joshseoh @birba32 @solstice-sims @powluna @wisteriasimss4 @suzuesims @kikuruacchi @eunosims @keirosims @enriques4 @daylifesims @sagittariahx @simcelebrity00 @rustys-cc @moonmoonsim @sims3melancholic @reevaly @izziemcfiresims-blog @christopher067 @oakiyo @dissiasims @arethabee @ice-creamforbreakfast @crypticsim @cosimetics-cc @mortanko-sims @ellone-andreea @msqsimsofficial @remussirion @glitterberrysims @thepeachyfaerie @idsims @valley-tulya @bobur-tsr / on TSR: MURPHY, Seleng, ZENX, Fly Stone, Arltos, Anonimux, S-Club, Izzie McFire / also: Wightspider

[almondmacaronmacchiato]

August Hyde CC🖇️ (wip)

My Sims 4 Whimsy Expanded Legacy founder's, June McKinney, future wife August Hyde. From homeless and closeted to engaged and happily transitioning. She is Active, Good, and Romantic.(+Creative, Cheerful if more traits in CAS is loaded.)

Download her on my gallery, Gallery ID @ 'almondmacarons'!!!

To begin, I use many lighting mods + the Gshade preset The Forest II by UTOPYA, she may not look exactly the same with different lighting. She comes with 18 premade outfits that I will link to in no particular order other than by creator. She is romantically and sexually attracted to women, has medically (minus bottom surgery) and socially transitioned via the amazing LGBTQ+ mod by Lumpinou. Her custom content is not made by me, and amounts to 0.97GBs in total. That means 81 files, which I have linked below...

[NORTHERN SIBERIA WINDS] -EYES N20. -PHILTRUM N1 MM OVERLAY. -LOWER EYELIDS N1 MM OVERLAY. -FACE SCULPTOR ADD-ONS N1 & N2. -CLEAVAGE MASK N6 MM OVERLAY & FEMALE TORSO MASK N2 MM OVERLAY.

sims3melancholic -bikinis(all in on) -body mask #17 -eyebrows #34 -highlight collection -sclera #4

Simpliciaty -AdiaLoungewearSet -BiancaTop -ElisaTop -GabiMatchingSetTop -MyaeTop -NellieGown -OceanaBikini -SvanaTop obscurus-sims -hairline N1 -nosemask_nostrils -skin N21 overlay

JohnnySims -Bernard_Hair_V1_MF & Bernard_Hair_V2_MF -Clarence_Hair_V1_MF

[JOSH JO_SE_OH] -Ellie (Seattle) Hair -Lighting Overlay 2.0 (TRUE BLACK) MERGED -Universal Hair Overlay MERGED

SIMANDY -FlyToTheMoon_Collection_MERGED -Spotlight-v2_MERGED

serenity -AlexaChung_Heels -AriScarf -StarsignNecklaces_Aries

[bluerose-sims] -DenimCargoOutfit -DenimCargoPantsFemale -Jessica DenimCargoPants

[ohmybunnny] -basic barbie - merliah bottom -xtimas collection - jinglebell dress

Belaloallure -kyndria_shorts -Skye_dress

Madlen -Kaisa Outfit -Xoria Jacket -Charm Duo Boots

[AxA] --SashaTop_V2 [Aladdin] --Elegant- Joe Ring [CHARONLEE] -2023-005-Knit Tube Top&Short [D1][arethabee] -chipped nails masc [fairybarn] -snowy escape layered outfit [Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla] -Semi Cropped Sweater [helgatisha] -Moles N1_merged [Jius] -LeatherPlatformAnkleBoots05 [MB] -AFM def teeth japanese [mellosaki] -tighter than tight tights f [minzza] tempo xiumin earring(mv) [MISSME] -My Teddy (slight nsfw warning!) [poyopoyo] -Nosemask N4 [RONA-SIMS] -Freddy Engineer Boots ASHwwa -Streetwear set#03 boot Christopher067 -Evermore_Boots euno -23 0324 miumiu belt micro shorts GPME -M Liner cc1 Korka-Sims -Jesse_hoody kouukie -OrganicHairline_MMColorsADULT_BIRTHMARK LazyEyelids -fsh_chelsea_boots(suede) NESURII -LittleDetails-RightDimpleSlot faaeish -noseyposeysdmerged-faaeish Plumbhead -MesmerizedBodyBlushSkinDetails Pralinesims -Lip_N236_LucidDream S-CLUB -S-CLUB-ACC(believe it this one?) sforzinda -addons42-accbeanie squea -dramaticeyeshadow_tattoo Trillyke -Incheon_Sneakers_1_Female TwistedCat -Lashes_NO3_Glasses MissValentine142 -Valentine_Boots_Ester ✰Babyetears✰ -ScreamsJeans ??? -CocoCiCiSet

For the rest of her makeup I'm afraid I only have '[eyeshadow]merged.package' so I cannot track down the CC creators but I will link to it. :p

[eurydike-on-media]

If you’ve ever got the opportunity to spend a little time admiring jellyfish, you’d best take it. They’re soothing, little immortals with their mindless movements and serene colors. You’re particularly lucky if you get to see them with colorful lights 🪼

This particular bunch are moon jellies at the Seattle Aquarium’s Ring of Life exhibit.

[punkassfrance]

Sierra Nevada - Chapter IX - Ellie/Abby

Chapter IX: Agrippina (Work length ~1.8k) This work is rated M for canon-typical violence and gore. Please look here for a full list of warnings for the series, specific warnings will be provided at the start of each chapter. This chapter contains: potentially triggering medical content. Previous Chapter - Full Series

Abby

Lev is hot enough to keep them both warm for a spell.

He stares distantly into the white wilderness as Abby holds him, the serenity of the porch swing ruined by her heartbeat thrashing in her ears. He hasn’t spoken since Abby pulled him into her arms and rushed him outside. She’s shivering, but it doesn’t matter for now. The snow is hard to see in the gradually falling night, flurries piling on the feet of snow they already have. It’s only a few weeks to Christmas if Abby remembers right.

She looks down at Lev, at his pale face in the porch light, blinking absently as he watches the trees. A scavenged plastic bag filled with snow rests on his forehead.

There are no thoughts in her head as she gazes down at him. Nothing she wants to hear, nothing she wants to think about right now. Lev is still burning up as Abby shudders in the snow—she can tell even through his clothing. One hand has a loose grip on Abby’s shirt, the other limp at his side.

Without thinking, her eyes drift to the rewrapped wound on his thigh. Ellie had rushed to bandage it before Abby took him outside, then sped off to do God knows what for the last half hour. She better be doing something fucking useful, Abby thinks with halfhearted spite. There’s a lot she can’t bring herself to think about right now. Ellie somehow seems like the safest option.

If she doesn’t think about Ellie, she’ll think about something else. She’ll think about Lev, her ward, her baby brother, dying in her arms. Fighting off something even Seattle’s best can’t defend him from. She’ll think about Yara. How she’d be nearly nineteen if she’d ever made it off the island. How she really doesn’t know where Yara is. Lev’s told her about the Seraphite’s intricate burial rites—but Yara died an apostate. For all Abby knows, her body was burned with the wolves.

If she doesn’t think about Ellie, she’ll think about herself. What she could have done to stop this. If they’d taken another path through the mountains, if they hadn’t stopped to look for supplies, if Abby had fired just a few seconds sooner, if she’d insisted on looking for antibiotics. She’s not sure what’s worse to consider—all she could have done to prevent this, or how little control she has after it’s too late.

Abby has never been the praying type. Still, she looks out to the woods with Lev, takes a deep breath, and whispers something desperate to the trees.

The sliding door opens behind her some minutes later. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see a thermometer in Ellie’s hand, extended out for her to take. She sluggishly accepts it and adjusts it in Lev’s mouth as Ellie watches.

“…heater’s turned down. Should be more comfortable for him at least.”

Abby feels her heart drop. Keep him comfortable. She knows what that means. Or, she thinks she does until Ellie pulls out a notepad from the pocket of her flannel. “…what’s that?”

“I dug through the medical books in the garage a bit. These should all help at least a little.” She holds the paper out for Abby to see a list of medications. Or, she thinks that’s what it is—Ellie’s handwriting is chicken scratch. She’s noted the antibiotics, the antipyretics, the painkillers. A few are marked with stars beside the names.

“Do we have any of this…?”

Ellie presses her lips together and shakes her head. “We have ibuprofen, that should at least help with the fever, but it’s not going to be enough. I’m going out to look and see what I can find.”

Abby squeezes her eyes shut and looks down, trying not to get her hopes up. It’s hard to identify how she feels, hearing that Ellie is willing to fight for Lev. But she can’t let that be enough.

“I’m going too.”

“What?” Ellie sounds vaguely annoyed, as hard as she tries to hide it. “No, you need to take care of him and stuff. I can manage without you, Abby—”

“I said I’m going.” Abby asserts, looking up to Ellie with narrowed eyes. She has to do this. She has to know there’s nothing else she could possibly be doing to fix this. “You don’t have to come with me, but I’m going. You’re not stopping me.”

Ellie stares down at her, expression unreadable before she nods. “Fine.”

The thermometer beeps. Abby takes it and squints—103.4. Too high.

She looks back up at Ellie. Neither of them speak, unsure of what there is to say. Snowflakes are nearly glowing in her auburn hair, illuminated by warmth cast from the porch light. When she lets it down, it brushes her pale collarbones. Any guise of a tan faded quickly when the snow fell—only freckles remain across the bridge of her nose.

“…just let me sit out here with him for a minute. He still needs to cool off.”

Ellie nods. Her eyes drift for a moment before she steps back inside, only gone for a moment. When she returns, Abby doesn’t look at her. Her gaze is fixed on Lev, his bleary eyes, blinking slowly up at her. Something warm and woolen wraps over her shoulders. It smells like Vetiver.

Ellie’s already disappeared back into the house when Abby looks up.

-

Ellie

Abby paces nervously by the front door as Ellie laces her boots. Lev is as safe as he’s going to get upstairs, but she can never seem to set her worries aside for him. It’s nearing midnight, and to make things worse, Lev barely has the mind to hold a weapon right now, let alone fire it. Still, a loaded shotgun sits on his bed. Abby insisted.

“You’re sure we have time?” Her voice betrays a faltering confidence. She’s been cracking her knuckles at the doorway for the last ten minutes. If the circumstances were any different, Ellie would have told her to knock it off about nine minutes ago. If Abby’s trying to look calm, it’s not working.

“Yeah.” Ellie nods as she stands, hauling her bag up onto the couch. If she’s honest, she’s not sure of anything right now. But it doesn’t matter. They can spend their time moping and panicking, or they can do something useful. And Abby doesn’t need to hear that Ellie doesn’t know what she’s doing. Not right now.

“What are you doing?” Abby stops her pacing, but continues bending and twisting her fingers anxiously.

Ellie looks up from her bag, various objects already tossed onto the couch. “We need room if we’re going to bring pills back. We’re just gonna grab everything we find and hope we got what we need.”

Abby grimaces. It’s an uncertain plan, Ellie knows, but it’s the best shot they have. Any medicine they can get their hands on could be helpful down the road. “What about your stuff?”

Ellie glances down at the discarded items beside her bag, pressing her lips together and shrugging. “Need room in the bag. Nothing you wouldn’t have.”

“You shouldn’t—”

“Guess you’re gonna have to have my back then, huh?” Ellie slings the lighter bag over her shoulders, raising an eyebrow.

She can see Abby analyze the pile—fire starting kit, a revolver, materials and various things she’s not eager to go without. Pressing her lips together, she nods, adjusting the straps on her bag.

“You ready?”

Abby swallows, casting one last glance to the stairs before she straightens and nods. “Let’s go.”

-

Abby

When the door locks behind them, Abby lets out a breath, steam rising into the night air. It’s dark, the front porch only lit by the flashlight strapped to Ellie’s backpack. Ellie doesn’t flinch as she adjusts her bag and starts off towards the driveway, only pausing to make sure Abby’s following. She’s close behind, too wary to stray from Ellie’s flashlight as she shakes power into her own.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Abby mutters as she wraps her scarf up around her face. It’s freezing. They’ve been outside for less than a minute and the cold already threatens to numb her face.

Ellie nods, tightening her coat around herself. If Abby’s cold, she can only imagine how Ellie’s feeling. “Yeah, there’s a pharmacy…maybe an hour away.”

“Have you checked out the area?”

She pauses, silent for too many seconds. “…yeah.”

“That was kind of a long pause.”

Ellie gives her a sidelong glance, glowering softly before her eyes return to the frosted over road. They’re lucky there was an extra pair of cleats lying around—otherwise, this would be a much longer journey through the ice. “What, you think I’m lying?”

“I didn’t say that.”

They walk in silence. Abby’s learned by now not to expect immediate answers from Ellie. She’ll leave Abby hanging if she feels like it, only answering when the urge strikes her.

“I…checked out the area when I first got here. I got an idea of what was there, but I heard something coming and bolted.”

“Heard what coming?”

“I didn’t stick around to fucking find out.”

Abby swallows, furrowing her eyebrows as the trees pass them by. It doesn’t shake her resolve, not in the slightest, but it’s not reassuring. Nothing could convince her to turn back at this point. Having access to a pharmacy at all is a miracle, even if they have to cut down an entire horde to get to it.

“…do you know if there’s anything still there?”

“I didn’t see any broken windows, the doors were still locked.”

“Not what I asked.”

Ellie scoffs, turning to glare at Abby. “Well it’s the answer I fucking have. You got a better idea, wolf?”

Abby grimaces. Nobody’s called her that in a long time—not even Lev calls her that anymore. As much as she misses about Seattle and the front, she doesn’t miss what they stood for. What she did to defend land she felt nothing for.

“I’m not a wolf anymore.”

“Whatever.” Ellie looks down at her boots as she walks, barely shaking her head. She probably didn’t mean anything by it, by the implication that Abby hasn’t changed at all, but she feels herself prickling at the suggestion anyway.

“That hasn’t been me for a long time, okay?”

“I don’t really give a fuck.”

“Clearly you do, Ellie. I’m not the one who’s been starting fights for no reason.”

“You seem pretty willing to fight back, though.”

Abby huffs, chewing on her lip. “Has anyone ever told you you’re fucking impossible?”

“Plenty. Say it again though—maybe it’ll stick this time.”

Somehow, the cold gets more bearable as they walk. Maybe it’s the exercise, or the blood rushing to Abby’s cheeks, or the irritation, or the stress. As tempting as it is to let Lev weigh on her mind, to ruminate on his wellbeing, it’s not going to help anything right now. She can’t do anything for him if she dies out here, too distracted to fight when it counts. She has to get back to him.

There’s no other option.

Kind of a transitionary chapter, I know. Still think I ate with that first part though...

Thank you to @plum98 for the forest divider! Feel free to say hi or drop your thoughts in my askbox, check out my AO3 or my about me if you're interested!

Series Taglist: @a-little-bit-of-everybody

[ivy-meshle]

Deadball that’s not the practice season I set up happening! I’m working through a run of Parker Simulator that’s helping flesh out Godball, another horror baseball sim that I’m coding, and decided to actually play out some of the games in the exhibition matches between Blaseball and Godball teams (namely the ones he’s playing in since he got forced onto the Garages). In the first game, a Ritual was completed and two players were Taken, one from the Seattle Garages and the other from the Washington DC Currents. (Ritual and Taken are both Godball terms, not Blaseball ones). Seren Moss and Wry McDonald now reside in the realm of Sellihna, the Storm’s Face. We welcome in their stead Rosa Friday and Lia Cole.

In the second game, things were far less interesting (at least to the metaphysicist). The Garages’ pitcher Rivers Clembons did, notably, manage to not only shutout the Salt Lake City Lakes (not very difficult, the Lakes are the worst team in Godball by a mile and a half, having won exactly two out of the eighteen games they have so far played in the current season of Godball), but pitch a perfect game (substantially more difficult, even against the Lakes).

More updates to come soon. Perhaps deeper insight into how Parker MacMillan IX (look, the tally marks got to be more of a pain to write out than Roman numerals after Parker MacMillan IIII II), Liaison from Blaseball to the Godball Consortium, has been dealing with the loss of his budding friendship with the now-Taken Moss (hint: Not Well!).

[trulybetty]

dec' 14 x books

Prompt: books Pairing: frankie x reader Word Count: 945 Warnings: a little festive angst sprinkled with some joy, barely beta'd is the name of the game folks, mistakes are my own Summary: it was supposed to be your first 'official' Christmas with Frankie... AO3: Linked

x. masterlist

The Christmas lights that you’d reluctantly hung, twinkled softly in the living room, casting a warm cozy glow over the small space. Looking out the window, the snow continued to fall, relentless in its determination to blanket everything. The serene white layer and the quiet stillness of it all only did well to amplify the emptiness of the house. 

It was supposed to be your first Christmas with Frankie, one as an official couple, but here you were on base housing alone and Frankie the other side of the world. Or he could be, you had no clue, there was no security clearance for wives and girlfriends. You just had to guess where it was he’d been deployed to. 

There had been due warning that he would be deployed over Christmas, so you had planned to fly home to Seattle. But that snowfall? The one that seemed determined to bury the world under its cold embrace? Well, at least the state of Colorado. Had put a stop to all flights out, grounded until further notice. Stranding you in Colorado, alone.

You were sat on the couch, wrapped in the disgustingly ugly crocheted blanket Frankie clung to in his refusal to let go, trying to ignore the ache that you were alone for Christmas and the lingering worries if agreeing to take a chance on this thing with Frankie was the right thing. It also didn’t help that the base housing felt larger, emptier than usual. 

You sighed and pulled the blanket tighter around you, taking in the scent that was uniquely Frankie. You didn’t know that many people yet, certainly not any of the other wives or girlfriends, and the thought of imposing on someone else’s family christmas had felt way too intrusive. So you had resigned yourself to a quiet holiday alone, trying to keep the loneliness at bay by continuing the unpacking that you and Frankie had started.

Growing tired of the pity party you glanced around the room, your eyes landing on Frankie’s bookshelf. It was nestled in a recessed pocket of the wall. It was a large, wooden structure that took up most of the space there. With nothing else to do you rose from the sofa and wandered over. 

Several empty boxes, all marked with matching labels indicating they were Frankies, sat on the floor before the bookcase. He’d been preparing to unpack them all when he got the call and had decided it was a task best left with the prep he had for deployment a week later.

The boxes were all full of books, Frankie was a voracious reader. Pulling open one of the boxes you ran your fingers over the neatly packed spines of books and smiled. It was an eclectic mix, ranging from engineering texts to fiction novels.

On a whim you pulled one out of the box, flipping through the pages nonchalantly. That’s when you noticed the notes. Pulling out another one you found more, in another and another, one after the other. In nearly every book there were little annotations in Frankie’s tiny, neat handwriting. Some were technical notes, observations, or thoughts on the subject matter, some with the odd math calculations that made your head spin. Others though were more personal – highlighted quotes he liked, ideas for future projects, reminders.

You knew Frankie could be introspective and thought a lot more deeply than people gave him credit for. But the realization that he had left parts of himself in these books, hidden in plain sight, brought a smile to your face.

Then, you found it. A book you recognized instantly. It was from a small bookstore in Seattle, a place you had visited together on one of Frankie’s weekend trips from McChord. It wasn’t a date, nope, you had both been in denial of your feelings back then. Nothing was official, you were just ‘hooking up’ and having fun, keeping things casual, or so you had told yourselves.

You had wandered into a bookstore in Seattle, laughing and joking. Looking back the chemistry between you both was undeniable. You remembered Frankie scouring the shelves for that book, the reason the two of you had made your way downtown that day. 

Curious, you opened it and there, on the first page, were notes about that very day. 

The date was the same as that trip to the bookstore, and the note began with a simple observation about the weather that day. But as you continued reading, your heart skipped a beat.

Frankie had written about you. 

There in little anecdotes was the way you had laughed at a joke he made, about the way you’d gotten excited when you found a stack of books by an author you loved. There was a tenderness in his words, a hint of something more, emotions that he hadn’t acknowledged to you at the time. The realization that Frankie had harboured deeper feelings for you even then, feelings that went beyond the casual nature of your relationship, was heartwarming.

You closed the book and held it close to your chest, staying in that moment a little longer. The house feeling a little less empty you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand. Scrambling to your feet you kept the book clutched at your chest as you made your way back to the couch. You pulled Frankie’s blanket around you, a new sense of warmth surrounding you.

Flicking through the channels of the TV, the buzz of your phone at your elbow pulled your attention away from the Hallmark-esque rom-com that was playing. Opening the notification you read the message on the screen.

Merry Christmas Mav - F

[starshine-hockey-girl]

This blurb is for PrincessPhilly's lyric challenge in honor of her birthday. I selected lyrics from Heaven Sent by Keshia Cole for Brandon Tanev.

It is a reader insert and just under 1500 words.

@princessphilly @pattiemac1 @penstxgal1968

Bellevue, Washington

You listened as Brandon walked in the door of your shared high rise condo. The brief serenity while your loves- both human and furry- took their unending energy and activity for a walk ended abruptly. You smiled as his baritone voice boomed through the condo and he animatedly spoke to the excited pups. He talked to them as if they understood his words.

On the surface, the two of you made no sense as a couple. You, the quiet and reserved one, and he, the loud and bodacious one, seemed like polar opposites. However, you had one common characteristic that made it work- passion. You both had a passion for your work and an even greater passion for each other.

The relationship took both of you by surprise. When you joined your Seattle Reign teammates for a ceremonial puck drop at the Seattle Kraken hockey game, you were nursing a broken heart from your first and only serious relationship. You were the very definition of “not looking for love”. However, when you were introduced to Brandon Tanev and he pulled you into a hug with a loud proclamation of “YN! I am a big fan”, you felt the electricity almost at once. You stumbled back and smiled nervously. Then he flashed his bright smile and you were hooked. When he asked for your number before you left, you gave it without hesitation.

Eighteen months later, you stood in the bathroom listening to him speak to the dogs- Jett and Messi. His one request when you moved into the condo over the summer was to get a dog. Yes, that was the plan to adopt one dog. However, as you walked through the rescue adoption event, he went straight to the pair of adorable Yorkie terriers who chased each other through an enclosed play yard.

“What do you think, Y/N?” he looked back at you as you observed.

“You want a small dog?” you asked incredulously, “You have been searching for labs for weeks.”

“I don’t know. I think a smaller dog would be better in the condo,” he bent down to pick up the bigger of the pair. He held him up to his face. “Cute, eh?” he asked. You knew instantly that he was hooked and there would be no talking him out of the tiny dog.

“Baby,” you smiled as you bent down to pick up the smaller of the pair, “He has a little buddy. Someone needs to adopt them as a pair.” You had hoped that would serve as some sort of deterrent to the selection. It had the opposite effect.

“Someone being us, Y/N” he smiled. You opened your mouth to object when he started to plead his case. “Think about it. They already know each other and they will have a built-in playmate. They won’t be so lonely when we are at practice. I’ll have one for each side of me when I watch your road games and you watch mine.” He took both of them into his hands. He started speaking to them. “Yes, do you want to come live with us? We’ll teach you all about hockey and soccer,” he spoke animatedly before putting them down to start chasing them through the play yard. You groaned. He looked up and flashed you a smile. “Come on, YN- you know you can’t resist this cuteness.”

You smiled. He, of course, referred to the dogs but it was infectious energy that you could not resist. “Fine,” you said as you climbed into the play yard and picked up one of the pair, “But only if I get to name them.”

“No way,” he laughed, “You name one. I’ll name the other one.” He picked up the other dog and examined it closely. “What’s your name, buddy?” he asked if the dog would answer. “Jett?” he grinned as he bestowed the name of his first NHL team on to the Yorkie.

You looked at Jett's partner in crime, “Well okay, Messi- let’s go home.”

You were lost in the memory when you heard him bounding up the stairs. His footsteps were loud as he lept the stairs two at a time. The pitter patter of tiny paws tried their best to keep up with him. “Come on boys. Let’s go see YN,” he called as he reached the top of the steps, raced into the bedroom and slid on his sock-covered feet into the bathroom. You looked up at him in the mirror reflection. He held out a cup from your favorite coffee shop- the one he took you on your first unofficial date. “I thought you could use the extra caffeine tonight,” he smiled as he handed it to you.

You smiled and accepted the drink from him. “He knew,” you thought to yourself. He knew that the gala would require all of the social energy you had in you. Being in large crowds, entertaining and charming people came naturally to Brandon. To you, it was an effort. One that would need to be fueled by caffeine and his boisterous love. He walked up behind you, wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder. You shared a look in the mirror. The words were unspoken, but you heard them all the same, “I got you,” he spoke with his eyes, tender with emotion.

Then the moment abruptly ended when he swatted your bottom playfully, “Don’t worry. I got myself a triple espresso so I will be bouncing off the walls soon.”

“Brandon!” you laughed, “You do not need caffeine. Please tell me that you are joking. The world does not need a caffeinated Turbo.”

He looked back and smiled, “Oh, but I think it does.”

You went your separate ways. He went into the large, walk-in closet to get dressed in his suit. You stayed in the bathroom to put on your final touches of your hair and make-up. After you dressed in your dress with a slit cut high enough to emphasize your toned leg, you wandered down the stairs. The caffeine from Brandon’s drink had kicked in and he raced around the room in an elaborate game of chase with the dogs. He looked like a cross between a twirling tornado and Tasmanian devil. The game was getting out of control and he came dangerously close to knocking over your favorite floor vase as he sped by the fireplace. “Brandon,” you yelled as his hand knocked the vase over, “Why do you have to run around like a Tasmanian Devil? You are going to break something!” He used his lightning-fast reflexes to catch the vase before it hit the floor.

He swung around the couch and caught sight of you from the corner of his eyes. He stopped suddenly and stood with his mouth agape.

You looked down at your dress nervously, “No good?”

“Oh, it’s good,” he finally choked out, “It’s…..ummmm….. Yeah….. It’s uhhhhh” He searched for the words but could not find them. “You look like an angel,” he whispered when the words finally bubbled up in his brain, “You look like an angel sent from heaven.”

You blushed as he walked over to you. He looked at you in wonder, “just like the song.” He pulled you into a tight embrace as he instructed Alexa to play your song. https://open.spotify.com/track/2E90KUsor4U2abOJGFKtfx?si=1773701ad44c4836

He spun you around as the music filled the room.

I wanna be the one who you believe

In your heart is sent from (sent from heaven)

“You are, YN, you are,” he whispered as he gazed into your eyes, “I may be a Tasmanian Devil, but you are my angel sent from heaven. I love you so much.”

“Brandon….” you spoke softly, “I am no angel.”

“Yes, you are,” he kissed you softly before whispering against your lips, “You are my angel and I am so lucky to have you.”

“We’re lucky to have each other,” you whispered back. Suddenly he lifted you over his shoulder and carried you toward the door.

“BRANDON!” you squealed, “What are you doing you devil you!”

“I see you are embracing my identity, my angel,” he laughed as he grabbed your purse, “The sooner we get to this gala, the sooner we can come home. I can get that dress off of you and show you just how devilish I can be.”

“Is that a promise?” you laughed.

“It’s a damn guarantee,” he swatted your bottom and carried you out the door.

[runwithwolvcs]

You Know I'm No Good - Forty Seven

Snow On The Beach

T/W: Drug/being drugged

The beach in the winter is Tallulah's solace. All the crowds that you fight during the summer, the expensive parking and lack of spaces, the burden of trying to have that perfect beach body… they just aren't issues during the winter. Tallulah had been the only person at the beach, allowing her to paint the landscape with only the waves crashing to shore as a white noise. 

She had spent a better part of her day there, taking in the serene environment that she could not replace in New York. Although it was peaceful and she was able to get a few paintings started, the tall figure walking towards her on the path up to the parking lot caused an unmistakable feeling of longing to fill her chest as it constricted. Paul.

Tallulah wasn't surprised he had sniffed out her location, she knew it was going to happen eventually.

He looked bigger than she remembered, more built as if he spent every waking moment in the gym. Though tallulah knew he didn't need to step foot in a gym to have the muscles he did. How does a wolf build more muscle?

“Lu,” Paul spoke lowly. It sent a shiver down her spine to hear his voice. It had been six weeks since she had heard his voice last. Six weeks since she had broken up with him over the phone. Tallulah had tried to see his side of the situation that had caused the breakdown of their relationship, but Paul had made it incredibly hard for her. Not to mention what Lenna had told her.

Talullah was done with him, as she said she would be if he ever betrayed her trust. The only stopping her from making his life a living hell was the imprint bond. It would affect her too.

“What do you want?” She asked, venom lacing each word. Tallulah adjusted the tote bag on her shoulder as she looked him over. He looked the exact same. Black hoodie, beige cargo shorts and his muddy running shoes. The only thing that was different was his hair. He had a Seattle Mariners cap on,  but even though she could see messy waves flowing out from him. Like he hadn’t cut it since she left, which was uncommon for him. Paul had told her he likes to keep it neat, and easy to manage. This was not neat, nor managed.

Paul huffed out a sigh before jamming his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, “You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

“Nope,” She agreed with him, smiling sweetly as she mentioned, “I’m going to make your life a living hell.”

His lips quirked upwards before falling back into his stern look, “If this is some kind of big city, college, rebellion phase that I’m not aware of--”

“Fuck you,” Tallulah scoffed. Was he really going to blame her behaviour towards him on her going away for school?

“What?” He asked, removing his cap to run his hand through his hair. She knew that was something he only did when he was stressed.  Paul adjusted his cap as he continued, which she would have preferred had he just stopped talking, “You moved to New York and suddenly I’m the worst person you’ve ever met. I don't think that's a coincidence.” 

Tallulah wanted to laugh in his face. If New York had taught her anything, it was that she didnt need him as much as he wanted her to. She was independent there, she got herself into trouble, and got herself out of it. She also happened to meet Nell, her roommate who was also from Washington. Nell’s boyfriend went to Boston College so she knew exactly what she was going through in terms of navigating a long distant relationship. Nell was not a big fan of Paul, given his lack of initiative while Tallulah had been away.

The younger girl took a step towards Paul, closing the gap between them. She was so close she could feel the abnormally hot temperature of his skin radiating off him. Tallulah reached out and placed both of her palms on his biceps, squeezing reassuringly. She peered up at him as his breath hitched in his throat at her touch,“You're not the worst person I’ve ever met,” Tallulah licked her lips as she slid her hands down his arms, and when he didn’t pull his hands from his pockets, she let go. Taking a step back, she put her hands on hips, “Top three for sure, but not the worst.”

“Really?” He asked sarcastically, tilting his head to the side like a puppy who was confused. Though she could tell his confusion was real. “How’d I earn a spot in the top three?”

“Oh my god, you don’t know, I know.” Her eyes widened in disbelief. Had nobody told him? She was sure Lenna would have told Josie and those too would have wreaked havoc on him. Tallulah knew a few bonfires had happened while she was gone and the forced proximity would have been a wet dream for Lennas knack of confronting people who had done her wrong. Lenna considered his betrayal a personal attack on their family.

Paul huffed in annoyance, “Know what?”

“I have to go,” She adjusted her bag to pull out her car keys before stepping around him, “Lenna and I have a dinner reservation.”

“Lu,” Paul grabbed her upper arm gently, the heat of his palm on her bare skin nearly made her cave. She had been so cold without him in New York, like she had left all her body heat with him. Since returning to Forks, and subsequently La Push, she had felt a little better but nothing like she had when she was constantly with him. “Come on. What do I have to do to make you forgive me? Hm?”

“Nothing,” She spat out, wrenching his hand from her arm, “Will ever make me forgive you,” She turned to leave before whipping around again, pointing her finger into her solid chest,  “And if it weren’t for this stupid imprint bond, I’d really ruin your life.”

“Just tell me what I did,” Paul begged. Tallulah could see the desperation in his eyes. She wouldn’t fall for it though. He wanted her to tell him what she was mad about, so that he knew exactly how to grovel. He should be apologising for multiple things in her opinion.

“You’re such a jerk,” She said with the roll of her eyes.

“I love you, Tallulah.” Paul grabbed her hand this time, tugging her hard so that her body was touching his. He knew exactly how to keep her attention and overwhelm her senses. Her heart fluttered at their proximity, and she wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him and never let go. But she refused to forgive him until she got an apology, and a whole lot of ass kissing from  him.  “You know that everything I do is to keep you safe and happy.”

“Only when I’m in La Push or Forks,” She snorted, sarcastically asking,  “New York is too much work for you, huh?”

“Is this about Lina?” Paul furrowed his brow as he looked down at her. He brought one of his hands to the back of her neck beneath her braid, forcing her to look at him, “What did you want me to do?”   

This was not about her best friend Lina, but if that's what he wanted to start with then sure, she was ready to fight about that. She had been wanting to since the day it happened but he had gone radio silent. “If anything had happened to Jared I would have flown home that same damn day!” Tallulah said angrily,  “You couldn't even spare two minutes on the phone when Lina was…”

Paul shook his head, “She was okay,” 

“It was my drink, Paul.” Tallulah's voice trembled at the memory. They had gone out to celebrate Lina booking a role in the Christmas Ballet, The NutCracker production that she had wanted since she was a little girl, but their night was cut short. Tallulah had ordered a regular cranberry juice, keeping her promise to Paul to not use a fake ID. Lina had ordered a rum and pineapple juice to try but hated the taste so she washed it down with Tallulah's drink. They ended up spending the night in the ER after Lina started to get the spins. Someone had drugged Tallulah's drink. “It would have been me, it should have been me…”

“I would have been there if it was---” Paul started but she didn't want to hear it.

“That's not good enough,” She pushed away from him, pushing against his chest to make sure he didn’t take a step forward. “You were unreachable that entire fucking week.” 

Paul's eyes flashed with something she couldn't point. It wasn't anger. Frustration, maybe. A small growl left his throat as he reached for her again, only for her to step back, “Hey,”

“But you had time for Rachel, didnt you?” Tallulah spat out, she was teetering on the edge of losing her cool,   “I was having nightmares and worrying who slipped a date rape drug into my drink all week, and you were cozying up to your ex girlfriend.” She wanted to shout at him, to scream so that everyone in La Push could hear what she was saying and know that whatever they thought about Paul Lahote, was in fact true. He was a cheater, and a liar. “That's not the guy I fell in love with.” She couldn’t stop the sadness in her voice if she had tried. Tallulah straightened her posture and turned on her heel to head for the car park,  “ I don’t forgive you. I don't know if I ever will.”

[rpgpolls]

Happy Independent TTRPG Month!

July is Independent TTRPG Month and RPGPolls is joining in on the fun in celebrating small press games that are just as if not more fun than the famed Seattle game.

This is a little overdue but I have been exhausted between work, my GM-ly duties, and some projects I have going.

Non D&D focused polls to come but for now enjoy a list of small press games I enjoy under the read more. Happy Indie RPG Month and happy rolling!

Dungeon Crawl Classics (and its variants) - An absolutely gonzo OSR fantasy game and what I currently run at my table. Cannot recommend it enough.

Shadowdark RPG - A wonderful bridge between the OSR school of play and 5e. Don't know how available it is since the kickstarter just finished but I ran Andrew Kolb's Neverland using it and had a blast.

13th Age - A super simple d20 system made by some of the devs who worked on 3.5 and 4e. Plays like a wonderful blend of the two and makes natural rolls more important beyond the usual 1s and 20s. Super fun.

Fantasy AGE (and its variants) - A 3d6 system that's a lot of fun. Popularized by Wil Wheaton's Titansgrave setting/game. I feel like it's magic system is a little lacking but overall its a fast paced and creativity focused game.

The Apocalypse Engine - For the sake of simplicity and brevity, all PbtA games will be counted under here. Requires a lot of player creativity and buy in but overall super fun and versatile. An indie darling to be sure.a

Swords and Wizardry - One of the big three systems that basically started the OSR movement (the other two being OSRIC and Labyrinth Lord). Unfortunately I only played this system briefly and without understanding what it stood for. 5e came out like a month after I started to the campaign was quickly converted. Would love to revisit it.

The Cortex System - Mostly used this to play the Serenity RPG. It's a decent system and good for what it is but the combined die types as stats doesn't work with me.

GURPS - What Fallout was originally going to be based off of, GURPS is a monster of a generic system. If you can think of it, it's probably got a rule for it. Works best when you narrow it down and can be a little complicated. You may have better luck with

Savage Worlds - A more streamlined generic roleplaying game with tons of pre-made settings. The card initiative mechanic is a refreshing take on the mechanic and the bennie system is so much fun. Full props.

Crash Pandas, Honey Heist, Goblin Quest and anything by Grant Howitt - Solid gold, great, light, comedic games that are guaranteed to make for a night of fun. No notes. Goblin Quest in particular is heavily underrated imo.

We Are But Worms - Meets the bare definition of a roleplaying game. Play it constantly with my friends. All we have to do is look at each other, say one word, and the game gets going.

I could go on. There's a metric ton of RPGs that I've played and even more that I haven't but would love to. Fiasco (I can never get anyone to play with), Blades in the Dark, Candela Obscura, Mork Borg, the Black Sword Hack and so many others with more catching my eye every day. So take the remainder of this month (and beyond) to explore the community and play something you haven't - or maybe even never planned to. This hobby has so much more to offer than WotC and Paizo and so much more to offer than just roll high on a d20 in a fantasy game. Get out there and start rolling the bones (or not in some cases!) And have fun!