#we can all die in peace now

[sulky-cabbage]

AU: Where Sukuna Wins

Part 1

Part 2 here

Imagine an alternate universe in which Sukuna triumphs, dominates over Japan, and endures a lonely existence for many centuries, while allowing some humans to live.

They hold a grudge against him, of course, and want to kill him. They train at Jujutsu High and have some great fighters that occasionally provide Sukuna with some entertainment. 

They are so desperate for salvation, they can only find solace in prophecies about a figure with powerful blue eyes that will defeat the king of curses and rescue Japan.

And do you know what Sukuna does in response to that? One might expect him to go full Pharoah mode and kill newborns, but NO!!

HE DOES THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE !!

Whenever he ravages a village and devours the women and children, he ALWAYS spares the blue-eyed infants.

All the curses know better than to kill an infant with blue eyes. The last time a curse did that, Sukuna made sure to make an example of it.

Killing a member of the Gojo clan is also off limits, as well as anything that could delay the reincarnation of this certain person.

These humans are not the only ones waiting for salvation.

Sukuna is also WAITING...for his wretched existence to end at the hands of this person.

The ONLY one worthy of having the honor to do so.

[drunkonduty]

Guys.. i think im onto smt..

[valkyurii]

it’s funny how things have gone full circle with malenia. she was so hated when the game first came out, but then people grew to like her. then the dlc came out and now people hate her again lmao

[keeps-ache]

why's all the colorful stuff always in the kids' options oTL

[arolesbianism]

Doodle I did of my girl Juliet earlier

[halinski]

.

dont read

[ofconnectedsouls]

verses tag

[cuddlebugmonster]

Peepaw supremacy

He owns this, Leo told me himself.

[ghostboyravenight]

I’m not gonna lie, the whole “what if a big, hairy trans man started using the women’s bathroom? what are TERFs gonna do then?” thing kinda pisses me off being used as some checkmate, because it insinuates that passing trans men would have any kind of power in that situation. If a passing trans man is forced to use the women’s bathroom, you know what will happen? Security will be called on him, he’ll be thrown out, and he’ll be forced to out himself as trans in order to avoid punishment, which will put an even bigger target on his back. He’s still going to be harassed. He’s still going to be forced into an uncomfortable and potentially dangerous situation, and he probably won’t avoid punishment anyway because the current laws in place are never going to favour any trans person’s defence over a cis person’s.

It also completely ignores trans men who aren’t “big and hairy” and don’t pass enough to be mistaken for a cis man. Non-passing trans men (or even men who look or sound effeminate enough to be suspected) who are forced to use the women’s bathrooms are still at a huge risk of harassment or even violence, especially young trans boys who are forced into their assigned bathrooms at school. Nex Benedict was literally murdered in a girl’s bathroom. Girls and women aren’t these inherently non-violent, peaceful and submissive beings (for one thing, that’s misogynistic). Trans men and boys get beaten up by them too, because most of us pre-T aren’t considered a threat, and we fucking die.

That’s not even to mention the trouble we already have in men’s bathrooms, because if we don’t pass, cis men will interrogate us on whether or not we’re “real men” and then sexually assault us if they discover we’re trans. Corrective rapes that trans men face is not something to be ignored, and I have trans male friends that it’s happened to who are lucky to be alive right now.

Bathroom laws will affect us just as much. The violence that trans women face is something that trans men can also relate to, and both need to be talked about without people categorising all trans men as “big, hairy, strong men able to beat up anyone who tries to threaten them” when that’s not the case like 90% of the time. Acting like passing trans men are just there to make TERFs look stupid, when TERFs are the ones who are violent towards us no matter how much we pass, is just diminishing our experiences.

[globalnewscollective]

U.S Added to a Global Human Rights Watchlist

Why You Should Be Worried About America’s Declining Human Rights Ranking

When you think of human rights abuses, you might picture authoritarian regimes, not the United States. But according to a new report from CIVICUS (source), the U.S. is now officially categorized as a "narrowed" democracy—a status shared with countries where free speech, protests, and civil liberties are increasingly under attack. The U.S. joins the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Pakistan, Chile, Slovakia, and 37 other countries with "narrowed" civic freedoms. That’s the kind of company America is now keeping.

What Does This Mean for You?

Your Right to Protest Is Under Threat – Laws restricting peaceful demonstrations have been ramping up, making it easier for authorities to criminalize protests they don’t like.

Censorship and Press Freedom Are in Decline – Journalists covering protests or political corruption are facing more harassment, and state-level laws are making it harder to report the truth.

Targeting of Activists and Marginalized Groups – The crackdown on civil rights groups, LGBTQ+ organizations, and racial justice movements is accelerating.

Legal Attacks on Voting Rights – Gerrymandering, voter suppression, and efforts to limit ballot access are all symptoms of a democracy that’s backsliding fast.

What’s at Stake?

If the U.S. keeps trending in this direction, basic freedoms—like the ability to voice your opinion, challenge authority, or even vote—could become privileges instead of rights. Young people, activists, and minority communities will be the first to feel the impact, but make no mistake: this affects everyone who believes in a fair and free society.

The Bigger Picture

This is not just about one bad policy or one election cycle—it’s about a systematic shift toward authoritarianism. Through executive orders, Trump has sought to consolidate power in the executive branch, making it easier for him and his allies to monitor and control departments and agencies to ensure they are only carrying out Trump’s agenda. The more people accept restrictions on speech, protests, and voting, the easier it becomes for those in power to tighten their grip. This is how democracies die: not with a single dramatic event, but through a slow erosion of rights, one law at a time.

What Can You Do?

Stay Informed – Know what’s happening at the state and federal levels.

Speak Up – The more people push back, the harder it is for leaders to silence dissent.

Vote Like Democracy Depends on It – Because, frankly, it does.

The U.S. has long claimed to be a beacon of democracy. But that light is fading—and unless we fight for our rights, it could go out completely.

[najahmeq7]

🇵🇸Pain, sadness and suffering every day we die. Yesterday I told you about our neighbors. Today I tell you about the loss of the most precious thing we have, the uncle, beloved, and honorable professor, Imad Muqdad, who was martyred today, along with a group of his grandchildren, in a Zionist bombing that led to the destruction of everything. This is our life. Every day we lose someone dear and precious to our hearts. Today our relative was martyred. Tomorrow it is us, and God knows best.🇵🇸🍉🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

🚨An urgent appeal to the kind-hearted people who stand by me and help me in our ordeal. We are being bombed every day and every hour there is a martyr.🚨

I am Najah Al-Hila, a mother of four children. My house has been completely destroyed, and my husband Khaled was injured in the war. I have a small child who has no milk, and we have no food. We are trapped and don't know how to face these difficult circumstances. Please, donate to us now. We are in desperate need of any possible help, as every passing moment increases our suffering.

My situation is extremely difficult, I can't describe the pain I endure every day. My house was destroyed, my husband Khaled was injured in the war, and my young children don't know what safety or peace means. I can't provide their most basic needs. The little one in my arms can’t find milk, and we have no food. I try to be strong in front of them, but my heart is breaking with pain and helplessness. I don't know how to get through this, or where to find help. Life has become very dark for me, and I am powerless to change anything. Every day that passes is a heavy burden, and I walk through it with no hope. I need a hand to help me, or even a word to reassure my heart.

My situation has become unbearable, and every moment that passes increases the suffering of me and my family. I am in urgent need of immediate financial assistance, as I cannot provide even the simplest necessities for my children in these difficult circumstances. I need at least $150 to secure milk for my little one and some food for all of us. Any donation, no matter how small, could make the difference between life and death for us. Please, don't leave us in this crisis, as I am living in conditions I cannot bear any longer.

I am now trapped in a place I cannot escape from, and the situation here is unbearable. My house has been completely destroyed, my husband Khaled was injured in the war, and I am struggling greatly to secure the basic needs of my children. The little one cannot find milk, and we have no food. I cannot reach any outside help due to the siege. I am completely helpless, and every passing moment increases my fear and anxiety. Time is running out, my life is in your hands. Please, save us from death. I desperately need an urgent donation to help me meet my children's needs and keep them alive in these difficult circumstances.

As you read this, there are those who are lying under the rubble, waiting for death. Those who lost their families, their homes, their dreams, and I am one of them. My family and I were displaced after our home was destroyed. All that is left for us is some clothes and memories that refuse to die under the bombing. Today, we have been struck by a tragedy. On the first day of Eid, children and their father went to play and buy some toys. They were bombed by a missile that led to the martyrdom of all of them.🥹🥹

Don't leave me, stand by me. Your donation will reach us. Your participation will help us reach our goal. We have collected approximately 13,198 out of 80,000 to help rescue my family before I lose them like we lost others. Please save us.🙏🙏

I can no longer provide for the necessities of life. My family's future is completely destroyed. I can no longer live in Gaza. I want to leave the Strip, so I need $5,000 per person.❤️

I hope everyone who watches my story will help me.

So I can get out of Gaza and find treatment and a better life for my children and family.

I am asking for help, and I hope you will help me and donate.

To save my life from death.

I hope you will donate even $25-50; it would be wonderful. Any more than that would make us happier.🙏❤️🇵🇸🇵🇸

🇵🇸🇵🇸My campaign has been verified by both🇵🇸🇵🇸

@gazavetters (49)

@el-shab-hussein

@tamamita

@gaza-giving-tree

@90-ghost

@a-shade-of-blue

@bilal-salah0

@sar-soor

@omegaversereloaded @punkitt-is-here @tamamita @skunkes @ot3 @valtsv

@wolfertinger666 @paper-mario-wiki @nyancrimew @spongebobssquarepants @sabertoothwalrus @90-ghost

@komsomolka @sawasawako-archived @hotvampireadjacent @certifiedsexed @isuggestforcefem @3000s @chokulit @ankle-beez @pickledangel @pissvortex @prisonhannibal @apas-95 @neecheeneko-blog @memingursa @afro-elf @vampiricvenus @turtletoria-art @marxism-transgenderism @beetledrink @bevsi @beserkerjewel @feluka @i-am-a-fish @spacebeyonce @bonkcreat @11thsense @boobieteriat

[wvlfbreath]

i will never forgive supernatural for Cas and Dean. i refuse to accept it. but the rest… the rest is okay.

[checkeredflagggs]

Credit Cards

Pairing: max verstappen x girlfriend!reader

summary: max needs Ollie and Kimi out of his house — so he gives them his credit cards and a vague list

a/n: another fun one to write 😂 also I laughed so hard at this picture of him…

a/n2: ok so this was kinda requested? Imma be honest — I veered wildly of course from the actual request but I hope you like it anyway

a/n3: also a little something for @sinofwriting who saw nothing!

Masterlist | Taglist | Rookie Masterlist

Private Messages, Max and y/n

Private Messages, Max and Ollie/Kimi

Private Messages, Max and y/n

Private Messages, Kimi and Ollie

Bluesky

user1: oh my god this was Ollie???

↳user2: if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes…

↳user1: you’d guess it was Charles’ parking??

↳user2: yeah

user3: omg that’s Ollie?

↳user2: and Kimi!

↳user3: awwww that’s so cute — they’re together in Monaco?

↳user2: yup!

user4: i wonder what brought them out??

↳user5: right? Last I knew they were still holed up with max and y/n

↳user4: for my own peace of mind — I’m saying cravings

↳user5: I love that so much

user6: no blood test needed here…

↳user7: not at all

↳user8: god I hope that’s not actually genetic 😂😂

Private Messages, Ollie and Kimi

Bluesky

user9: no way 🤣🤣

user10: did someone actually buy that many diapers???

user11: this is gonna be my new Roman Empire!

user12: omg I saw this too and I swear to god it was Ollie and Kimi!

↳user13: the drivers??

↳user12: yes!

↳user13: seriously???

user14: if these ARE Ollie and Kimi — that’s hilarious. Do they understand how kids work?

↳user15: I’m guessing not 😂

user16: that’s so many — do you think y/n might be having multiples??

↳user17: we don’t actually know when her due date is…I thought, based on size, it might be soon but it’s possible she’s still early and is just having 2 or 3?

↳user18: this is so horribly invasive?

↳user19: absolutely true! It’s (more) likely that Kimi and Ollie just didn’t know how many diapers to buy

user20: god I wanna know how they’re gonna get them back to their house…

↳user21: OMG that’s such a good point — it’s not fit in their car…

Private Messages, Kimi and Ollie

Bluesky

user22: big same!

↳user23: oh to be so spoiled…

↳user22: I’d love nothing more

user24: that was Ollie!! I saw him coming out of the Chanel store!

↳user25: literally start talking rn

↳user24: nothing much to say honestly — he was following Kimi I guess, who like booked it out of the store, and i managed to get a selfie with Ollie!

↳user24: he said something like they were doing some shopping for baby lion!

↳user25: Stop. That’s so adorable!

user26: are max’s adopted kids shopping for his unborn kid right now??

↳user27: that’s absolutely what it looks like

↳user26: I love that more than i can say

Private Messages, Kimi and Ollie

Bluesky

user28: they’re just little kids really

user29: oh that’s so adorable

user30: I swear I saw them stop for ice cream before they went in the toy store

↳user31: well they’ve apparently been out all day — they need a pick me up 😂

user32: ok but I need to know where max and y/n are? Cause you know our chronically online queen has like alerts to her kids names?

↳user33: that’s a good point!

↳user32: she’s been suspiciously absent so far today…

user34: update! They made a bee-line to the LEGO section of the store and are now sitting on the ground comparing different racing sets

↳user35: hopefully not for the baby! That’s bad

↳user34: I’m gonna go out on a limb and say they’re buying it for themselves — Kimi keeps trying to sneak more and more Mercedes sets into their cart and Ollie is just replaced them with the Ferrari and Haas ones

↳user35: omg 😂😂

user36: ok but how do I die rn and reincarnate as a specific baby??

↳user37: same but im like asking for a friend!

↳user38: im not. I need to know for myself

Private Messages, the Pride

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby @freyathehuntress @angelluv16 @nichmeddar @mxm47max @justaf1girl @a-beaverhausen @tallrock35 @elizamoe133 @jessica3478 @il0vereadingstuff @taylorrrrrrrrrrswiftttt @widow-cevans @1-of-my-many-obsessions @charlesgirl16 @anunstablefangirl @evie-119 @sugarfreerbr @princessesgarden @tukes @mayax2o07 @teti-menchon0604 @galaxygurlll @star73807-blog @shelbyteller @ihaveitprinteddout @lilymaleshka @kuolonsyoja @allthings-fandom @mountainshuman @hannahmotors10 @moonypixel @nikfigueiredo @daisydaze111 @deephideoutmilkshake @loveyahachoo @raizelchrysanderoctavius @dying-inside-but-its-classy @mimisweetz @books-fangirl-books @bookishprophecy

[mcondance]

no plan

"my heart is thrilled by the still of your hand / it's how i know, now, that you understand... there's no plan, there's no race to be run / the harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun"

life pleasure's are best enjoyed slowly. also, you really like kissing spencer.

warnings and notes there’s like two running themes here, my first time writing cowgirl yayyy, fingering, so sappy so much love, unprotected sex, “girl” pet names, spencer’s mouth….. he needs a warning yes he does.

mcon’s note hi guys so i actually started this on august 30th. this is the longest thing i’ve written and finished and posted in a long time so i’m very happy i was able to do this. enjoy pls enjoy enjoy. title from no plan by goatzier hozier. not proofread y'all know i don't do that. 3.8k words <3

Sunlight fades through the window, lighting stripes of fairy dust and pale yellow through the room. 

“Spencer,” you whine, dropping your phone somewhere in the covers.

“Yeah?” He responds. It’s light and airy. He loves you.

“I miss you.”

“I’m right here, angel,” he laughs, dog-earring the page of his book and tossing it onto his nightstand. 

“I know,” you whine, “But we haven’t kissed in so long. I think I might die.”

How dramatic you are. 

“Come here,” he beckons you closer, and he can see the excitement radiating off you as you crawl over to him. His eyes do that thing as you settle into his lap, the thing they always do when you’re this close to him. It’s unconscious, you’re sure, but either way it lights you up inside. 

His hands settle onto your waist, comfortable in the spot they’re always in. This near to him, you get butterflies like the day you met him. 

With a soft smile he kisses you— and it’s smooth, and deep, and he tastes like the candy you’ve both been nursing— feels just like it too. Smooth like caramel candy shared between two lovers.

Perhaps you’re a little too dependent on his kisses. It’s not your fault, though, really. You feel him reaching into your soul and admiring every part of it whenever your lips touch. If you could bottle this feeling up, you might, but you wouldn’t touch it because feeling him against you is unmatched.

You’re too dependent on his kisses. You’re also dependent on air. 

Gasping just a little, you pull back, your eyes blown and your lips a bit slick with his spit. He cracks a smile at the sight, his chest tightening just a little. 

“Are you alright now?” He asks, chuckling fondly. 

“I live on the edge of needing you to kiss me all the time, and that just pushed me into the safe space. I’m perpetually in a state of needing you to kiss me, though, so I’m alright but in a very baseline, on watch way-”

Oh, he’s so sweet. His lips against yours cut you off and give you what you were rambling for.

You fall in line with his kisses like habit, melting against him so liquidy you might drip straight through the headboard and on into peaceful oblivion. Spencer’s so warm and heady beneath you, solid and overwhelmingly hot. You are melting, goopy like chocolate pressed against a warm body in a pocket. It’s fine, though, beautiful even, because Spencer has just what it takes to handle your melting. 

Shifting, you inch ever closer to him. One of his hands finds the side of your face and his thumb rubs softly over the swell of your cheek. Tenderness gives way to more butterflies in the candied pit of your stomach, filled with fluttering. Spencer kisses with intent to devour, and that’s what it feels like he’s doing. He surges forward to have more of you, to renew the kiss and satisfy the hunger that sits impatiently in him until he gets to let it feed. 

Your chest tightens.

Bursting with air, you separate from Spencer, finally. You’re a sight for Spencer’s sore eyes, chest heaving, lips shiny with his spit, pupils dilated and your hands gripping his hoodie. 

“You alright now?” He asks, but his eyes are low, now, and his voice has dropped an octave or two. God, he’s so pretty. His question is in vain, though. Understanding flashes in his eyes. This time when you kiss him, there’s something else lying underneath.

It’s embedded in the both of you, at this point. Spencer’s skilled hands fiddle mindlessly with the little bow on the front of your shorts as your own hands tangle erratically in his hair. He’s got some type of hold on you, some something that renders you unable to function properly, eating away at your mind until all that’s left is Spencer, and Spencer only. 

In the midst of your one-track thoughts, a paired thought exists. You want him. Wordlessly, you urge him to forget the bow and arc over the front of your shorts to touch you. You really want him to touch you. 

“Spencer…” you whine, rocking forward on him just a bit before you capture his mouth again. 

“Mhm?” He hums distractedly against your lips, still toying with that goddamn bow. 

“In.” It’s pathetic, and needy, and you moan it for him so breathily his head spins. 

“In?” He asks, moving from feather-light touches to a firmer press along the band of your shorts. 

“Please.”

“Okay,” he resolves, thankfully, like he knows you need him to touch you more than you’ve ever needed anything. 

It’s always mind-breaking when he first touches you, when his hand meets the warmth between your trembling legs. The sensation isn’t new, nowhere near novel, and yet, you’re gasping and looking down to watch his movements. Slowly, he reacquaints himself with you. His deft fingers kiss softly along the band of your panties, and you stop watching him work to kiss him again, sloppy and hungry and messy. 

Thank god for his mega-brain, because your kiss doesn’t stop him at all. 

Two fingers stop their playing and focus on their goal. When he slips into your panties and swipes gently over your clit, you moan halfway into his mouth and halfway into the air as you’re forced to break the kiss because fuck. 

“You’re so wet, angel. You’re always so wet for me,” he praises, reverently. His words rip a moan out of your throat, and you drop your head down onto his shoulder, hands hanging uselessly over and around his shoulders. Spencer kisses the heated skin of your cheek. You jerk against him. He’s so tender and it drives you crazy. 

Feeling explodes through you as he commits to a pass over your clit this time. “Yeah,” you whine, and you whine again when the next firework bursts inside you. 

“Baby?” Spencer says softly against your ear. You become aware of your hips rocking against his fingers, but you do nothing to stop them, or your sounds. 

“Hm?” You manage, jolting against him when he works another break of pleasure out of you.

“Can we get these off?” He asks over another broken whine from you, Spencer gets to see how much of a mess he’s made of you already when you lift your head off his shoulder to gaze dazedly at him. You nod vacantly, happy to do anything if it means Spencer can touch you more. “Good,” he smiles, his melting eyes warmer than your own skin at the sight of you. Like an addict, he can’t help but kiss you again, and with one hand cupping the back of your head, he lays you down. The hand still in your panties wastes no time in pulling your shorts and underwear down your legs, and still the kiss isn’t broken. Even as he slides your bottoms the rest of the way, you’re still kissing. You weren’t lying about always needing to kiss him.

“Up,” he whispers, scooting back to where he was sitting at first. You follow right behind him, half-lidded eyes focused on his pretty face as you settle into his lap again, curling your hands into his hair and resting your forehead on his shoulder. Now that he can touch you freely he immediately brings his hand between your legs again. It’s so much. His arm braced on the small of your back only adds fuel to the fire. 

With no mind for your sanity, he falls into the rhythm that makes you cum quick and easy, circling your clit with the precision of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Oh fuck,” you groan.

“Mhm.”

“Shit.”

You’re dumbed-down and delirious from just a few touches. Spencer’s fingers are skilled and experienced, and it shows in how you’re beginning to shake against him. He’s done this a thousand times, and each time is different than the last, and beautiful still. 

A kaleidoscope of sounds flow together to fill the heavy space. Cars passing, a fan blowing, the soft whirring of electricity throughout the house, and under it all, soft and sweet and pretty, your saccharine moans and huffs of breath, all light for him. Too good and too soft, his fingers crack you open and drift right over your nerves. 

“God, Spencer.” You can’t say much more than that, won’t even try. To keep from grabbing his hair far too hard, you move your hand from his hair to his shoulder, gripping the thick fabric of his hoodie once again. You’re surprised the seams don’t give. 

You start to grind against his fingers again, and he huffs an incredulous breath of air through his nose. You know that sound like your favorite album— it’s the sound he makes when you’ve turned him on beyond understanding. Spencer’s always loved when you don’t hold back, when you see your pleasure as yours and you treat it as such. He’s always wanted you to feel good. By now, his genes have recoded to the DNA of your ecstasy. His fundamental layers have found you in place of their nitrogenous bases. All there is inside him is you. All this flurries through his mind as he watches you, his girl, bask in the pleasure he’s delivering. 

His arm grips tighter around you when you try to lift up away from him. You run, always have and always will. You just get overwhelmed but Spencer sees through it and makes sure you take what you want. 

“You’re okay,” he calms you, tightening his arm around your back, “you’re okay.” You whine, petulant and pleasured, so overwhelmed, but you take it. You always do.

If his intention is to break you open and make you feel pleasure beyond anything you’ll ever be able to comprehend, he achieves it. You pride yourself on being pretty smart, and Spencer praises your intelligence at every chance he can, but now, you’re brainless, empty-headed and dazed and confused. Spencer’s just so good, in every way. You think he was made for you, by some design of the cosmos or atoms and molecules predisposed to fit together, something crafted. Everything he does leaves you floating closer and closer to your peak, wafting and swirling through the air on the wind of his patient and practiced work. 

“Nothing you haven’t taken before, huh?” He hums, and that… that fucks you. “You’ve taken this before, right, angel? And you take it so well every time, I love seeing you do this for me.”

Before he can finish, you’re cutting him off with a whine from the back of your throat. 

“You’re gonna make me come,” you mewl. It’s strained, and a warning and a mindless declaration all at once. 

“Yeah?”

“Fuck, yes.” 

“Show me.” 

There’s a common thought that, if a couple has been together long enough, they begin to resemble each other. Convergence, in psychological terms, you and Spencer have talked about it before. You see it now, as Spencer looses a groan at the same time as you, mirroring your pleasure as you come hard on his lap. All your live wires jump and pop, and he, like breathing, just keeps making you feel good.

“You’re so good,” you hear him hum, and it should be impossible but your climax catches a second wind and you gush out onto his sweats even more, slicking his fingers too. You cry out at his words, shivering as the waves crash again. Like the moon controls the tide, Spencer guides you through your orgasm, his fingers bringing the waves crashing down against a sandy shore, slowing down like the remnants of the ocean still trailing through the sand.

You’re breathing heavy as you come down, tuning into your body again. Slowly, you become aware of Spencer rubbing up and down your back, his head resting on yours. His hand is warm, and it brings you down nicely. The hand that was just on you is somewhere. There’s a beat of silence, maybe two, definitely three, undercut with yours and his breathing, and the quiet rub of his hand against your hoodie.

You’re not quiet for long, though. 

“Can we kiss again?”

He laughs, the ridiculousness and endearing nature of your question after what you both just did makes him fall even farther in love with you, despite him already loving you so very much. You lift your head, your hair in disarray, and meet his glowing eyes. 

“Of course, angel.” 

You waste no time in sealing your lips again. Spencer wastes no time in sliding his fingers down towards where you’re still leaking onto his lap. Against his lips, you moan, and it clips into a whine when he feeds you two soft, sweet fingers. The feel of his fingers inside of you is always mind-blowing, and this time is no different. Spencer can feel you pulsing and beating around him, the rush of blood and feeling tangible around his fingers. He hums as you both settle into this, still giving you the kisses you begged so nicely for.

Moments like these, on days like these, are what you love more than anything in this world. It’s not the sex— though Spencer’s fingers virtually making love to the inside of your cunt is so nice— but the togetherness that exists here and in other moments like these. Where nothing exists but you and Spencer and the beauty of a world made so much more beautiful by a lover. 

Spencer’s fingers really are so nice. “Spencer,” you almost stutter when he moves his slow, languid drags inside you to knowing rubs against that spot that makes you feel a little crazy. 

“Baby,” he responds, something you love and get even wetter around him about. 

He knows you’re about to start running away from it before you do, and his arm tightens around your back, right before you tense and try to move up and away from his fingers. “You’re alright, pretty girl, it’s just a lot. Just breathe.”

Jesus, who taught him to talk like that. 

Your compromised and overwhelmed mind is made no clearer by the way he’s curled his fingers and starting fucking you smooth and soft. “That feels so good,” you sigh into his mouth. If you could breathe his air for the rest of your life, you would. Dopily, you let your head fall onto his shoulder.

Spencer sighs just as wistfully as you did, appreciative of this moment just like you are. He’s always loved using his fingers on you, loved having you around him in this way. Sloppily, lazily, you move on him, grinding on his fingers and shooting his heart rate up into the clouds. If he could use his brain right now he’d be thinking about just how fast his heart is beating. His reactions to making you feel good, always so visceral, make it all so much more unbelievable. You can still barely understand the way he groans when you get all tight around his fingers, the way he sometimes whines when you shake against him. You’ve learned that pleasing you gives him gratification beyond anything you thought possible. 

He hums again, in awe at the display of rapture laid right in front of him. 

“And you’re so wet, baby, dripping all over my fingers. God, I don’t know how you do it. You’re perfect, you know that?” 

“Spencer,” you rasp, a warning, one word tells him he’s gotten you so damn close. Always so sensitive and receptive to his praise, always liquid in his hands when he melts you down with his warm words.

“You gonna cum?” He asks like he doesn’t know. He knows all your tells, your shaking thighs and heavy breaths and high-pitched whines that sometimes don’t even make any sound. As if by fate or some cosmic design, he shifts his hand just a little and his fingers brush against that spot so perfectly you’re bursting before you can even register it. You squeak and choke out a moan, seeing nothing but black behind your eyes as you cum again on his hand. Like always, Spencer sends sounds of satisfaction to your burning ears, dragging your climax out so beautifully. 

”Jesus,” you laugh breathlessly and incredulously as you move your head off of his shoulder, not even settling into your body this time. Finally, you notice how hard he is in his sweats. Languidly, you drop your hands to the tie of his sweats, toying with the elastics as he kisses you gaudily, open-mouthed and, to be honest, lewd. Spencer can be so lewd when he wants to be, or perhaps when he has no control over it anyway. 

You waste no time in undoing the strings and hooking your fingers into his sweats and boxers. Ridiculously you don’t part from his lips and instead lift up in a way that’s slightly uncomfortable, but it gives you what you want. 

Spencer’s hand wraps around the base of his cock, a sight that gives you pause where you hover above him. He looks so fucking pretty right now— his eyes burn bright and wide, drawing you in and entrancing you, making you feel like you have syrup running through your veins in the place of your blood. His usually messy hair is even messier, ruffled from your tugging, his lips swollen, shiny, parted to allow his excited breaths room to dance through the air. 

“Pretty,” you say simply. Spencer gives you time to admire him, basking in your unashamed worship. With your eyes trained down, you lower yourself to him, and Spencer does his part and lines himself up with you, and he breaks the waters and slips inside of you just a little. Already you whine, and Spencer grunts quietly, this little bit of feeling still enough to enchant you both. His other hand is warm where it sits on your thigh, his thumb rubbing softly over your heated skin. Your face twists as you sink farther onto him and he fills you just like you’re so familiar with. Never afraid to be loud, Spencer moans, throwing his head back to meet the wood of your headboard. His hands find your waist through your hoodie, a tangible weight that adds to your ecstasy. 

When you’re flush against him, and your face is tucked into his neck, he can’t do anything but breathe. You, overwhelmingly turned on, can’t wait. 

Spencer’s breath, meant to calm himself and keep him in the moment, catches in his throat when you lift up and then move back down, fucking him. Immediately, you ramp your moves up with no purpose and Spencer can see how overzealous you’ve gotten. 

“Angel,” he hums, quietly as to not alarm you or make you feel like you’ve done something wrong. “Baby,” he slurs, gripping your hips just a little tighter. “Take it slow. We have all day.”

“I can’t.” 

And it really does feel that way. Sometimes you want to fuck him so bad it hurts. But he knows that sometimes, waiting makes the end and all the slow parts in between so much better. 

“You can, angel. Do it for me, yeah?” When he asks like that, you have to. You know if he asked you to do something completely irrational, and he asked you like that, you wouldn’t second-guess him for even a second.

So you slow down, bringing your rocks up and down to slow, soft grinds. Like this, it’s smooth and he drags against a static-y spot every time you lift your hips. 

“You see how good that feels?” Spencer asks with a strained voice, his eyes low and dark as he watches you work him slow. You look disgustingly perfect, your moves gentle and careful as you do your best not to completely lose your mind. You nod, seeing his chest rising and falling so much faster than normal. That’s what almost breaks you, the knowledge that you’re fucking him up as much as he is you. 

“It feels so good,” you mumble.

“So good. You’re fucking me so good, angel.”

“Oh,” you moan so brokenly, laid bare by his words. 

“Up and down, just like that, baby. So good when you take your time, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s so good, Spencer,” you cry, so innocently it sends sparks up his spine. 

He’s entranced by the way you roll your hips on him, seeking your own pleasure out, very boldly angling your hips to rub him against that spot inside you. You always feel good around him, but when you’re fucking him slow it’s different. Something like magic curls around the two of you and it enthralls him, makes him feel so blissed his lips curl into a dopey smile. Like this, you feed off each other, and his smile has you gushing around him. 

Right now, there’s no one in the world but you and Spencer, nothing to do but this. Now, your end goal is out of sight, a distant finish line that bears no importance here. 

So you kiss him slow like molasses, just barely moving your hips on him. Your glides up and down his cock have turned into unrushed, legato arcs. 

“I love you,” Spencer groans into the kiss, not daring to move his mouth from yours.

“Love you,” you choke out, just barely being able to.

Minutes bend and bow and twist in on themselves, you don’t know how long you grind onto him but you know that distant finish line has become clear. 

“Spencer,” you call, muffled by the way you’re so lax your mouth barely moves. Spencer knows your tone, though, and his hand between your legs is instant. He doesn’t rush this either— just runs slowly over your clit, and you fall deep into his touch. You feel suspended, heavy and relaxed. “Cumming,” you sigh, and even this is nice and slow. It flows through you with ease, spreading throughout all of your limbs. It’s serene. You know Spencer won’t be too far behind you, he’s never been able to see, to feel you come and not follow you. You make sure to keep rocking on him to help him through, and it’s not long before he’s humming “baby,” and hitting his peak, too.

Fondly, he places a kiss to the top of your head. You giggle, wrapping your arms around him and finding your fingers behind his back. He breathes out heavily, a sigh of contentment, happy for a slow day with no goal to achieve. 

“Did I kiss you enough?” He asks, remembering your words from earlier. 

“Nah…” you tease, lifting your head to meet his eyes with a smug smile on your face.

"I don't even know why I asked."

"Me either. You're a smart man, you should know." Your face is bright and shining.

He laughs. And then he kisses you again.

[criminalamnesia]

Traitor part 8

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

here it is everyone :)) took me forever but it’s finally here! now I can disappear in peace lol. I’ll proofread everything later, but I hope this lives up to everyone’s expectations. thank you all for the love you’ve given this series. I hope this gives you some closure.

let me know if you want any drabbles from the series <3

thank you again!

after kyle finally leaves you alone, you slink back against the door, shutting your eyes so tightly stars dot your vision.

it never ends, does it?

apologies. worry. sympathy. pity.

it was in each of their eyes— the one-four-one. each of them trying to mask their pity for you behind sickening sympathy. you were exhausted of that look— not just from them, but from everyone you had walked past or looked at since everything had happened.

you open your eyes, scanning the room. what once had been a haven had become a hell. shattered glass sprinkled the floor near the mirror. clothes were still strewn about. you hadn’t bothered picking up what had been disturbed.

you’d be gone too soon for it to matter.

your phone rings then, the screen lighting up in the dimly lit room. you let the ring tone play for a second longer before you’re moving, reaching for the device on your nightstand.

it’s kate, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“hello?” you say as you answer the call.

“it’s kate,” comes the woman’s familiar voice through the speaker. “im on my way to base. should be there by tomorrow.”

you startle, eyebrows raising in confusion. “you’re coming here? why?”

you hear her sigh. “we can talk about it tomorrow. I need to meet with john, anyways. two birds, one stone and all that.” she tells you.

“can you at least tell me if the paper work is all set for my transfer?” you ask.

she doesn’t answer for a moment, and then:

“we’ll talk about it tomorrow, sergeant. get some rest. you sound like you need it.”

you hear a click, and then the line goes dead. you furrow your brows as you look down at the phone in your hand.

why on earth would she come all the way here just to talk?

your mind is moving a mile a minute, and suddenly, it clicks.

laswell is coming here to do damage control.

you huff a mirthless laugh, dropping your phone as your hands come up to run through your hair.

you weren’t being reassigned. you were being discharged.

but was it at her insistence, or someone else’s?

you whip around, wrenching open the door and storming down the hall to price’s office. those you pass in the hallway give you bewildered stares, and suddenly you’re aware that you’re still in that damned robe, but you’re on a mission.

and when you start something, you see it through.

you don’t bother knocking as you reach price’s door. instead, you barge into the office, effectively interrupting an argument between price and simon. their voices die off, heads turning to appraise who had barged in.

price’s eyes widen at the sight of you, but simon’s face is as unreadable as always. the door clicks shut behind you, and you stalk towards the two men, your fists clenched as you seethe.

“you motherfuckers,” you hurl the words at them, “you fucking knew. you knew.”

“love, what are you talkin’ about?” price questions, his brows furrowed as he turns to you.

“laswell,” you say, and price’s eyes widen. he knows. and now he knows you know.

“whatever she told you—”

“she didn’t tell me shit,” you huff. “I figured it out. why the fuck else would she come here just to talk? she’s playing fucking babysitter, isn’t she?”

price doesn’t speak. your gaze flits to simon’s.

“I’m sure you were rooting for this outcome, weren’t you? couldn’t finish me off in that fucking room, but hey, this is just as good, isn’t it? sending me back to fucking nothing.”

“this job is my life,” you turn your attention back to the captain. “and you fuckers just can’t stop ruining it, can you?” your voice is raising, and tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’re becoming hysteric.

“all because of a fucking lie!” you’re yelling now, jabbing a finger into the chest of your former captain.

“calm down,” the sound of simon’s rough baritone leads your head to snap toward him. your eyes are wide, fury and terror blazing in them.

and he expects you to let loose. scream and hit and scream some more. but you don’t.

you stand there and you stare at him with those wide eyes. the rest of the room— hell, the world falls away— and it’s just him and you.

like it was on patrol during countless nights, your bare fingers dancing over his gloved hands as you prattled on about a show you liked.

on countless nights curled up in his bed, your back to him, pressed so close he could feel the beat of your heart in his own chest. his arms wrapped around you, one of your fingers lazily tracing the ink on his forearm. no words spoken, yet so much said.

in the field, when you and johnny bicker over comms and he takes your side. when you take a bullet to the shoulder and he holds pressure on it until evac arrives.

when he makes eye contact with you as you pin kyle to the training mat, finally able to overcome his strength. when price tells him you’re the rat and he doesn’t want to believe it.

it’s just him and you. a lieutenant and his sergeant. but it’s more than that.

it’s a deep understanding of this job being your life. of losing everything and everyone you hold dear. of finding family again in this team, and doing whatever it takes to keep that family safe.

and he fully realizes, then, what you have been condemned to.

what they condemned you to.

what he condemned you to.

he breaks from his thoughts as you slam your fist into his jaw.

price’s eyes widen, his feet carrying him forward to intervene, but simon waves him off as he cradles a hand to his jaw.

“let ‘em,” he grunts out, and price looks bewildered, but he nods. he takes a step back, his hands falling to his sides, and he lets you strike again.

“fuck you,” you seethe, and despite your best efforts, your voice cracks. emotion seeps in, and your eyes are wet as you swipe a leg out from under him, forcing him to his knees.

he falls with no grace, knees hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud. you’d cringe if this were any other circumstance.

instead, you deliver another blow, cracking his nose with the force of it. blood sprays out and wets your robe.

“ghost—” price begins from somewhere off to the side, but simon just shakes his head.

“fuck you, simon! fuck you!” you scream at him, and your fists are flying blindly as tears cloud your eyes.

and he just takes the hits. you subconsciously register the sound of the office door squeaking as it opens and quickly closes. price didn’t want to be a bystander any longer, it seems.

but he still didn’t jump in. was it because of ghost’s insistence? or because your captain didn’t want to watch one of his soldiers finally snap?

you finally stop yourself when blood drips from your knuckles. unsurprisingly, they’ve split again. there’s no doubt in your mind that there will be little scars between each of them once they’ve healed.

more to add to the reminder of everything. god, at this point you knew you’d never forget it even if you wanted to. even if you tried to. even if you did for a brief moment, those little white lines— discolored and jagged skin in the place of what should be smooth and unmarred, would be your reminder.

blood pools on the floor, a mix of yours and simon’s. you pay it no mind as you wipe the backs of your hands on your completely ruined robe. good— now you had a great excuse to throw the damned thing away.

you would’ve thrown it away anyways.

you bring your hands to your eyes, wiping away tears that had freed themselves their cage. you see simon clearly then, his face bloodied and yet still beautiful in that way of his. his nose is obviously broken. lacerations above his eye and on his cheekbones.

his eyes are staring back you, the icy blue of them never more intense than now.

you heave in your breaths as you look at him. his split lip cracks further as he opens his mouth.

“done?”

and you don’t have anything left to give, so you nod. then you slump to your knees, down onto his level, and you don’t look away from what you’ve done.

it’s no different than what you did to the doctor, or to countless enemies in the field. but, at the same time, it is different.

because it’s him, and he let you do this. he could have easily stopped you. he’d shown his strength against you numerous times on the sparring mat, picking you up and tossing you around with ease.

and yet he didn’t stop you.

“why?” you ask him, and it’s a loaded question. your voice is a watery tremble, and the word comes out as a whisper, but he doesn’t shy away.

he shrugs. “you needed it.”

he’s focusing on one aspect of the question— on why he let you hit him. you open your mouth to respond, but he surprises you by speaking again.

“least I could do,” he says.

you close your mouth, your chapped lips pressed into a thin line. why is he doing this now? saying this now? what changed?

“is it your fault, then? that I’m being discharged?” you find yourself asking, and you’re not sure if you want to know the answer.

maybe you just want a reason to hate him more.

“no,” he says, and you know he means it.

he never lied to you, regardless of any pain it may have saved. it was one of the things you had loved about him.

he sighs. “I didn’t want you to go.”

that surprises you. simon was never one to freely speak on his feelings. he had opened up to you during your relationship, but it was as if there was always an invisible line he could never cross. never did he utter the complete truth to his thoughts or feelings. and you had accepted that— because that is who he was.

and you would take him with all his walls if it just meant that you could have him.

“I don’t want you to.” he corrects himself.

the room falls silent around you. the part of you that still holds love for him yearns for his embrace at this moment. but you push that side of you down. you will not go crawling back, not after what happened.

“you’ve been an asshole,” you say, and he gives a curt nod.

“probably.” he concedes. “but I wouldn’ take anythin’ back. I told you, I meant what I said.”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” you ask. god, he has a horrible way with words.

“no,” he tells you. “nothin’ I can say can do that.”

you snort. you fall back on you haunches, your hands in your lap as you look at him.

“I am never going to forgive you,” you tell him, words full of so much hurt.

he nods again. “I know. I don’ blame you. don’ expect you to, neither.”

“but I’m…” he starts, and his lips crease in a frown. “im sorry.”

you just look at him. perhaps you had wanted an apology at one moment in time, but now? now none of it mattered.

“I hope so,” you tell him. you move to stand, and he remains still. he hasn’t moved an inch since you’d finished your assault.

“I hope you feel this way for the rest of your lonely life. I hope that you never forget what you did to me, and I hope that it keeps you up at night. because I can tell you with certainty that I will never forget. and I hope the others remember, too. I hope it tears you all apart from the inside. that it follows you around for the rest of your career.”

you breathe in, then out. “and I hope no one ever gives you the chances I did,” your voice is soft. “because I would never wish what you did to me on the next person you think you love.”

his face conveys no emotion other than the small frown still on his lips. his eyes, so cold, have softened the tiniest bit. you used to love when you could bring out that softness inside of him. when it was just the two of you, your hand in his, his eyes on you.

those memories would suffocate you if you let them. what could’ve been will suffocate you. you refuse to let it.

you turn and stalk towards the door, not bothering to spare him another glance. you open it, stepping out into the hallway, coming face-to-face with the rest of the one-four-one.

their eyes are all wide as they take you in. your bloodied hands and robe. the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. you pull the door shut behind you before you speak.

“i don’t care to speak to kate,” you say to price, your eyes meeting his. “fuck her for not giving me a chance. and fuck you for laying down like a damn dog and not fighting for your fucking team.”

you turn to johnny next. “you shove your sorries up your ass, mactavish. I don’t want your sympathy, and I don’t want your pity. I hope your regret eats you alive.”

finally, kyle. “and you,” you glare at him. “if anyone other than simon should’ve defended me, it should’ve been you. I met you first, kyle. you were my closest friend, my brother. and you turned out to be just another fucking lap dog.”

you shake your head, blinking away hot tears. “I want you to get me temporary housing and a car because that’s the least you owe me, after ruining my life. and I don’t want to hear from any of you ever again. if I do, I guarantee you I will not show you the mercy you think you showed me when you had me tied up in that chair.”

none of them spoke, and you didn’t give them a chance to as you pushed past them, heading back toward your room to change.

a yellow cab retrieves you from base the next morning before kate arrives. it’s still dark outside when you leave the shelter that had once been home. rain pours down around you, a raging storm hanging overhead as it had all night prior. perhaps it was a reflection of your mood. you liked to think that it was.

you toss your duffle bag into the trunk, shutting it before climbing into the back seat. you hadn’t bothered to pack anything other than a few pairs of clothes you’d recovered from the floor of your room. everything else could be trashed, especially anything the boys had given you.

the driver doesn’t speak— price had given him all the information he needed— and paid him— before he’d fetched you. it seems your final outburst— and beating simon to a pulp— had finally put some urgency in his movements.

none of them had seen you off, per your request. you thought it was the least they could do for you after continuously disrespecting your boundaries.

(unbeknownst to you, simon had watched you leave through a window.)

the driver turned up the music— some pop song you didn’t know the name of— and you slumped in your seat, your head turned toward the window as you watched the rain race down it.

you found yourself drifting off quickly, and you didn’t try to fight it. you’re finally free of that place and the men you thought were your family. free of the anxiety of seeing them around every corner. free of the hate that sparked in your heart every time you heard their voices.

you sleep, and for the first time since before everything, it’s peaceful.

you wake to the taxi driver talking to you.

“we’re here,” he says, knocking on the glass separating the front and back seats. “can you get out now? I gotta get home. it’s my wife’s birthday.”

you blink the sleep from your eyes, nodding before you even register what he’s saying. “sorry,” you mumble as you fumble with the seat belt.

you slip from the car, your boots splashing in a muddy puddle. you grimace as the murky water seeps in, wetting your socks.

you trudge around to the back of the car, opening the trunk and retrieving your bag. you’ve just shut the trunk and stepped back when the car is driving off, kicking up mud that further dirties your boots and jeans.

you pay it little mind as you look at the small cottage before you.

nestled between some trees, it’s beautiful. a shingled roof. light blue paneled siding. a small front porch with a rocking chair and a bench swing. a beautiful dark blue door.

your favorite flowers live in the flower beds surrounding what you can see of the house. it makes you wonder if its a simple coincidence or if simon or price planned it.

how long have they known that you would have to come here? that you would have no where else to go except for where they put you?

you vowed that this house would just be temporary. you would get away from it as soon as possible, putting the rest of the one-four-one behind you. you didn’t want any of them knowing where to find you.

the rain slows to a sad drizzle. drops prick your skin as you make no effort to avoid puddles, splashing carelessly to the front door. you can hear birds beginning to chirp, slipping out of their hiding places as the sun’s rays begin to illuminate the earth once more.

a new beginning, you think.

you reach a hand toward the door knob, twisting it open and pushing inside. it’s a cozy little place with wood floors and a brick fireplace. it’s furnished, but there’s no personality to it. it clearly hasn’t been somebody’s home.

the door clicks shut behind you as you toe off your boots and drop your duffle by the door. as you nudge your boots out of the way with a foot, you notice an envelope on the floor.

eyebrows scrunched in confusion, you lean down and scoop it up. your name is written on the front in a scrawl you don’t recognize.

who else knows you’re here?

perhaps you’ll need to leave sooner than you thought.

you push your thumb under the seam, ripping it open with little finesse. inside is a typed letter. it’s an offer, you realize. a job offer.

its got an american stamp on it, and its signed by a phillip graves.

a new beginning indeed.

[anaktoria-of-the-moon]

At work plagued by thoughts of a mech bigger than you can imagine.

She starts like most of them do, a Titan excavator rig modestly sized for their line: maybe a house or thereabouts, a big house. (Doesn’t matter why she signed up - perhaps a breadwinner, a lone mother or eldest sister, a daughter of aging parents nobody else will take; doesn’t matter what site they sent her to, Earth or Enceladus or Venus or Europa. She’s there, and she lets them strap her in and adapt her for the piloting interface and pump her full of protein ooze and electrolytes and hyperstimulant cocktails as obediently as the next laborer.)

Upgrades come, from big house to bigger, with shovels like hillsides and treads like highways. Still she remains in the cockpit, out only for one day every six months to say hello to her burgeoning family, who have moved nearby to make it easy on her, to meet the baby nephews and nieces whose names she doesn’t yet know.

War comes. The facility hunkers down. It just makes sense to retrofit their biggest digger with shields, to expand her arsenal a little more, give her a better engine, pour all their leftover resources into making her a great guardian, and she rises to the occasion, shielding them from orbital rays, absorbing the energy and taking the pain of it up into her own engines. When the corporate rats who own the site finally turn tail and run the workers and their families band together and do the needful repairs themselves. Her nieces and nephews grow up learning engineering by the light of oil lamps from stolen Old Era textbooks and jailbroken datapads. She hardly ever now glimpses their faces with her own two eyes from within her steel shell but it is a worthy sacrifice to her, to them, for both parties know she is still there, still with them, embracing them in a great steel hug and watching through a thousand glass-lensed eyes.

Years pass. The brightest of her nieces works out how to modify the nutrition cocktail going into her cockpit so she will never age, never die, never fall sick. Somewhere in there all the metal and ceramic encloses her ever-sleeping body like a lotus flower around the benevolent, immortal form of a bodhisattva.

The outpost survives the war, somehow. Refugees hear of the little town on the colony that could, guarded by a goddess the size of a temple, and flock there. It makes sense to add to her control, among her array of sensors and actuators, the new city’s power generation and delivery system, its wall defenses, its waste management, its communications mains. Nowhere is anything safer than with her.

With all these new additions come techs and custodians to keep her in good care. They build modest crew cabins nestled amongst her treads (now rusty from disuse) so they can be close to her, the better to help her.

Slowly more and more falls under her purview, new cabins, then mezzanines and stairways and platforms between them; each generation has their own superstitions that they add to those of the last before them, so paintings crop up on her metal panels now, in nooks and crannies, often crude symbols that promise good oil changes or swift code updates, or simply depictions of their goddess, of the war she survived. Still she watches.

Her nieces and nephews are all dead now, and their nieces and nephews look on through rheumed eyes as the city attains new heights, heralded everywhere on every planet that still lives as an oasis of peace and prosperity. Still she watches.

A new company comes, enticed by the stories. They want to buy her. Buy her! The people scoff. As if you could just buy a person! - A person? asks the representative from Acher Spaceways, perplexed. - We heard she was your goddess.

She is both, of course, the goddess who lives, the goddess who is one hundred percent flesh and one hundred percent machine.

Acher doesn’t like this. They send machines - zero percent flesh, entirely drones - screaming down from the stars for a more insistent negotiation, one phrased in metal slugs and incendiary fire.

So your goddess rises up to meet them.

It is over in a short day. The drones lie in pieces; Acher, from orbit, licks their wounds, and the goddess rebukes them with a single laser blast, modified from her very first mining waymaker photonic drill.

The blast is precise and surgical. It tears apart the whole platform, spinning central axis to annular habitat space, which supernovas into a blossom of shining proof in the night sky at which the citizens below cheer.

But the pieces are falling, and soon they will pepper the surface below with molten debris, kick up dust into the atmosphere and make it all but unbreathable. The people could leave, the goddess advises them through short-wave radio bursts. They could use her emergency shuttles to escape gravity before it is too late, or they could go underground and salvage her rarest and most precious resources to survive until the surface is safe again.

Here is the thing - every pilot is augmented, and most augments are for the benefit of the plainly physical, for strength and speed and stamina and sharpness of perception. When her people augmented her, they augmented something else entirely. With every new module, every sensor upgrade, every painted symbol and hidden shrine, they gave her a superhuman capacity not for stamina or speed or strength, but for love.

It is her love that saved them, so they must save her back.

For two days they work tirelessly, the whole city, while above them the shattered pieces of Acher Spaceways looms ever closer. When they are done the treads are gone, the cabins dismantled, only the little drawings carefully preserved under coats of abrasion- and heat-resistant paint. And under her, their city, their Haven, lie rockets, ten of them, repurposed from the old all-ore crucibles, fit to move an asteroid.

She’s out there somewhere by Orion now, they say, the fourth jewel in his belt. And she has only grown: from three thousand then to three hundred million. Creatures from all over come to pay her their respects, or to visit lovers, or to live there themselves. There is always room in a body that is ever expanding, like the cosmos itself. Over all of them, she watches, eternal.

Among all the stories they tell of her, they repeat this one the most - how she tore apart a whole space station for the sake of her people, knowing she would die if she failed, for how can a whole city hope to flee? She guards them, and in turn they do not abandon her. They are two halves of the same whole, they say reverently, love manifest - the people and their city; this pilot, this great machine. This Haven.