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woahjo · 2 months

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The People We Became (Bakugou x Reader)

masterlist | ao3

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Summary: Zombie Apocalypse Au.

The world fell apart almost a year ago and you refused to go with it. Left alone and to your own devices in a world full of monsters, where the dead come back to life, you believe that maybe surviving isn't living.

When Katsuki finds you alone in the woods and on the precipice of collapsing from exhaustion, he decides to bring you back to the house his group calls home. Against your better judgement and hesitancy to become attached, you decide to stay. In this world, everyone has lost someone. No soul is spared the violence, and you start sleeping with Bakugou Katsuki to dull the ache. Somehow, peace finds you anyway, but not without sacrifice.

Chapter Content Warnings: fem!reader, gender neutral pronouns, strangers to lovers, violence typical of zombies, blood, gore, romance, slow-ish burn (for the emotional stuff), angst, kissin', questions of identity, loss, grief, graphic depictions of death and/or violence, mentions and descriptions of starvation/exhaustion typical of an apocalypse setting, very slight implications of possible sexual violence typical of an apocalypse setting, derealization, depersonalization, weapons (guns, blades, and traps), loss of identity

All content warnings can be found on ao3 with the rest of the series.

Word Count: 14.4k — 53k total on ao3

A/N: it's finally done... i'm sweating. i screamed. i cried. i bled. you know the drill. i am posting this a little differently than my other fics and series. only the first chapter will be posted here on tumblr (this post), with the rest of it broken up into chapters and posted on ao3.. purely because it was originally meant as a one shot and i don't like posting chapters on tumblr. it's not built for that and im tired. anyway, im nervous this is my new baby and im pretty sure my soul is somewhere in here. if u read this, pls come tell me what you think.. it fuels me. enjoy, cry, sweat, or whatever else you do when you read. as always, thank you and i love you.

Two hundred and seventy six. It’s been two hundred and seventy six days since the world completely went to shit. You don’t really count the initial outbreak. The initial outbreak was relatively contained once people found out about it. You quarantined. You stayed inside. All it really took were a handful of idiots. Someone selfish. Someone who panicked and ran instead of facing the world honorably, and that was it. It only took days to lose almost every semblance of a normal life and a week to lose everything else.

The light of your fire is dim, embers burning low as you sit in a foldable chair beside it. The chair is from a friend, someone you’re not with anymore and who went somewhere you couldn’t follow, and you've got a metal spatula in your hand. You're not sure why you grabbed it when you fled, but panic does weird things to the mind. You absentmindedly wonder why you’ve brought it along with you all this time. There’s no logical reason for you to tote the thing around. A friend had told you how strange it was that you thought to toss it into your bag and continue carrying it. This, along with a few other oddities, are all you managed to take from your house when the world fell to ruin. Everything else are things scavenged along the way or from people you'd met, joined, and lost.

Maybe it’s because the spatula is somewhat normal, like somehow when you cook the game on your makeshift tin over your shitty fire, you can pretend you’re in your kitchen. A smash burger sounds good right now, with grilled onions on a brioche bun like the ones from the place by your apartment.

The night is near silent and trees creak and crack like the hulls of great ships under heavy pressure, but the birds don't sing and nothing in the crowded wood you're taking shelter in makes a sound. Well, except for you and the gentle crackle of your fire.

It’s easy to miss the noise that used to irritate you when the world goes quiet. You used to hate the sounds and lights of passing trucks when they’d cross on the street below your apartment window. Now, you’d do anything for the familiar comfort. The world is so dark and quiet, like it’s holding its breath and waiting for this to be over. The silence is almost too much, so loud that it hurts your ears. You huddle closer to the fire, craving its quiet sound. Focusing on it lessens the anxiety of the other noises. The ones you don’t want to hear.

Your head is on a swivel. It has been for months. Ever since the outbreak, ever since the dead rose and began consuming and infecting the living, you've kept watch. A paranoid, never ending cycle that you suppose—if left on your own—will burn itself out. You swallow thick and return your attention to the fire, watching the tree line just in front of you for any hint of movement or monsters.

A branch cracks just behind you. A swift sound, followed by rapid footsteps. You stand, quickly turning your head, only to see a figure a few feet away from you. They move quickly and the dancing light of the fire obscures their features from view. Their eyes, most importantly. You can always tell if someone is dead or alive based on their eyes and the sounds that their joints make. In this light, should this stranger have that milky white film over them, you wouldn't be able to tell.

You make a small noise, something between a whimper and a shout, as the person comes to a stop in front of you and holds a flashlight directly into your face. You squint, panic in your veins as your eyes adjust as best they can to the sudden assault. It takes you a moment to realize that there is a gun pointed directly at your forehead. The living. This person is alive. You're not sure yet if encountering one of the dead would have been worse.

"Shut up and drop your weapon," he says in a hurried voice. It's aggressive and threatening. It comes from deep in his chest, like somehow fear has gripped and mutilated it into something violent.

You raise your shaky hands to your head quickly at the order, screwing your eyes shut in the beam of the flashlight.

"It's not a weapon!" you shout, voice cracking. "It's a spatula. It's a spatula."

The words are rushed and heavy, fear seizing your chest as you look down the barrel of the gun. The flashlight turns off, sending you back into the dark. Your eyes fight to adjust, catching the firelight that glints off of the barrel, and you begin to makeout the man’s features. He's big, blonde under the grime, you think. A man, not the best thing to encounter alone at night in times like these.

You see him hesitate for a moment, eyes darting between you and the silver kitchen item in your hand. You drop it quickly, hoping to appeal to his humanity.

"Do you have a weapon on you?" he questions, voice a little less urgent.

You shake your head in response and then shakily look beside the chair, choking out the word “ground”. There's a knife there and a pistol with no bullets. You're a poor shot and you had run out of ammo the previous week. He glances at it, the gun still raised at you, and sidesteps to grab the two items. When he does, he cautiously lowers the weapon and you start to lower your trembling hands.

Then, as if struck by some realization, the man stomps towards the fire and you jump as he does.

"The fuck are you doing lighting a fire this late?" he says angrily, opening the clip of your pistol. "And with no fucking bullets. Those things may be dead, but they can still fuckin' see. That's a good way to get yourself killed."

He stomps out the fire as he talks, urgently stamping out what's left of the low-burning logs.

"I didn't think there were many in the area," you justify, furrowing your eyebrows as you step away from him.

"And that's a risk you want to take?" he says indignantly. You wonder briefly what business he has worrying about you.

"What do you want?" you snap, "My food? Weapons? Life? What is it?"

The man scoffs, "Jesus, none of that. I don’t want your shit."

You narrow your eyes and take a step back. One thing this world has done is remove trust from every chance encounter, and that was already hard enough when the place was sane.

"Not all people who camp out in the woods are good," he says. "But I sure as shit didn't expect to find someone like you alone lighting a damn fire. Stupid."

"There were others," you say indignantly, like somehow that makes it better. "Force of habit, I guess."

The man pauses for a moment as understanding passes between the two of you. It's a relatable feeling. Everyone has lost someone now.

"Got a name?" he asks.

You hesitate in giving it to him and the pause causes him to roll his eyes. “You want me to call you Idiot-with-no-bullets instead?”

You give him your name and the man nods as if he likes the sound of it, turning it over in his head before inhaling.

"I'm Katsuki," he furrows his eyebrows. "You're alone?"

You nod, swallowing down the grief that pushes at your throat.

"Wasn't always," you respond, "but yeah. Now, I am."

He nods his understanding.

"Come with me."

"Where?" you say instinctively, a defensive edge to your voice. Katsuki looks at you as if you’re stupid, or maybe it's pity, like you're a wounded animal. Probably both.

"Where the fuck do you think?" he retorts. "We've got a camp a little ways from here. I saw your fire from the watch post we have stationed."

You look at him like he's a little crazy for even thinking to bring you. Kindness, especially the selfless type, is so rare now and you find it difficult to believe that he’s willing to take you there at no cost.

He scoffs and rolls his head over his shoulder. "Look, we've got men and women," then he pauses. "Used to have children. We're not gonna hurt you. World's gone to shit, do you really wanna keep at it alone?"

He's probably right. You've been alone for weeks now, exhausted for longer, and though your common sense tells you not to go off with a strange man in this kind of world, the promise of rest is far too tempting. You nod and glance back to your camp. A measly collection of supplies haphazardly put together. You suppose that it doesn’t look so promising.

"We'll come back for it when it's light," he says. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not spend longer in these dark ass woods than I have to."

"Okay," you say. The presence of another person both sets you on edge and makes you feel the press of fatigue even more. A gun's barrel on your nose followed by the promise of safety and you're going with him? You must be stupider than a horror movie protagonist. "Do you take in a lot of strays?"

Katsuki looks over his shoulder and you think you see him smile a little at the phrase.

"If that's what you want to call it," he says begrudgingly. Then, with a softer tone of voice, barely noticeable with the quiet whisper you both have been speaking at. "I'm sure the others won't mind one more."

You nod a little and follow him through the wood, stepping over obstacles. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, but you feel unsteady on your feet. Everything you’ve ever learned about this world tells you that maybe you shouldn’t go with him. What if they’re dangerous? It’s easy to lie about women and children, about a community that doesn’t exist. Or worse, it’s easy to fool yourself that where you are is good, but you don’t know yet if he’s the type to delude himself. He doesn’t seem it.

The two of you walk for what feels like forever, even if it is only a little over half a mile. Your feet have been aching for days and every step you take feels like a blade into the heel. Katsuki seems steady, his gun secured at his hip and a large knife in his dominant hand. He doesn’t have the flashlight out, but he seems sure-footed and takes every step in stride, as if he’s too heavy to be swayed by any missed step.

As you move, you can barely make out his back in the white tank top he wears. You use it as a landmark, following the glowing white as it catches the light from the moon. Like chasing a ghost through the trees.

Then, the wood eases up. The trees grow sparse and the suffocating humidity of the forest eases into a more breathable, open-air breeze. Katsuki steps out into a clearing. It’s relatively small, for how large the world is, but it’s some of the most open space you’ve seen in a while. The feeling of stepping out into the tall grass, where you’re both visible to any wandering thing, sends a rush of fear through you.

By the edge of the clearing, there’s a small house with a short steeple. It almost looks like a Christian church, but you get the sense that it’s likely a barn. That must be the watchtower and you wonder just how good the view of the forest is from up there if Katsuki managed to see the light of your fire. How many other people had seen your fires over the weeks and not made it out to confront you? How close had you come before to safety or annihilation?

"Hey!" a girl's voice calls. "He's back!"

In the near distance, you can see a large and dimly lit house. It looks a little worn down, but soft and hardly noticeable light emanates from it in a way that makes it seem inviting.You can’t make out its exact silhouette and night blurs just how broken-down it is, but you can tell that people live there in the same way you can tell when someone has just left a room.

Someone runs across the field to you both. It looks like a man and a woman, maybe around Katsuki's age. They move quickly through the tall grass and for a moment, the urgency that they move with frightens you. You worry that your presence will ignite some protective sort of panic. You linger back, letting Katsuki grow a little farther from you as they call out to him.

“Yeah, yeah," he half-shouts, no longer seeming to care about keeping quiet. Guess that's what happens when there's a group. "I found the fire I mentioned."

The two come to a stop in front of him, resting their hands on their hips as they catch the breath they lost.

"We started to get a little worried," says the girl. She's pretty, with big eyes and curly hair that looks like it probably used to be dyed. "You've been gone for a while."

"Well, I'm back," he says.

"And you brought a friend," the other man says, sounding shocked. His tone is noticeably kind. The boisterous type of kind and when he smiles, you can see that he has sharp canines. His hair is straight, sticking out in different directions, and tinged with red in this light.

"More like an acquaintance," Katsuki says. “I found them in the woods with a fire and an empty clip. Felt like their blood would be on my hands if I didn’t bring them back.” The red-haired man gives him a telling look and Katsuki scoffs in response and turns to the girl. "Get them settled, Mina, will you?" The girl called Mina nods and Katsuki takes off toward the house without another word.

"You're lucky," she says, pausing when you flinch as she steps closer. "You're gettin' the last solo room in the place. Kirishima, is it set up?"

Kirishima shrugs his shoulders. "You'd have to ask Izuku. He'd know all about that, but I can go check."

Mina shakes her head and turns her attention to you, giving you a quick once over with her eyebrows pulled together.

"You must be tired.”

When you nod, she gives you an empathetic smile and motions for you to come with her. "We'll fix that. You hungry?"

"What do you think?" you manage, saliva pooling in your mouth. "Do you have food?"

"Plenty," she smiles. "not quite enough for leftovers just yet though, don’t tell anyone."

You smile awkwardly. Who on earth would you tell?

"Sounds like a good deal," you say.

You follow Mina up to the house. Around it, there are a few parked cars. They look like they could pull out at any moment, and through the dust covered windows, you can just make out supplies in the back seats as you pass. In the distance, you can see the fuzzy silhouette of the barn you’d assumed was a watchtower in the dark of the field and you figure that maybe it used to be a place to keep livestock.

Mina doesn't say much to you as you pass through the field, and when you walk into the door, the first thing you notice is a large group of people seated at a dining table. They all look up at you when you enter and it's with a bit of shock that you register their faces as healthy. Well, healthier. These people live well. Something stirs in your chest, both anxiety and excitement at the thought of possibly having found somewhere safe. They blink at you for a moment, exchanging looks that all end up landing on Katsuki.

"This is the group. Well, most of us," Mina says pleasantly and with a light huff. "That's Izuku, Denki, Ochako, Sero, and you already know the handsome guy on the end there. Kiri's probably checking to see if the room is half decent.." They all greet you with a glad murmur. "Group, this is..."

She looks at you expectantly. When you tell them your name, you can't help but look at Katsuki who already knows it. He raises his eyebrows unconsciously and turns his attention to the glass in front of him.

There’s an awkward pause as you stand in the doorway, suddenly conscious of just how dirty you must look. Remnants of an older world, you suppose. No one really worries about things like that anymore.

“Uhm…” you search for something to say, but your people skills seem to have left you.

“You’re okay,” Mina says lightly. “Plenty of time to get to know you when you’ve rested and had something to eat.”

Mina sits you down at a chair that she pulls in from the other room. It doesn't match the other ones in the dining room, but you suppose no one is really thinking of the decor in their house anymore. It's only now that you realize the house has electricity.

"You have power?" you say incredulously, looking at the center light in the dining room on its low setting.

"Mhm," Mina hums as she sits down next to you and spoons a helping of vegetables onto your plate. "It's got a generator. We got lucky finding this place. I don't think many of us would be alive if we hadn't."

Those listening in the group nod their affirmation.

"It draws from well water too," she adds. "With the right care, the place practically runs on its own. Hard work but what isn't nowadays?"

“Like you do any of the heavy lifting," Sero scoffs across from her.

"That's not fair," Katsuki adds with a slick smirk, "you know damn well none of our vegetables would be so well socialized if she didn't use them like a damn diary all day."

The group laughs a little and Mina rolls her eyes and sits back in the chair. You avoid looking at anyone, shoveling the food into your mouth. You’re salivating an almost embarrassing amount, struggling to eat at a normal pace. There’s something about food cooked inside, about the way food tastes when you can smell it wafting in from the kitchen.

"Don't worry," she turns to you, as if you’re at all concerned with the implication that she doesn’t do much work, "they know we’d hardly have vegetables at all if it weren't my job to tend them. I used to garden quite a bit before all of this."

Sero tosses her a sideways glance and you get the sense that maybe it isn’t just her doing it.

"Mina does a lot of the garden stuff," Ochako pitches in, her voice hesitant. "We all sort of just do what we can."

You can’t really keep up with the conversation and instead just blink at her for a moment before turning back to your food. Maybe that’s rude, but you don’t have the energy to consider it. There’s food in front of you. Food that doesn’t taste like it’s been poorly slaughtered or rotting in a cabinet for months.

The group at the table with you shifts back into what you feel is their normal conversation and you watch them through your peripheral. You can’t relax yet, maybe you never will. Always on watch with your guard up.

They pass the dishes around the table, plates going from hand to hand over mismatched sets of silverware. The action feels strange to you. Your chest squeezes at the thought. Just a few weeks ago, you’d done this around a fire with the people you loved. You’d passed a too-hot-to-touch pot around a circle of friends, laughing quietly at the little moments of joy you could find. It feels far away now and jealousy rouses beside hope as you sit.

“So, where did you come from?” Izuku at the end of the table asks.

It takes you a moment to realize that he’s talking to you and there’s an edge to his voice that has everyone at the table sitting up with curiosity. You stare at him for a moment, exhausted and defeated and unable to muster the words.

“Leave them be,” Katsuki says, looking up from his plate. “They just got here. They’re probably freaked out.”

The table goes a little quiet, a hush falling over it. You look around as glances are exchanged before Mina stands up quickly and quietly claps her hands together.

“I think,” she says with an awkward laugh, “it may be time for bed.”

Mina turns to you. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

You nod, standing up and turning to the group with furrowed eyebrows. You want to thank them, to tell them that you’re grateful for the meal and their kindness, but the words don’t come. Instead, you meet Katsuki’s gaze, grateful for the intervention, but suspicious at such forthcoming kindness. He scoffs a little and turns away.

—

“It’s just up here,” Mina says as she guides you through the house.

You pass rooms with their doors ajar. They are lived in, with unmade beds and glasses of clean water on nightstands. It’s like something out of a life gone by, with a few less amenities. You can imagine a family moving through this house. Girls in school uniforms calling through the halls about a stolen hair clip. Now, you picture these people doing that. Living and not just surviving.

“The bathroom is across the hall,” she says. “You can take a shower if you want. I’ll leave a towel and some clothes in there just in case.”

You nod.

“No worries if you don’t,” Mina adds in a whisper. “When I first met everyone, I didn’t undress to bathe for days so… take your time. We won’t be offended.”

She shuts the door behind her when she leaves and you stumble back onto the bed, shocked by just how soft it feels after spending weeks on the floor. It’s not much, but it’s nicer than anything you’ve experienced in the last nine months, and there's a working shower. You haven’t had a shower since everything fell apart and the layer of grime on your skin is so thick that you can feel it. You haven’t felt safe enough to properly wash since you’d lost the rest of your group, only stopping to rinse your body in streams you pass if the thought occurred to you. The idea of running water and a shower is near euphoric.

You probably shouldn’t. It may not be wise to shower tonight. You still don’t know these people or what they’re capable of, but the temptation of being clean is too great and as soon as you hear Mina close the bathroom door and walk away, you hurry across the hall on the balls of your feet.

The bathroom looks old and the sink is white porcelain, eggshell now with a lack of care. The shower has a bathtub in it and though it’s cloudy, there’s a mirror over the sink where you catch the first clear glimpse you’ve had of yourself in weeks.

You don’t know who you’re looking at. The person in the mirror is nearly unrecognizable. Their eyes are wide and frightened, wild like an animal’s, and their face is covered in a layer of grime that looks like it can never be washed out. Their hair is unruly, sticking out in some areas and matted down with blood in others. This is a person you’ve never seen or met before. Someone you would have avoided only a year ago if you’d ever encountered them.

You reach up to touch your face, running your hand over the dried blood that has made a home on the underside of your jaw. How long has it been there? Have you always looked so unwell? So sick in mind and body? The promise of a shower grows unbearably pleasant.

The knob squeaks when you turn it, screeching as the pipes hum and clang to life. Water spits out in a few bursts before raining down from the faucet and hitting the back of the tub in a steady thrum. It sounds a little bit like music to you, constant and heavy, and it gives the impression of normalcy as you begin undressing.

The fabric of your clothes sticks to your skin, peeling from your body in an unbearable and disgusting way. You don’t look at your body in the mirror. In fact, you avoid it entirely. Not recognizing your face was enough, but your body—a part of yourself you never really recognized—would drive you over the edge.

Then, you pull the shower curtain back and stick your hand under the water, stepping into it fully with a deep sigh. The water is lukewarm. They probably turned off the heater to conserve power and allow the main generator to function for longer. That’s fine. Beggars can’t be choosers and everyone is a beggar nowadays. Besides, it’s warm enough outside that the water isn’t too cold as it is. In the winter, you probably wouldn’t be able to shower and the pipes might freeze entirely until the following spring.

There’s a normalcy that you settle into as you wash your body. You return to muscle memory, running your hands over your skin and scrubbing the grime out. It’s simultaneously like the first shower of your life and as if you’ve been doing it every day. You return to a state of pleasant, familiar humanity as you wash away dirt that has built up for weeks. You feel as it pours off of you, see it run down your body onto the porcelain of the tub and swirl down the drain. It’s dirt and dried blood that has been caked onto your skin. You worry that even after washing, it will leave a permanent mark.

The person in the mirror when you get out of the shower is in stark contrast to the person who went into it. They’re someone that you recognize. You could almost convince yourself that nothing ever changed. Your water-soaked skin is so familiar to you, that you could be getting out of the shower and dressing to go to work. If it weren’t for the look in your eyes, you could have fooled yourself. Something undefinable has changed in you, something that you will carry with you forever. You glance at yourself in the foggy mirror and think that there is no going back.

The house is quiet when you dry yourself and open the bathroom door. You step across the hall on the balls of your feet, careful not to make any noise, and when you push the bedroom door open, you do a visual sweep to make sure that it’s safe out of habit.

Your body is exhausted. You are so thoroughly tired that you think you could collapse at any moment, but when you sit down on the bed in your fresh clothes, you find yourself restless. This place is new to you and you’re unsure if the safe feeling is your mind playing desperate tricks on you or the real thing. The lamp by your bed is on, casting a yellow glow across the bedsheets and the dark wood furniture. Come to think of it, you didn’t get a good look at the house when you came in and the thought starts to bother you as you stare at the closed door to the hallway.

Someone could be behind it. They could be waiting for you to lay down, to sleep, before doing something awful. You almost feel guilty for thinking this way about them. They’ve fed you, given you a shower, given you fresh clothes. Luxuries you weren’t sure even existed anymore, yet you’re sitting here doubting them, wishing you had your pistol or knife.

The bedroom door creaks as you open it. You wince, nervous that you’ve disturbed the quiet peace of the house and that everything will come crashing down as quickly as it seemed to come together. The hallway is dark, save for some light coming from under two doors at the end of the hall. One of them turns out as you creep past it to the stairs, and you hear the distinct sound of box springs squeaking as someone crawls into bed. You let go of the breath you’d been holding, straightening up as you relax into the late-night environment.

The house looks old even from the inside. It gives the impression of having once been dirty and in near disrepair. There are dust stains and dull spots that no amount of scrubbing could get out. You can almost picture how this place may have looked when they found it and it’s entirely possible that it had been abandoned before the actual outbreak. Someone run out of their home for lack of money. What a trivial thing now.

The stairs are sturdy, probably held together so well by the foundation of the house, and they’re made of dark wood. They’re steep too, the kind that a baby or old person might trip over, and you hold the railing to calm the shaking of your legs as you slowly feel your way down. You can see the light on in the kitchen from around the corner, spreading out onto the floor of the old fashioned drawing room. Dishes clink in the kitchen, like someone is washing them, and you jump a little at the noise as you creep around the corner.

Kirishima is standing at the sink with his back to you, whispering something to someone beside him. The expanse of his back is broad, moving every time he goes to run his hand over the dish in front of him. Then, he turns to look at you and you see Mina pop her head around the corner.

“Oh,” Kiri says, “did you need something?”

You shake your head. “Not really, I just couldn’t sleep.”

Kiri nods sympathetically as if he knows the feeling. “Well, you look like you feel a little better at least.”

You pad over to where he’s doing the dishes and Mina offers you a soft smile and a knowing look. It all seems so normal. Doing the dishes, whispering quietly as they do. Something about it screams a kind of humanity you haven’t experienced in a long while, even with your last group.

“Are you sure we can’t get you something?” Mina says, furrowing her brows.

“Why are you all being so nice to me?” You ask. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“Is there some reason why we shouldn’t be nice to you?” Kiri says over his shoulder.

“No,” you shake your head. “I just think it’s reckless, that’s all. I could have been anyone.”

Kirishima and Mina exchange a look. They glance at each other, like they’re debating on saying something, and then Kiri turns and rests his palms on the back of the sink. He looks at Mina.

“We don’t usually decide to do this so quickly,” she admits. “We’re friendly, but nobody’s that friendly anymore.”

Kiri nods his agreement and you listen quietly, trying to determine if they plan to toss you back out into the woods in the morning.

“But, Katsuki doesn’t usually bring people in,” she continues.

“He’s a little more closed off than the rest of us,” Kirishima adds. “He’s a good guy, just takes a while to warm up, is all.”

“Mhm,” Mina says.

“What does that have to do with me?” you ask. “This is nice and all, but I’m sure you get why I’m wary.”

“He’s a good judge of character,” Kiri adds earnestly. “He doesn’t bring people in often, but when he does, he’s usually right.”

You nod, not quite understanding. Sure, you don’t plan to do anything terrible. In fact, you’re content to accept their kindness and stay, if they’d let you. Anything is better than being alone, but their blind trust in one man’s judgment of character makes you uneasy.

“He was alone for a really long time,” Mina adds. “A lot of us were. I got lucky meeting Kirishima early on, but Katsuki’s luck was a little less fortuitous.”

“So you all just… happened upon each other by chance?” You ask.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Mina says. “It was me and Kiri for a long time. Just the two of us. We’d found Izuku and Katsuki together a while later, but they didn’t seem to like each other all that much. We still haven’t really figured that out, especially because they’re so close now. Ochako and Sero ended up cornered together by accident. We found them just before we found this place, and Denki just sort of showed up here one day and promised to fix the generator in exchange for safety. That was months ago. We’ve been like this since.”

“So you’re all strays,” you say and Mina laughs a little and looks at Kiri.

“Sure,” she says. “We’re all strays. There were others too. Shoji. Jirou. She was Denki’s girlfriend.”

“I’m sorry,” you say with a frown. It feels pointless to apologize for the dead, if you get caught up in it, you’d be apologizing forever.

“Don’t be,” Kiri adds. “But best not to bring her up. It was pretty recent and Denki’s only just started to get over it.”

You swallow thick and nod a little.

“Anyway,” Mina says, “we can’t really explain it. We just trust him. We trust Katsuki. That’s all.”

“Hm,” you hum, understanding that to a degree.

You trusted the people in your group. If they believed in someone, you were willing to as well, so you suppose you can understand a little where they’re coming from.

“What are you talking about,” Katsuki rounds the corner, walking into the kitchen and putting his water bottle under the sink.

“Nothing really,” Mina says.

Katsuki furrows his eyebrows and then looks at you. He gives you a once over, taking in your new clothing before scoffing lightly.

“Don’t you look cozy,” he says. “You get settled?”

“When can I go get my stuff?” You ask.

“Someone’s eager,” he says through lightly gritted teeth. “Didn’t I tell ya we could go in the morning? Besides, what’s there really to miss in that lot of junk?”

“Katsuki!” Mina quietly chides.

“I have things I care about there,” you say. “Things I’m not ready to lose.”

Katsuki blinks at you for a second before swearing under his breath. “We’ll leave when you get up in the morning.”

“You don’t have to come with me,” you say, frowning a bit at his sour attitude.

“Like hell,” he scoffs. “What if the dead are waiting back there for you?”

“I made it this far on my own,” you respond.

Katsuki nods for a second. “I’m going. Come find me in the morning.”

He walks off and around the corner. You hear him go up the stairs, followed by the distinct click of a bedroom door shutting.

“Don’t pay too much attention to that,” Mina says. “It’s past his bedtime.”

“You’ll get used to him,” Kiri adds.

“Right,” you say, swallowing down your frustration in favor of trying to be appreciative of the help. You sway on your feet a little and then steady yourself. “I’m going to go to sleep. Thank you for the meal and the bed.”

Mina and Kiri nod, but you don’t stick around to hear a response. Fatigue creeps up on you. It ambushes your senses and you go from feeling dream-like to delusional in a matter of moments. You make your way up the stairs, your body feeling heavy as lead, and wobble your way into the bedroom they’re letting you stay in.

When your head hits the pillow, you’re out. The world around you fades to dark and just before you sleep, you swear that you can hear the sounds of cars passing on the highway. A busy night, Saturday maybe, and people go about their daily lives outside of the window the way that they always have. They live, never the wiser to just how quickly things fall apart and how little it takes for our humanity to leave us.

—

Mornings in this place are boisterous. The sun coming through the lone window in your room wakes you up and you can hear the calls of busy people getting to work outside. There are voices from the porch out front that your window looks over and though you can’t see them, you get the sense that they’re having a pleasant conversation.

As you rouse, you come to the realization of just how exhausted you’d really been. They probably saved your life by bringing you to this place, feeding you, and offering you a bed. In hindsight, it’s easy to see just how little you had left in you. You get the sense now that you’d been running on an empty tank for days, slowly coming to an inglorious, gruesome, sputtering stop.

Things seem a little clearer, like the sunlight is somehow less bleak than it had been the days previous and you feel a little bit like you have a new lease on life. There are no big emotions, no swells of hope or humanity just yet, and you dread the moment you are rested enough to let grief consume you. Right now, you can’t feel it, but there is a fear in you that as you get to know these people who live relatively beautifully in an ugly world, it will weigh you down so much that you’ll never be able to outrun it.

You wonder if they’ll let you stay. They very well may not, even with the way they were talking last night. Strangers are more dangerous than they’ve ever been and if they ask you whether or not you’ve killed someone, you refuse to lie to them. Sitting up on the bed, you mull over the very real possibility that you could be back out there on your own again in a matter of days and you don’t even have that many good acts under your belt to plead your case. You’re just a person and you’ve done what you needed to in order to survive. Now, you’re not sure if that’s enough.

You swallow thick, wandering over to the mirror on the dresser. It’s fogged, though less than the bathroom mirror, and you can make out your features a little better than you could last night. You feel a bit more sane, though you still don’t recognize the frightful and distrustful look in your eyes. Like a wounded animal. Inside your head, you acknowledge that you are completely different from the person you were two hundred and seventy seven days ago.

The voices grow louder as you climb down the stairs, more secure on your feet than you felt last night. You can hear them talking about the generator, as well as a name you don’t recognize.

“He should be back by now,” a woman says. “Shoto’s never gone longer than a day or two, max.”

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” another woman says with a worried bite in her voice. Mina, maybe? “We’re only a few hours into the day. He probably got holed up somewhere.”

“Someone needs to go look for him,” a man says.

“And what? Risk getting yourself killed?” the first woman says. “No, it doesn’t make sense. We need you here.”

“You’d rather we leave him to die on his own?”

“No one’s fuckin’ dying.”

You recognize Katsuki’s voice.

“He’s perfectly capable of going on a gasoline run,” he continues. “He’s done it before.”

“I should have gone with him,” says the same woman.

“On that leg? You wouldn’t have made it halfway to town, let alone there and back,” his voice raises a little. “Don’t be stupid. He’ll be back.”

You clear your throat and step around the corner. The group turns to face you quickly at the sound, their eyes wide for a moment before relaxing. You can’t sneak up on anyone nowadays.

“Sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Is everything okay?”

It’s not your business, but you ask anyway, wondering for yourself about the safety of Shoto.

“Fine,” Izuku says, shaking his head. You recognize him to be the one who'd vouched for going after their friend. Katsuki takes a step away from the broad man as he says this. “Nothing for you to worry about. Did you rest?”

Izuku smiles gently at you, his chest inflating a little at the question. The movement broadens his shoulders and you realize that he stands almost a head taller than Katsuki. You look briefly between the two of them before nodding.

“I did,” you say. “Thank you.”

“Nothing wrong with a little hospitality now and then,” he smiles and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows at the distinct hesitance in his voice.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” the woman standing across from Izuku says. “I’m Momo. Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you last night. I’ve been a little under the weather.”

You introduce yourself to her and glance down at her leg. Her ankle is swollen and wrapped in a bandage. Her sneaker laces are untied at the top to make room for the swelling and you can see that she’s guarding that side of her leg.

“Is it…?” you grimace, taking an instinctive step away from her. You almost feel bad for it, but sometimes good people make bad decisions when loved ones get bit.

“No,” she says quickly, “no, it isn’t. Caught an edge in an old chain link fence on the property a couple days back.”

Momo smiles slightly at you as if to reassure you. She’s really beautiful, with thick dark hair pulled back into a somewhat messy ponytail. Her eyes are bright, like she’s engaged in lively conversation, and you find yourself feeling a little sad for her. She’ll need medicine soon, if they can get it. Infections set in easily these days and you get the sense that even she knows that she may not have long without it. Maybe that’s something else their friend Shoto set out to find.

“I assume you’ll be wanting to go get your supplies?” Katsuki says, cutting the conversation short. Maybe he could sense the sour turn of thoughts.

“Ready when you are,” you respond with a nod.

Katsuki glances at Izuku, who gives him a slightly disapproving look.

“Someone get them something to eat,” Katsuki says. “...I’ll get my shit ready.”

“Fig jam…” Mina mumbles as she motions for you to follow her to the kitchen.

You oblige her, not exactly jumping to turn down a meal. She walks you into the kitchen and opens up a cabinet, where she pulls out a jar filled with a dark and seed filled paste. It’s a jam, sealed in a jar that looks older than what’s inside of it. The seal breaks open with a pleasant pop.

“This stuff is so good,” she says to you over her shoulder, pulling out a package of crackers that have likely gone stale. “You won’t believe it.”

She spreads the jam on a few crackers and sets it in front of you on a plate, pushing it across the counter towards you.

“It’s fig jam,” she says with a smile. “Homemade.”

You look down at the plate, your mouth watering at the prospect of something sweet like this. It’s been so long since you've had fresh jam. It could be as long as 10 years. You don’t think you’ve had it since you were a kid, when jam came easily and you preferred the processed brands at the supermarket to the ones your mom used to make sometimes.

You raise the cracker to your mouth and stuff it in with little grace. The sweetness spreads across your tongue as soon as you bite into the stale cracker. It fizzes and pops almost, the sugar melting across your tongue as the seeds crack softly between your teeth. The smile that hits your face is completely involuntary and though you know that nine months ago, this jam wouldn’t have been much, today it is something extraordinary.

Mina nods a kind of girlish agreement, like the way people used to when they had their friend try something at their favorite restaurant.

“We got here in the fall. I want to say late October or early November?” she offers. “We were starving and there wasn’t enough food to feed all of us. By that time there were like… nine of us.”

You listen as you eat your crackers.

“This place was in such an awful state,” she laughs. “I mean, really terrible. But, it was big and there was a fig tree in the back. A little thing, probably only a few years old and it had fruit on it. We ate so many of them that if the world were normal, we’d have sworn off of them forever. When we realized that the house actually had some old food in it,” she interrupts herself “-nothing good, canned stuff mostly- we decided to jar up the rest of the figs so that they didn’t rot.”

She smiles at you like it’s a pleasant memory, but you can only think about how hungry they must have been. Your stomach growls as you eat.

“I know it doesn’t sound like much,” she says, “but for some reason it’s a really nice memory. Honestly, we’re lucky we didn’t die.”

Mina laughs a little.

“I mean,” she continues, “we didn’t even clear the area before we started pulling at the figs and throwing them into our mouths.”

You tilt your head at her and furrow your eyebrows with a small smile.

“You’re really forthcoming with information.”

“You just seem a little hesitant, is all,” she answers.

“Can you blame me?”

Mina shrugs her shoulders but doesn’t really offer an answer. You assume it’s because she can’t, because Mina has the same doubts everyone carries with them in this world. All of the what ifs people would think about before they slept have become more prevalent than anyone would have ever liked.

“The jam is good,” you say, trying to be friendly in the same way she is. “Even if it is months old.”

“Things keep well in jars,” Mina defends softly, smiling a little as she gets another out of you.

This place feels like a little slice of paradise. A blessing from whoever lived here before and kept a garden stocked with vegetables. From someone who lived in an old house with stables and well-water, who kept canned food past its expiration date. It feels almost too good to be true, like these people live in a bubble bound to pop.

“You ready?” Katsuki thuds into the kitchen with an empty backpack slung over his shoulder.

You turn, startled by his sudden appearance and nod as you quickly finish chewing the last cracker. Katsuki furrows his eyebrows as he watches the way you scarf it down.

When you stand from the table, Katsuki turns on his heel to make for the front door and you follow with a light step. Mina says something about staying safe, but you don’t respond, glancing once over your shoulder at the girl.

It’s strange, the world has made you wishy-washy and uncommitted. You never used to be like that, never so distrusting as to second guess someone’s kindness the moment your back is turned to them, and you’re certainly not the type to be friendly one moment and closed off the next. Now though, you find that doubt creeps in easily through cracks and any foundation that didn’t exist before, seems to be swallowed before you can finish building it.

Katsuki leads you back across the small clearing you’d come through the night before. It looks different in the day, almost romantic, and it lacks any of the ominous feeling it had the previous evening. He steps over mounds in the dirt from moles and gophers that have made lawns their new home and you try to mimic his steps, sinking occasionally into a particularly soft patch of dirt. Every now and then, Katsuki glances behind him to check that you’re still there and you offer him a forced smile that he never returns.

You catch up to him when you hit the trees, sticking close at his side like something will come and take you away if you’re not. It’s unintentional, but you don’t have a weapon on you. Your knife is back at your makeshift camp, along with the unloaded pistol and your trusty spatula.

“How do you know where we’re going?” You ask in a whisper.

Katsuki tosses a look at you over his shoulder. “I’m good with directions.”

His tone is clipped, like he’s pissed about something, and your expression sours at it. Sure, you get it but it irritates you to some small degree. You hadn’t asked him to come along. In fact, you’d have been fine getting back here to collect your stuff on your own. You’d have asked for a knife and set out without a second thought, if only because being alone in the woods with some guy was less preferable than doing it by yourself. Of course, some guy also probably saved your life, but you’re not quite ready to relinquish your trust completely.

“Thanks for coming,” you decide. A peace offering.

Katsuki doesn’t answer and you furrow your brows a little bit. You wonder if he’s always been like this or if the end of the world brought on the loss of his manners.

Then, he stops, taking you by the arm and pulling you down beside a bush. You gasp and he puts his hand over your mouth to silence you. There’s the urge to bite him, to catch the fleshy bit connecting his thumb and pointer finger between your teeth and bite down till he bleeds, but you stop when you catch what he’s looking at.

Two of the living dead crouch by a tree, clicking their tongues as they eat something just out of sight. You furrow your eyebrows, eyes widening at the horror of it. For some reason, seeing them always brings about a round of momentary shock. You’ve yet to let go of the hounding thought that they used to be people and sometimes have to reorient yourself to the world you’re in now.

You catch Katsuki’s eye behind you, his calloused hand still clasped over your mouth, and nod your head. It’s a silent communication that you’ve seen what he has and he removes his palm from your face to grab a knife tucked into his belt, passing it to you quickly.

The two infected haven’t noticed the two of you yet, but they will soon, if only by the smell of your flesh which has yet to rot. You hear Katsuki let out a breath, as if to calm his heart, and do the same. There’s time to look at them like this and you’re struck by how human you can pretend they are in your head. Well, you suppose they were human once, now they’re a disease using someone’s skin as a mask.

Infected people aren’t quick, that’s one thing to be grateful for. Back when the outbreak first started, the CDC had released information on what to look out for in those who might have contracted the virus. The first was obviously a bite wound from another infected person, but you can tell from other symptoms. Early symptoms are average. Body aches, fever, lethargy, and delirium. All things you might see with a nasty flu. Then, infection of the wound site, twitching, foggy eyes—like low-grade cataracts—that develop within a matter of hours or days, severe disorientation, aversion to food, insomnia, with the final symptom being a coma that no one ever wakes up as themselves from.

These are the symptoms that people are conscious for. The ones they feel. The sickness that people tried to nurse others back from. There is no coming back though, not alive at the very least. The virus attacks the nerves throughout the brain and body, that’s what causes the twitching and convulsions. It’s what ultimately kills us, and it's what they think causes the bodies to come back.

Most infected will crack when they move. It’s the cartilage breaking down as the bones grind together and crack as they’re weakened from the marrow out. They twitch like rabid animals, unable to keep masterful control of their bodies because they are run like puppets from the brain stem. You don’t know if they think. If somehow the people they used to be are still in there, unable to stop themselves from consuming and spreading the virus to others. All you really know is that they twitch and click, functions of the brain that still remain. Tiny impulses sent through the synapses. You imagine it to be like the way you twitch when you sleep, an arm here or a leg there, the way someone might call out with their voice to a room with no one in it.

Maybe the infected think they’re dreaming. A nightmare that they never wake up from, like those of us who have to put them down. You could see it as a mercy from that perspective. You have an easier time rationalizing putting a knife in someone’s skull if you convince yourself that they’re silently begging for it.

Katsuki shifts his weight and looks at you. He mouths the words no guns and you nod, briefly wondering where the fuck he thinks you could have gotten a gun from.

Then, you kick off and run with Katsuki towards the infected. They don’t really have time to begin moving towards you both. You’re faster than them, but you hear the crack of their legs as they stand from their crouched positions, pulled in at the idea of their next meal.

Katsuki takes the farther one, sinking the knife into the soft spot of its temple with relative ease. You switch yourself off and take the one closest only a few moments later, sending your blade through the top of its skull. That happens to you when you have to do this. You turn yourself off for a bit, just so that you don’t have to remember the way it feels to hit the soft part of someone’s brain. You didn’t used to do that, only starting when you realized that there’s no going through this world anymore without it.

Katsuki wipes the blood on his pants. It’s brown, no longer oxygenated, and the area around you begins to reek. You notice, but for some reason the smell of decomposition doesn’t register in your brain and you continue on behind him.

There are a few beats of silence, save for twigs breaking under your feet, before Katsuki speaks up.

“You okay?” It’s barely above a whisper and you wouldn’t have caught it were you not listening for the distinctive crack of human bones.

“Yeah,” you say, continuing forward.

The campsite rounds into view and in this light, with your full night’s sleep under your belt, you can see just how pitiful it looks. A tent that you’d hastily put up before nightfall, the remains of your stamped out fire, the folding chair which has since been knocked over, and your weapons on the floor covered by a few leaves disturbed by the wind.

You snatch them up and move to grab your backpack out of the tent. The inside is shitty too and your torn sleeping bag hadn’t even been rolled out yet. You pick up the bag, returning to the folding chair as Katsuki begins to take down the tent. The polyester and nylon blend zips together as he makes quick work of folding it. Then, he kicks some dry brush over the remains of the fire, like he’s covering your tracks.

“The next person that comes through here might not be alone,” he says plainly. “And they may have more bullets than you did.”

“Right,” you respond. Your voice sounds a little far off and you settle your backpack on your shoulder in one quick motion.

“Got everything?”

You nod, following him as he heads out in the direction you both came from. The two of you pass the bodies of the infected you’d killed. The smell has permeated the air, lingering like how it does in cities, only less pungent. Their fogged eyes stare blankly at nothing, expressions plain and unreadable. You pass and try not to think much about it.

Katsuki is a few feet ahead of you and he doesn’t glance back to make sure you’re following. You could leave now and never get attached to these people. You could head off in another direction and never have to think twice about it. No more worrying about who you could lose, about who’s next to become one of the sick masses. Just you by yourself. Then, when you finally kick the can, someone else can put you down the way you did to those strangers.

Is there really a point to it anymore? To community or living in general. No one is as they once were. Does that make it fantasy to live in their beautiful bubble? Could you even find it in yourself to pretend again, to make nice and play house in that place? They saved your life, sure. They fed you, clothed you, bathed you, but for what point? Tomorrow, you could end up back in the woods, lighting fires with twigs you found in the brush, paranoid that someone would find you or the fire would spread.

You watch Katsuki’s back as he moves, shoulders shifting with each step. His shirt is stained, white turned eggshell from the wear and tear of time. It seems so off to you that he looks relatively clean, like he lives well.

Fear strikes you as you realize that your rambling thoughts have merit. Anything you fear now has become real and loss is so tangible to you that you can squeeze it in your hand. They could turn you out. Tomorrow night you could begin the starve and step all over again, moving from place to place, talking to yourself, filling your hours with paranoid thoughts like these that plague you when you’re alone. Is that worse than loss? If you’re alone long enough, you’d probably forget what you’re missing. Losing anyone else could make the wound fresh. For now, the hunger wins out.

Katsuki jogs ahead of you to get to the house. Momo is on the porch waving him in and he hurries up the steps and bursts through the front door. As you approach, you can hear voices, some of which are relieved, others hurried. When you enter the room, you find a man standing there whom you’ve never seen before, Shoto maybe.

“A plus one,” the man looks up, tilting his head at you in an odd way.

“Katsuki’s,” Kiri says with a low smirk.

Shoto’s eyes widen as he peers at his friend, clutching what looks like an injured shoulder. Katsuki just huffs his irritation.

“Well, that’s rare,” Shoto says.

“What’s rare?” Katsuki spits. “They were in the woods with a fire. What was I supposed to do? Let ‘em die?”

“Maybe,” Shoto says, a light smile creeping onto his features. Then, he turns to you. “What’s your name?”

You give it to him and he nods his head, tilting it at you again.

“How long are you staying?”

You’re not sure how to answer that question. In fact, no one is, and it feels like more of a test than it does a genuine inquiry. Kiri and Mina exchange a glance and Katsuki tosses a somewhat dirty look towards Shoto. Ochako gives Shoto a knowing glance and Sero and Denki shift uncomfortably on their feet. Then, Momo clears her throat, spurring Izuku to say something.

“Shoto,” he says. “You’re probably hungry, you should eat something and lay down. Ochako? Could you take a look at his shoulder?”

“Sure,” the girl says softly, giving a closed mouth smile to Shoto as she takes him by the arm.

She glances at you as she passes, almost like she’s too embarrassed to look at you fully in the face. You suppose this is what happens when people are forced to think about whether or not they will potentially leave someone else to die. It’s like the trolley cart question and though in this case there is always the possibility of a better outcome, it’s not likely in this world.

“Just until I’m rested,” you add with a small tilt of your head. “A few days.”

Shoto looks at you over his shoulder and gives you a small smile. It’s funny, you can see kindness there. His actions aren’t kind, but you can feel that he has kindness in him, though his rudeness stems from something different than Katsuki’s, you think. Like he’s strange in some way.

“I’ll start on dinner,” Sero says. “Kiri, give me a hand.”

The group disperses and you head upstairs without speaking to anyone else. A few days to rest and then cut the first people you’ve spoken to in weeks loose. What sort of idiot gives up something like this to avoid a little awkwardness? Not that you necessarily had your mind made up. You wonder briefly if you’ve just sealed your own tomb.

—

After dinner, you go upstairs to sleep after eating as much as they would offer you. Your stomach has ceased its constant growling and the shakiness that comes with hunger has receded almost entirely into the background. The bed is soft, with a slight dent in it from whoever slept in here before. The thought unsettles you that they’re probably dead now, but you try to push it from your mind as you steel yourself for what comes within the next few days.

You had volunteered yourself to leave. To what? Save yourself the embarrassment of pleading? Did you even want to plead? Why are you regretting not asking to stay? These people don’t know you, what trust can you have built with them in only a few days? Your skin crawls at the expanse of possibilities in front of you after so many weeks without any.

You think that if you let yourself walk away, you’ll probably die. You’re out of bullets and don’t know where to find any food except by luck. You can try to catch prey, but prey hides whenever infected are around, and they’re everywhere nowadays. It’s spring, water wouldn’t be a problem, but running water has its clear comforts. Then, there’s the possibility of loss. You’d come to care for these people if you stayed, you know it.

You furrow your eyebrows and look at the ceiling. There’s really no choice to be made. You’ll let them make it for you, even if you don’t know them. It’s their house and you won’t walk in uninvited or try to take it. You’re not about to become a monster just because the world is full of them now.

The darkness grows and your eyes drift to the dim light wandering in under the crack of the door. Hushed voices whisper in the living room, you can hear them. It’s a heated discussion, lively, but deliberately quiet. It’s been hours since everyone went to bed, yet you get the impression that many people are chiming in. You’re too nosey to leave it be.

You open the bedroom door silently, turning the cool knob with a wince as it clicks out of place. When you peer into the hallway, every upstairs bedroom door is open with the room empty. The light is coming from down stairs and around the corner, and you can see shadows move as you inch closer to the source.

You pause at the top of the stairs, knowing that they creak, and crouch by the bannister to listen. You’re out of sight. The only way they’d know you’re listening is if you made a sound, but you won’t. You’re good at being quiet.

“We don’t even know them,” someone says in a rushed whisper. “We don’t know what they’ve done before.”

“Everyone’s done things they’re not proud of now, Shoto,” a woman adds. It’s Mina. She’s spoken enough to you that you recognize her voice.

“I agree with Shoto,” says another woman, her voice higher pitched. She sounds guilty and her voice is tight as she speaks “We have no clue who they are. They could be dangerous.”

“You mean like me, Ochako?” A man adds. “I could have been dangerous.”

The group grows quiet for a moment.

“No,” Momo says. You recognize the cadence of her voice. “Shoto might be right, Denki. It’s been nearly six months since you got here and the world has changed a lot. We don’t- we can’t know for sure.”

“Can we really know anything for sure?” Another man adds, Kiri.

“What about you guys?” Shoto says, presumably to the rest of the group.

“I don’t know.”

“I’m hesitant, but I don’t know either.”

“Jesus,” another man with a baritone voice, harsher than the rest. That’s Katsuki, the first voice you’d heard of the group. “You guys make me a little sick.”

“That’s not fair,” Ochako says.

“No,” he interrupts. “It is fair. You guys want to… what? Send them back out there to die?”

“It’s not like that,” Shoto says.

“It is like that,” he says, raising his voice and then lowering it back to a whisper. “You didn’t see them when they got here, Shoto. They- they didn’t look… shit. The rest of you, you saw them. You really want to send them back out there to fuckin’ waste away? I don’t know about you all, but I won’t do that to a person.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Katsuki’s right,” Izuku says with a bit of conviction, like he’s finally made up his mind. “Sending someone out there alone is a death sentence. How does doing that make us any better than the people we’re trying to protect ourselves from?”

“What if there are more of them?” Ochako says quietly. “What if they’re not alone?”

“Trust me,” Katsuki says, “They were alone.”

“But what if they’re not?” She insists at a whisper, a bit of shame creeping into her voice. “What if people come for us?”

“See?” Shoto says gently. “There are so many what-ifs.”

“That works the other way too,” Mina adds.

You don’t listen to hear the rest of their conversation. They’re going to run themselves in circles debating about you. They’ll go around and around and land on whichever argument ends with the most votes. They’ll convince each other of one thing and it will happen totally out of your control.

The bedroom door shuts with a low click that makes you wince again. You think about the people who went to bat for you and the people who didn’t. You don’t blame those who opposed. You’d have probably reacted similarly if your old group were still alive and you understand very clearly why they do it. One person’s stupid reaction can be catastrophic and they don’t know enough about you to be certain that you’re not one of those stupid people. It’s how the world went to shit in the first place and though nine months ago you’d have surely condemned someone for making the same decision, you know that fear has warped humanity beyond comprehension. You didn’t get it until you lived it.

Still, Katsuki’s humanity feels intact somehow, more so than yours at least. His response is something you probably never would have said under the same conditions and you can’t help but feel some sort of fondness bloom in you for him. Call it connection, gratefulness for his willingness to stick his neck out for you, a trauma response. You still feel it. Mina and Kiri had said that Katsuki was a good judge of character and that’s why they were willing to back him. You wonder briefly if maybe Katsuki sees something in you that you don’t recognize in yourself anymore, or maybe something you don’t expect other people to recognize. What is it that he wants so badly to protect?

Someone stomps down the hallway, heavy boots against the old creaky floors. You hear the steps recede down the hallway, maybe a door or two down, before it shuts quickly. The sound makes you wince and you listen as the house grows quiet and then hums quietly with the sound of others coming upstairs a few moments later. Someone pads to the end of the hall, pushing the door open.

You hear a woman’s voice, so muffled that you can’t make out what she’s saying. Then, you hear the sound of a man’s affirmation before the bedroom door shuts and the visitor moves back down the hall to a separate bedroom. Information passing through the house.

Someone is moving around in a room below you and you figure that there are probably bedrooms downstairs as well. From the outside, you’d never guess that the place could house ten people. Inside though, the bedrooms are small. That’s probably why so many can fit. You’d guess that the place used to have multiple generations living in it, or maybe even rented out rooms to people for a few months. It sort of has a boarding house feel to it, like many people have come and gone even before people stopped staying in one place.

That’s a good thing to call it, the boarding house. It certainly has that sort of feel to it, many of its spaces undeniably communal.

You turn over in the bed, facing the bedroom door. The lights have gone out completely now and the house is quiet save for the occasional creak or thud from someone preparing to sleep. It’s been a long while since the sounds of living have been so prevalent near you. You’re eased by the sounds of the house settling, a familiar reminder of what living used to be. Your group had been on the road long before you lost them and the comforts of an interior are almost overwhelmingly nostalgic. You’re better rested to notice it now and shutting your eyes, you savor the feeling.

—

“Need some help?” You say.

Denki turns around, grease smeared across his nose where he likely wiped it with his dirty hands. He’s holding a wrench in a glove so tattered that it hardly counts as a glove anymore. He looks startled, amber eyes widening before he uses his forearm to brush stray hairs out of his face. The rest of it is pulled up into a messy ponytail, revealing the moist back of his neck.

“Oh, sure,” he says, a bit surprised. “Do you know how generators work?”

He crouches back over the machine and you step up behind him.

The machine is rusted near the bottom and between the exposed winding pipes. Its paint has chipped away, leaving the weather-damaged metal open for you to see. On the side, a fan-like piece spins slowly in circles and the machine whirs and sputters softly as it… generates power, probably.

“Not quite, but an extra pair of hands is always helpful,” you say softly, passing him a tool he’d been reaching for. “Did it break?”

“No,” Denki says, “but it’s probably on its last legs. The thing’s almost as old as we are, probably older, so it’s good to tune it up a bunch.”

You hum your agreement, tilting your head as you stand and watch him work.

You’re not necessarily comfortable with Denki, but he feels like a safe person for some reason. Maybe it’s because he’s got a sort of ditzy, non-threatening vibe to him. You can almost distinctly picture him tripping over his own feet and something about that makes you feel considerably safer than someone who wouldn’t. That and he was the first person you’ve come across this morning who you don’t think distrusts you too badly.

“Are you dodging something?” Denki smirks up at you from his crouch.

“Who on earth would I be dodging?” you snort a bit defensively.

“Shoto,” he says with a light smile. “He put you in a tight spot the other day.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, glancing over your shoulder. “It wasn’t anything he didn’t have a right to ask.”

“Right, but it sure was rude, huh?”

Denki laughs to himself a little and you’re surprised by how easygoing he is. You subconsciously begin to categorize him with Mina and Kiri. The dichotomy of this group baffles you a bit, but you can certainly see all nine of them as a collective. Tightly knit and well acquainted with the habits of others.

“Oh!” He exclaims, “I have something you can do for me.”

You tilt your head.

“There’s a bucket over there,” he says, pointing absentmindedly to a shitty plastic bucket against the side of the house. “We use the water from the creek as coolant. It’s not factory grade, but it does the trick. You wanna go fill it up and bring it back for when I’m done tuning this thing up?”

You furrow your eyebrows, not sure where the creek he’s talking about is.

“The creek is just over there,” he points behind the house to the edge of the treeline. “I know you can’t see it from here, but if you walk in a straight line, you’ll hit it. Katsuki should be down there too, so you can use him as a landmark.”

When you don’t immediately answer, Denki whines a little.

“I mean,” he says, “I’d go myself, but-”

“I’ll do it,” you laugh a little and Denki seems surprised that you do.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I’d like to pull some weight at least while I’m here. Plus, I offered.”

Denki mumbles his pleasure and you walk to the bucket without another word and set off in the direction Denki pointed. You’re much more willing to go out to the treeline now that you have a knife back at your side.

The walk to the trees is longer than it looks, like how sometimes the horizon looks like something you could reach out and climb up onto. The walk stretches with each step you take and you become a little more understanding of why Denki didn’t want to do it himself. But the walk is actually pleasant, the warmth of mid May collecting evenly on your skin as the humidity grows more intense with the sun.

You wonder what Katsuki would be doing by the creek. Maybe he’s fishing, or crouched over himself sharpening an arsenal of knives that you think he might keep in a roll attached to his belt sometimes. You’re not sure why, but Katsuki sort of has that expression to him. He’s handsome, but the scowl projects something hostile that makes him seem unapproachable.

As you cross through the middle of the clearing, you could almost imagine that this is a normal day. Humidity collects on your skin, making you sweat a little as you dodge gopher holes and soft spots of dirt. It almost feels like summer camp, if it weren’t for the looming idea that you’re contributing to something you may not be a part of. Denki’s attitude though, has you hoping for a more favorable outcome, if you want to call it that.

You’re only a few steps into the line of trees when the earth dips into a sand-lined ravine. The trees leave room for the sun to beat down on warmed rocks, making the area seem brighter with their subtle reflection of the light. The noise of the creek drowns out the sound of your footsteps and you shuffle toward where the earth flattens just before the water starts. A little ways to your right, you can see Katsuki sitting on a rock in the sun, his hands dipped into a large bucket. You narrow your eyes as he pulls what looks like a cloth out of the water, rubbing the fabric together before dipping it in the cool water of the creek.

As you approach, you realize what it is that he’s doing. It’s laundry. On the other side of him, you can see a bin of what look like dirty clothes and water-soaked clean ones. Talk about misjudged character.

“Katsuki,” you say as you approach him, the bucket still empty in your hand.

He squints up at you, shifting his face so that it's in your shadow.

“You’re still here,” he says plainly, returning to his task.

“Clearly,” you respond, watching as he runs his fingers over the next piece of clothing in the bucket.

“Why are you down here? Did Denki pawn the generator water onto you?” He says, like he’s somewhat frustrated. “He does that shit to anyone he can.”

You shrug your shoulders and continue to stare at him.

“Are you just gonna stand there?” He huffs out.

“You’re doing laundry.”

“Yeah?” he furrows his eyebrows and looks at you. “So?”

“Nothing,” you say. “I just didn’t expect that.”

“Yeah well,” he stops for a moment like he’s struggling to find the words. “It needed to be done. Figured I might as well.”

“How progressive of you,” you joke with a straight face.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes and sighs, not justifying your comment with a response. You find yourself smiling a little bit.

“If you’re going to linger, sit down and do it,” he says. “You’re creeping me out.”

You oblige him and sit down on a rock next to him, far enough that you’re not touching, but near enough to hear him if you speak in a low voice. For some reason, you feel a sort of kinship with Katsuki. You’d thought longer than you’d like to admit about his willingness to vouch for you and find that you want to live up to his expectation of your goodness, even if it’s not what you believe yourself to be anymore. Maybe it’s because you’ve slept well the past few nights and feel more like yourself, but there’s a certain casualness to conversing with him that you enjoy. He’s not looking at what you could be, but rather what you’re showing him that you are. His lack of doubt in that is something you find relatively attractive.

You watch his arms out of the corner of your eye in between gazing at the treeline and the sky. Your field of vision catches on them, his sleeves cut short to expose his biceps, a bit muddied near the elbows where the mud has begun to stick.

Katsuki doesn’t seem all that bothered by your presence, but now and then you’ll catch the sideways glance he gives you, almost like he’s trying to figure out exactly why you’re lingering.

“How long have you been with them?” You ask, more as a way to fill the silence.

Katsuki’s hands pause as he thinks about answering, then, they continue their steady pace.

“A decent amount of time,” he says. “I met Izuku first, probably in November just before Mina and Kiri. The rest came later.”

You furrow your eyebrows.

“No offense,” you start, “but you don’t really seem like the group type.”

“And you don’t seem like the type who’d be alone,” he retorts, like your statement was stupid.

You press your lips into a tight line, not really knowing how to respond.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head a little.

“Were you?”

“What? Was I sorry?” He furrows his eyebrows at you.

“No,” you shake your head. “Were you alone? Before Izuku.”

He goes silent. You’ll take that as a yes, but you regret asking a little. It had just slipped out. If someone were to ask you something like that, you’d probably react the same way. That’s just as well, you don’t really need to know him like that anyway.

You wonder briefly if anyone does. He seems closed off, but Mina and Kiri spoke about him a few days prior like they knew him well. Well enough at least to allude to a history you’ll likely never be privy to. Then there’s Momo, who whispers little things to him that he answers in kind. Curiosity gets the better of you, if only to tease.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” you ask and Katsuki’s response is to rest his elbows on his knees and let out a dry laugh.

He turns his head and looks at you from the side. “And what the fuck are you asking me that for?”

“Just curious,” you say. “Is it Momo?”

“Momo?” He makes a sour face at you. “Yeah, right.”

“She’s pretty,” you say.

“Sure is,” he responds dryly. “If you’re into the mom type.”

“What? You’re not into moms?” You grin a little and Katsuki furrows his eyebrows at you.

“So you do have a personality,” he scoffs a little.

There’s a pause. You haven’t felt this in a while. The feeling of bonding with someone new, compatibility on the human level that feels nearly instant.

“I’m kinda serious though,” you say, tilting your head down to catch his eye. “Do you?”

You’re leaning a little closer to him now.

“You seen any nice restaurants to take a person out to these days?” he questions, clearly a little frustrated with you in the way someone gets when they’re a bit amused.

“You don’t have to take someone out to a restaurant to fuck them, you know?” You laugh a little.

Katsuki’s lips part and he swallows like his mouth has gone dry.

“Yeah, well,” he starts, looking away from you. “I’m a romantic. Sue me.”

He’s just full of surprises, isn’t he? You find that you’re captivated by this feeling, this humanity, that exists in him. It’s something alive between you both, something left behind from the old world, and you crave it the same way you crave food.

Katsuki continues scrubbing the clothes, rubbing the fabric together and then dunking it in the bucket before plunging it into the freshwater creek. You’re not sure why you do it, but the next time he looks at you, you kiss him.

It’s not as if you like him, but it’s something to feel. Some remnant of the butterflies you used to feel on dates and the kiss makes you feel like you could be close to human again. You pull away almost as soon as you put his lips to yours and you can tell that the expression on your face is one of surprise.

Katsuki blinks for a second, looking at you with his brows knitted together. The expression doesn’t leave him as he places a wet hand on the side of your face to kiss you again. It’s an anxious kiss, confused and slow but—like someone riding a bike for the first time in years—it quickly becomes something familiar. Muscle memory that you both let yourselves sink into.

You can feel his expression as he kisses you, something between confusion and desire, like his own actions are perplexing. You feel the same way, hesitant, but reaching in the dark for the promise of some sort of normalcy. You want to feel like a person again. You haven’t felt it in so long and you push yourself against him as the ache swells in you.

The two of you continue like this for a moment, Katsuki’s fingers pressing lightly into the skin of your neck. You moan softly as his tongue slips into your mouth, taking a sharp inhale at the sensation of skin on skin. The sound of the creek drowns out the clicking of your mouths, but you can feel the way he hums into your mouth. They’re little sounds, involuntary ones driven by the nervous, desirous feelings inside of you both.

Then, Katsuki pulls away, swallowing thick as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. You appreciate the way they look. They’re swollen, anxious to continue and keep forgetting where you really are. He drops his hand from your face with a sigh and almost seems like he comes back to himself. You do the same, moving back into an upright position.

“Denki will want that water soon,” he clears his throat and motions to the empty bucket by your feet.

“Oh,” you say, laughing a little. “Right.”

You stand, dusting off the back of your pants and dunking the bucket into the water. It sloshes, the liquid hitting the back of the plastic with a satisfying elastic sound. You begin to walk away without another word, heading down the way you came to climb up the gentler part of the slope.

“Hey,” Katsuki calls softly. “You should stay. We talked it over last night. You can if you want to.”

The last part, he says facing the wash, his hands moving as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You don’t respond, knowing that the obvious answer is already yes.

Dread settles in your stomach. It’s an icky, swirling feeling that threatens to make you double over. You climb up the bank, the water in the bucket sloshing as you move through the trees and enter the clearing. The feeling doesn’t dissipate, growing as you leave the cover of the trees. You probably wouldn’t have kissed him if he’d asked you that earlier.

The boarding house comes into view and you can see Denki sitting beside the generator, conversing with who appears to be Shoto. They turn and Denki waves you down, Shoto turning away and starting around for the front of the house.

Denki jogs to meet you, taking the bucket from your hand. You flex your fingers as the weight is removed, wincing a little at how stiff they feel.

“Jeez, what took you so long?” Denki laughs and with your new information, you understand his willingness to be friendly with you a little better.

“I asked Katsuki for his life story,” you respond dryly, following him back to the generator.

Denki looks over his shoulder and laughs at you. “Did he tell you?”

You pause for a moment, watching as Denki unscrews something and pours the water in.

“Nope,” you say. “Not a thing.”

Click Here to go to the second chapter and find the rest of the series on ao3. The remainder will not be posted on tumlbr, but please feel free to reblog!

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader smut #mha smut #bakugou fanfiction #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #apocalypse au #tw.violence #tw.blood #tw.loss of identity #tw.derealization #tw.depersonalization #tw.exhaustion #cal.writing #char.bakugou

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casiia · 4 months

Text

༉‧₊˚. — simon 'GHOST' riley; deep breath.

warnings .: x reader, afab! reader, suggestive (just a kiss but still), mdni 18+, piercer simon, use of y/n, unedited.

.: masterlist.

the rhythmic hum of tattoo machines and the faint sound of chatter filled the air as you stepped into the studio; ghost canvas. you had booked an appointment with simon riley, intrigued by his work. known for his painless piercings and intricate fine-line tattoos, making him very well-known in the industry.

you had originally booked an appointment for another ear piercing, a helix that would go with the other assortments of jewelry already shining your ear. excitement and nervousness mingle through your stomach as you glance around the studio.

an ambient light flickers around each furniture corner, keeping the place dim and allowing natural sunlight to filter in through the sunroof. the walls were adorned with vibrant artwork, most of which are messy and clean-looking oil paintings. various band tapestries also hung from the walls, rock bands; nirvana, metallica, and deftones being a majority of the decor.

you settled into the waiting area after checking in, and the receptionist behind the counter shot you a kind smile and let you know that your piercer, simon, would be ready soon. you had been a little late for your appointment, struggling to find parking, and he had taken another client waiting for you.

you shifted in your seat, the leather cool against your bare skin. you pulled the hem of your skirt down, before winding your hands in your lap. your eyes wandered around the room, and you couldn’t help but admire the diverse clientele that flowed in and out of the studio. each person was leaving or coming in with a unique mark, a testament to simon’s expertise.

the longer you waited, the more nervous you began to feel. you had gotten piercings before, but each time you found yourself chewing on your lip in anticipation. pain was never your friend, and your tolerance for it was always low ever since you were a kid. tears would well in your eyes with every papercut you got, even now as an adult.

“y/n? simon’s ready for you.” the receptionist calls out, guiding you into another small room. she looks at your fidgeting fingers and gives you another reassuring smile. “no reason to be nervous. just sit tight for a second, and he’ll be here to show you our selection of jewelry.” she encourages before shutting the door behind her and leaving you in the small room.

it’s decorated very similarly to the lobby, except instead of oil paintings, there’s a various amount of skull decor littering the room. paintings, sculptures, and in a glass case on a counter sat a small dinosaur skull.

you felt a chill run down your spine; there was almost no color in the secluded room. everything was dull black and white, and the walls were even painted a dark gray. the only thing that stood out was you, sitting on the large black chair in your bright little pink skirt.

you’re pressing your thighs together, your legs absentmindedly swinging as you wait for simon. you had heard about him from instagram, the wild comments that raved about his work while some raved about his looks. curiosity got the best of you and with his studio only a couple blocks from your place, what was there to lose?

“are you my two o'clock?”

you hadn’t even realized that the door opened, a tall man stepping inside and shutting it with a soft click. even with you sitting on the elevated chair, he loomed over you. his tall build complimented with muscles that bulged out of his tight-fitting black shirt.

“i am. y/n, it’s nice to meet you.” you look up at him with a friendly smile, sticking your hand out for him to shake. when he does, you find yourself biting the inside of your cheek.

romance comedies always made you laugh; you never believed in love at first sight or a spark that ran between the two lovers when they first touched. but you couldn’t help but like how your hand fitted in his, his palm warm and much larger than yours. you could feel his calloused fingers squeezing your soft skin, an intimate touch that made you want more.

“simon.” the corner of his mouth barely turns up, but he’s looking down at you with a cocky look. he squeezes your hand again, and you're reminded that you should have let go by now.

a blush paints your cheeks, causing you to look away from him and down at your lap. he clears his throat, and you can tell he wants to laugh, which only adds to your embarrassment.

“what kind of piercing are you planning on getting today?” he asks, going over to his jewelry display and bringing it to you. your eyes flicker into the clear box before looking back at him.

“just an ear piercing, a helix.”

he nods, reaching over and pushing your hair back. he looks at your ears, already littered with piercings, and he only nods again. “let me know which stud you’d like, and i’ll get it sanitized for you.”

as you continue to look through the assortments of jewelry, a frown forms on your lips. not to say that you were picky, but nothing seemed to catch your eye. the various amounts of gold and titanium all the same, dull in color, and wouldn’t match the theme of your ears.

simon glances over your features as you’re focused on the display in front of him; you are beautiful and unlike any of his other clients.

“i think i may have something that you’d like,” simon says, his voice sounding softer than before. he almost grins when you look up at him, your head tilting to the side in confusion.

he’s kicking himself for wondering why you’re making him all comfortable; he was never one to want to be close to his clients. he’s leaning into you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear and tilting your head with his thumb. his eyes linger on your lips, and he wants to push his thumb into your mouth, just wanting to see how you’d look. although quickly, he turns his attention back to your ears, noticing the array of star and moon jewelry that piece together perfectly.

“i knew i was saving this for someone,” he mumbles, pulling away from you. he steps back over to his cabinet of jewelry, putting the clear case of boring studs back before grabbing a new one. “do you like any of these?”

your attention flickers down to the mini box he held in one hand, the case no larger than a ring box. inside sat a small star stud, its coloring a soft rose gold. instantly a smile finds your lips, and you’re nodding up at him with thankful eyes. “i love it.”

“great, give me a second, and i’ll get it cleaned up for you.”

as simon turns around to sanitize the stud, your gaze is glued to his back. the way his muscles flex under his shirt with every subtle move or the intricate tattoos that litter over his arms. it doesn’t look like he has any piercings, his face, and ears completely untouched. makes you wonder why he’s also taken in the profession of piercing; from just a glance, anyone can tell he’s much more into the art of inking.

silence fills the room as you patiently wait; only the muffled sound of rock music from the lobby eases your nerves. he turns back to you, snapping black gloves onto his hands. “how is your pain tolerance? are you prone to fainting?” he asks, his tone almost monotone as he repeats the same precautionary questions that he has to ask every day.

“i never faint, but i’m not too good with pain.” you reply, your hands now gripping the edge of your seat beside your thighs. “kinda why i booked with you, heard you make ‘em painless.”

he gives you a reassuring smile, pride starting to swell in his chest. “s’that why you booked with me?” simon couldn’t help but feel grateful that you’d made an appointment with him because of his skill and not his looks. most of his clients booked with him because of his reputation of being attractive, and even if you silently agreed with them, the fact that you didn’t voice it and belittle his career surprised him pleasantly.

you nodded, swallowing thickly when he took a step closer. he’s telling you to relax, that he’s just gonna mark you, but you only find your breath hitching when he invades your personal space. he knocks your knees apart, making you spread your legs for him as he stands between them. he has your chin held between his fingers in one hand while the other is pushing your hair back again and pressing the tip of the toothpick into your skin, leaving a dot of purple ink at the top of your ear.

you can feel his warm breath fanning against your cheek, and your thighs try to close together, squeezing his hips. you have one hand on his chest, balancing him in an attempt to distance yourself. your other hand is gripping at the hem of your skirt, pulling it down as it rides up from your spread legs.

“tell me if you like it.” simon whispers right by your ear, seeming to forget about the proximity. and just like before, he’s pulling away from you. allowing you to suck in a shaky breath.

you didn’t think that this would be so intimate, and you wondered if simon was always like this or if he just liked the way you trembled beneath him.

he hands you a small mirror and motions for you to look at the mark, “i wouldn’t recommend moving it, it would clash with your other jewelry.”

you agree with him, handing his mirror back and shifting once more in your seat. as much as you wanted him to lean into you again, to feel his breath across your face, you wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. your attraction towards him is growing far too fast.

he hums, stepping towards you again, in the same spot between your legs. “lean back for me, sweetheart.” he mumbles, pushing you down into the seat. he’s bending over you and wiping your ear with an alcohol wipe, a cocky smirk on his lips when he feels your thighs squeezing into his hips again.

the nickname catches you off guard, and now with you stuck underneath him, your nerves begin to eat at you. not because you’re worried about the pain or the piercing but because he’s playing with you now.

“alright sweetheart, you’re only gonna feel a pinch. are you ready?” simon’s pulling back and looking at you, his eyes tracing your expression and looking for any sign of regret or hesitation.

“i’m ready,” you mumble, your palms pressing into your stomach. you’re a little nervous, but you don’t find yourself running away. he’s tilting your head again, pressing into you with a babble of reassuring statements.

“deep breath in for me.”

before you know it, the needle glides through your ear with minimal discomfort. it’s been your most painless piercing yet, and you understand why simon has the reputation that he does.

“good job, love. did so good.” he praises you, sliding the jewelry into place and leaning back to look at you. his adoration fuels an ache between your legs, and you whine just under your breath.

simon pulls off his latex gloves and presses his hands into your seat, dangerously close to your thighs. “how’d that feel?”

“amazing, you’re really good at what you do,” you say, sitting up in your seat. you tilt your head with a smirk, realizing that he still has you caged into the cushiony chair, unable to maneuver away.

he grins at your words, his tongue pushing on the inside of his cheek before he licks his lips. the ball of his tongue piercing, shining in the light only for a second. “thank you.”

you don’t even register his appreciation, your mind clouding with the thought of his hidden piercing. “did it hurt?” unable to resist the urge, you voice your curiosity.

“hm?” simon hums, a chuckle spilling from his lips. “when i fell from heaven?”

you snort, shaking your head. “no, your tongue piercing.”

simon riley’s eyes meet yours with a mischievous glint; he flashes you a confident smile. his lips parted slightly, revealing the small but distinctive piece of jewelry. you find yourself leaning closer to him, watching as he teasingly slides the ball of his tongue piercing against his teeth. the sound, a gentle click, echoed in the intimate space.

“no,” he mutters, lifting your chin as you lean into him. his free hand going to your hip, squeezing it softly.

“w-what does it feel like?”

he hesitates momentarily, seemingly torn between professionalism and the impulse to share a more personal moment. he knows that his attraction is not one-sided, the way you’ve been eyeing him was an obvious sign. you didn’t shy away from his extra touches or the nicknames he whispered in your ear.

“want to find out?” he’s leaning in impossibly closer now, his lips ghosting over yours. and when you nod, he smiles, pressing his lips to yours.

his grip on your chin tightens, his tongue pushing past your lips and into your mouth. you gasp softly, the feeling of his cold piercing rubbing against your tongue a feeling you’ve never experienced before. you moan into his mouth when his large hands travel down to your waist, tugging you into his chest; your legs wrap around his waist, and you shamelessly swallow his tongue as he shoves it down your throat.

a knock at the door pulls the two of you apart, breathy gasp and panting quietly filling the room. simon still has that cocky smirk painted on his lips, his chest heaving as he pulls away, “that’s what it feels like.”

he answers his door, leaving you a flustered mess; you quickly gather your things and grab your bag from the floor. you can hear his receptionist telling him that his next appointment is here, and you feel so stupid. reality knocking the air from your lungs, you had just kissed simon, a stranger that you’d only met a couple minutes ago. you shouldn’t expect more, he merely answered a question that you asked.

before you can push past him and out the room, he grabs your wrist, his grip tight. “wait,” simon sighs loudly, pulling you back into him before sliding his business card into the waistband of your skirt, “call me if you have any…questions.”

AN: republishing this with no changes because oh well, i also love being delusional cuz i lowkey fell in love with my piercer.

#[ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐒𝐈𝐀 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒. ]#idk how to feel abt this #love it and hate it #i posted it alr but i was very delusional at the time #( 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘 ᡣ𐭩 ྀིྀ )#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty

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sl-ut · 2 months

Note

Abby proposing omfg

more college!abby

she strikes me as the type of person to have a very elaborate plan in mind, having consulted her own close friends for advise as well as some of her girl's closest friends/family members for help picking out the ring. in her mind, the proposal needed to be a big ordeal, something that would put any other proposal to shame. of course, she was able to talk herself off of that ledge, and instead focused on doing something that had a great amount of meaning to the pair of them as a couple.

the plan was a good one; she was gonna take her girl out of town for the weekend, consisting of a luxurious airbnb, a nice dinner, and a long walk on the beach only a few minutes from their rental. was it very original? no. was it so perfect and romantic? yes, yes it was.

except the plan very quickly fell apart before her very eyes. the airbnb was cancelled the day of due to an apparent "roach problem," which was easily fixable considering that there were plently of hotels in the area, though none were close enough to the beach for them to get there before sunset. then, the restaurant managed to lose their reservation, and were fully booked for the night, regretfully turning the couple away with a few recommendations for other restaurants in town, only every one of them were full.

abby wanted to cry when she got back to the hotel; her entire plan was ruined, but she wasn't about to let a nice hotel room with her gf go to waste.

instead, she instructed y/n to order some room service while she turned her attention to filling the large jacuzzi in the bathroom with steaming hot water, adding a mountain of strawberry scented bubbles to the bath and dimming the lights. the food arrived just as she finished, and luckily the time that it had taken them to eat was just long enough to allow the water cool enough to become a comfortable temperature.

it slips out of her mouth before she even realises it. she's in the tub, head tilted back against the wall and her girl cuddled into her chest. she doesn't even realise that she'd said it until she heard a quiet "what?"

her eyes shot open, panic filling her entire body for only a moment before she realised that, no matter how much effort she put into her plan, there wouldn't be another moment where it felt more right to ask her. so she silently reached for the velvet box in her pants pocket on the floor.

"i said, will you marry me?"

#reader insert #x reader #imagines #lesbian #abby anderson #abby anderson imagine #college!abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou #abby anderson x you

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gustingirl · 2 years

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Some House MD facts i read on imdb that i can’t stop thinking about:

Although other characters occasionally insinuate that Dr. Robert Chase (Jesse Spencer) was a bit dim, he came up with more correct diagnoses than any other supporting character throughout the series.

Dr. House is a polyglot. He knows English, Spanish, Portuguese, Russian, French, Hindi (a little), and Mandarin.

It is common throughout the series for House and his team to suggest a diagnosis for a patient that was the previous episode's correct diagnosis.

Dr. Eric Foreman (Omar Epps) never wears the same outfit twice. (slay)

In season two, episode twenty-four, "No Reason," when Dr. House was shot and hospitalized, his hospital wristband reveals his date of birth as June 11, 1959, which is the same birth date as Hugh Laurie.

House is based on Sherlock Holmes, but Holmes, in turn, was based on a doctor Arthur Conan Doyle knew while studying medicine, a Dr. Bell, whose specialty was diagnosis.

Hugh Laurie did not actually like the title "House."

The standard way to use a cane is to hold it on the opposite side of the injured leg. Dr. House, of course, knows this but, consistent with his contrary nature, insists on keeping his cane on the same side as his injured leg.

Three out of six original cast members are left-handed: Lisa Edelstein (Dr. Lisa Cuddy), Omar Epps (Dr. Eric Foreman), and Robert Sean Leonard (Dr. James Wilson).

The team performs an "LP" or Lumbar Puncture in nearly every episode.

House's apartment set is also Amber's apartment and Wilson's early apartment. Although every time the apartments are dressed in different ways for the other characters, but always maintain the same layout. This is usually done to save money on production costs.

It's not a coincidence his name is Gregory House. The word "gregarious" means sociable, which House is the complete opposite of with strangers, but he's very social with his small inner circle.

House wears the watch that Kutner gifted him for Secret Santa right up until the show's final episode, a small sign of House's humanity.

A favorite line of Dr. Chase, namely when courting Dr. Cameron, is "see you next Tuesday," and after being fired uses the line "see you next Thursday." If we convert "see" to the letter C, and "you" to the letter U, together the acronym for either line spells a word that cannot be said on American television. This is all the more fitting to Dr. Chase's character since he is from Australia where the word is generally nowhere near as egregious as it is in the States, and consequently more commonly used there.

And my favorite one:

After a student in the audience of Hugh Laurie's edition of Inside the Actors Studio (1994) asked Laurie if he thought Dr. House should be romantically involved with Dr. Allison Cameron, Dr. Lisa Cuddy, or Dr. James Wilson; Laurie said, "I suspect that if the show runs long enough, he's going to run through all of them. What order that unfolds in is not for me to say. I think any of those relationships is, of course, believable. Two people can always find some comfort or attraction, so I think all are possible. I think Robert (Sean Leonard, who plays Dr. Wilson) might have something to say about it. I don't know how Robert would take that. But you know, I'm game."

#house md #dr house #gregory house #james wilson #lisa cuddy #alison cameron #robert chase #eric foreman #hugh laurie #robert sean leonard #lisa edelstein #omar epps #jennifer morrison #jesse spencer

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thewalkingwillowtree · 5 months

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Safe Haven

Series Part Listing Found Here

Neteyam x Original Na'vi Female Character

Summery: Seeking refuge, Xilä and her father venture to the lands of the Omatikaya clan, in the hopes that the Toruk Makto would be generous in allowing them to stay. This is her story about not only finding her strength, but finding love.

Warning: This story contains smut, violence & abuse (please don't read if these topics will affect you)

Some characters have been aged up. Neteyam in particular is 24.

Xilä is my own creation.

Warning! Gentle reminder about my previous warnings y’all. This part is heavy handed on the violence and mentions of blood. Also, very brief mention/implication of suicide (not any of our MC’s).

Part 17- Vengeance

The feast was almost over and Xi was running out of time. She had run through every possible scenario in her mind on how to get out of what was to come…what Su’ko had planned for her.

Eywa.

Help me.

She stared out at a sea of pity, losing count of how many Na’vi were scattered about the cave. Li’ona had always been a massive clan, and while they were far fewer in numbers now, there was still a shocking mass.

Whatever RDA base or ship the Li’ona people had scavenged was evident. There was a plethora of human made objects dispersed all over the large cave. Everything from rusting ship parts, to vehicle seats- their padding spilling out from its torn upholstery to even those tiny, bright coloured sticks the humans used to clean their teeth.

In her peripheral, the glint of Su’ko’s staff caught her attention. It had a sharp pointed blade which she was sure could pierce skin easily…if she could just reach it.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ her mind mocked, ‘you wouldn’t make it very far…even if you killed him.’

A frantic shout for help interrupted her thoughts. The distressed form of a man appeared, hysterically yelling about his dying father and Xi recognized him from his cloak.

He had been one of the men who’d accompanied Su’ko- one of his rouge warrior's who’d held her down as they forced her to watch her father be strung up.

Xilä observed that most of the clan merely blinked in his direction, almost as if it were a usual occurrence.

Was no one going to help his father?

Did they have no healer?

When no one came forth, she grabbed her chance. “I can help! Let me help, I am a healer!”

Well...as good as one.

All eyes landed on her, and Xilä held her breath as she waited for Su’ko give his permission. Instead, he fisted her hair painfully, titling her to face his menacing glare.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I-” she licked her lips nervously, “but I can help.”

“Su’ko…chief, please,” the man begged.

Su’ko’s gaze darted around at his clan, they were all watching in interest now, waiting for his response. Relenting, the Li’ona leader released her with an annoyed nudge.

“Go,” he ordered, tossing the end of the chain for the man to lead her away.

Deep into the cave and far from the rest of the clan, she followed when he entered an alcove. It was warm and reeked of stale sweat and urine. The rattling of the rusty chain around her ankle pierced the quiet of the dim space and Xi wondered for a split second if she’d been led into a trap.

Peering through the darkness, it took her a moment to make out a shifting lump on the ground. Said lump made her jump when it suddenly gave a loud, wheezing cough.

Rough hands dragged and pushed Xi to her knees, barking, “Do something! He’s dying!”

Xilä shot the man a foul glare over her shoulder. “My hands are still bound! I cannot work like this.”

He hesitated, but then the sound of another cough made him quickly cut the ties off her wrists.

As she rubbed the raw skin uncomfortably, she said, “I need light, water, and medicine if you have. There was supposed to be some in the sack that-”

“I’ll get it,” he snapped before dashing off, pulling the length of the long chain with him which rattled rather loudly before it tapered off, making her hastily extend her leg so she didn’t go lurching behind wherever it disappeared to.

Once the chain stopped, she shifted onto her knees and waited until another round of hacking from the ill figure ended. “Hello,” she tried.

“H’mdell, leave me.” The voice was harsh, hoarse and drenched in age.

“He- he’s gone to get a few things…I’m Xilä, I’m here to help. Do you mind- can I check your vitals? I’m a healer,” she whispered as calmly as possible.

“Xilä…I don’t know any Xi- wait…Muiä’s girl? Is that you?”

At his question she shuffled closer, wincing at the twinge in her ankle. “Yes,” she replied shakily. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Bah. I am fine. Only dying a slow and painful death. Why are you-” he broke off into another fit.

Xi pursed her lips when the elder’s breath quickened. Her brow furrowed when she took note of sweat glossing his heavily aged face yet he was swamped with what looked like three layers of worn leathers.

She reached out and pressed two fingers against the flat of his wrist, sharply inhaling when she felt his ice cold skin and faint beating pulse.

“When was the last time you ate or drank anything?”

H’mdell entered just then, bathing the room in warm light with a flame he secured into the rocky wall. He grunted a garble of words as he tossed a hefty medium sized sack at her. It was a mess of random herbs, tonics and instruments her father had stolen from the Omaticaya.

With the light, Xi swallowed her horror at the clear sight of the face staring back at her. The elder was gaunt, skeletal-like to be exact.

“He needs food, and clean, drinkable water. When was the last time he had anything?” she asked his son as she siphoned through the cloth bag, hoping it held what she needed.

“Not for days, he refuses- the stubborn fool,” the man replied with a pointed glare at his coughing father. “Do something already!” he bellowed at her, causing her to flinch and drop the container of powdered kyntser she’d been holding when he raised a threatening hand.

“H’mdell,” the elder rasped, “leave us. Su’ko will not be happy if you are late for your watch again. You know what happened the last time,” he said with a weak nod to the man’s left hand.

Xilä bit her cheek when she saw two missing fingers- only a thumb and index finger was left.

H’mdell simply grunted in response. Taking hold of the end of her shackle, he wedged it tight around an odd heavy scrap of metal that looked to be part of a machine. “Fix him. I’ll kill you if you don’t,” he threatened before finally leaving for his watch duty.

Waiting a few breaths, Xilä moved slowly as she tended to the elder who she learned was called Askadu.

Contrary to growing up in the deadlands, Xi had never really been given the freedom to roam the clan. Being overly sheltered, it was her first time actually seeing most of the unnamed faces.

The quiet and distance from the rest of the clan- distance from Su’ko specifically, gave her time to think, to plan.

Askadu stared at her the entire time, calculating gaze never leaving her face as she poked and prodded his ribs and stomach, ear pressing against his bony chest before she began to meticulously combine ingredients into a mortar and pestle.

“Why have you returned?” he eventually asked, surprising her.

“I have not returned,” she snapped, “I was taken from my home…against my will.”

“And just where is this home of yours?” he snarked. “Save the bruises, you look well kept. Sunkissed skin if I ever did see…no longer flesh and bone like the lot of us,” he commented, appraising her choice of clothing- or lack of, through cloudy gray eyes.

“The Omaticaya took me in. They are home.”

“The Omaticaya? Have you come from the Blue Flute clan then? The legendary Toruk Makto’s?”

“Yes,” she replied, pausing her stirring to frown at his genuine surprise and need of this information.

“That is not what Su’ko told us,” he muttered to himself faintly, but she heard it all the same.

Interesting.

They both fell quiet again, lost in their own thoughts as she continued to fret over him, giving him a slew of ill tasting remedies, then cleansing and treating his open bed sores as best as possible.

“What is it like?” he asked. “The forest.”

She pondered for a second before responding, smiling in memory. “It’s beautiful, something from a dream…The forest, it’s always alive, it glows, thrives and there’s forever something new to discover. I've lived there for some time now, but... I don’t think I’d ever get used to how wonderful it is”

“Hm.”

“Askadu,” she started, encouraged by his question to ask her own, “what happened to these lands? Why has Eywa forsaken Li’ona? You must know for sure. I heard it was once a place that all other clans would envy.”

The elder gave a dry laugh that ended in a fit of hacks and heaves. “Oh it was. It was,” he said as if remembering. “One could only assume my dear. I’m sure you’ve heard the theories. I’d gander it was greed and hate that brought us here, however.”

“How so?”

“Corruption,” he said ominously. “We once had all we could ever want…but then a drought came, far worse than any we’d ever encountered before. Instead of planning and conserving, we wasted…hoarded, took it all for granted by being selfish and unkind to our own. And when the lands became sparse, the evil awoke.”

“Evil?”

He fixed Xilä with a meaningful glare. “Hunger and thirst can turn any soul into an unrecognizable beast… beasts so wicked they no longer care, they no longer feel… they no longer exist… We can guess all we’d like, play the victims to make ourselves feel better, but it is no great secret why the Great Mother truly deserted us…We were our own undoing.”

Askadu breathed heavily and Xi wondered when was the last time he spoke this much, she offered him another sip of the slosh his son had brought.

It took everything within her to not rush this, to not make it obvious what she was doing, but she needed to gain his trust, and fast.

“Tell me child, has Eywa led you here to be part of our end? I can sense that our time here has run its course. You are here to join us then?”

A shudder ran up her spine at his chilling words. She shook her head slowly, grip loose on the cloth she’d been dabbing to his skin. “Eywa has nothing to do with me being here. I was taken against my will, remember? My father,” she sucked a breath, “he made a deal with your leader. And now Su’ko says he will claim me.”

“Ahhh, does he? And does he know you are already taken by an Omaticaya bastard?” he pondered in amusement, weak fingers lifting to flick at the chord of beads in her hair she’d been fidgeting with every now and again- Neteyam’s gifted beads precisely.

“Hmmm. You are tainted, but I suppose he wouldn’t care though, no? Gone were the days when one whore was enough for a man. Loyalty holds no meaning here anymore.”

Ignoring his vile words, Xilä couldn’t wait any longer. She was ready to strike, ready to put her plans in place.

With a glance behind her to make sure they were truly alone, she softened her voice, “You clearly don’t agree with the way he is doing things then. Help me, Askadu. Please.”

Askadu laughed. “Afraid you will end up like the rest then?”

“What do you mean? There were others? What happened to them?”

"They are dead," he replied nonchalantly, "Su'ko can be a...brutal lover."

Xi swallowed a wave of nausea. "Then help me."

Askadu turned angry. "I am afraid there is nothing I can do- and do not be fooled girl, I am no better than the animals out there. I will not fight for you- couldn’t even if I tried. I have already accepted my fate.. Maybe it's time you do too.”

“No. No I refuse to give up. And I don't need you to fight for me, no that's not what I'm asking. It's something else…please. Don't you want the last thing you do in this world to be something good? Help me, Askadu."

A stifling silence gave way for the grunts and hoots echoing through the walls of the cave.

“Tell me something, your mate, he is… what? A warrior?”

Xi frowned but answered all the same. “Yes. One of the greatest. He is the clan’s future Olo'eyktan,” she said proudly.

Askadu froze in shock before schooling his features. “Kin of Turok Makto… My my, see how you’ve risen,” he mocked. “He will be coming for you then? I can’t imagine having you taken away from your mate sits well with him- with the clan. How sure are you of this?”

Thumb and forefinger pressing into her beads for good measure, she nodded. “I’m sure. He’s coming, my husband is coming.” She knew it in her heart, there was no doubt.

“Very well. If I were to...help you," he bit out as if he'd eaten something vile, "I want something in return.”

Xilä’s relief was prominent. “Yes, of course. What would you like?”

He nudged his head to the medical sack. “Give me something strong to take, something that will do the trick quickly.”

Not understanding, Xi merely blinked at the bag.

Askadu rolled his eyes. “Your mate is coming for you, Xilä. Do you think he will simply walk in alone and take you without a fight? When the time comes, I will die on my own terms. So I’ll say it again. Give. Me. Something. Strong.”

A deep moan escaped Neteyam. “Fucking hell,” he murmured against Xi’s lips.

She giggled at his reaction, grin wide and proud. “Was that good?” she asked. “Yeeeah that was good,” she teased with a smirk, seeing his heated gaze, “I’m getting better at this kissing thing, I think.”

“Now who’s getting cocky?” he laughed in response, ducking down to suck her bottom lip into his mouth.

Her thighs squeezed his sides in response when he properly claimed her lips again, unable to help himself as his palms caressed as much free skin as they could without crossing that very thin line of inappropriateness.

Xilä, the greedy little thing, whined when he teased her in return by keeping his lips purposely closed. She bit his bottom lip in impatience, allowing for their tongues to dance passionately.

But then he was taking charge from her once more.

Neteyam tasted.

Inhaled.

Devoured.

She gave and he took.

They kissed until they were both bursting and lightheaded. Breaking apart, his lips trailed across her jawline and down the arch of her neck, desperate to stay close- addicted.

Since they’d recently started this dangerous game, it was getting increasingly difficult to stop each time.

He sucked at her pulse point, a spot he’d quickly come to realize was overly sensitive and prone to produce the most intoxicating sounds from her lips if he worked it just right.

Encouraged by her wanton moan, he did it again, and again, and again, practically feasting on her sweet smelling skin- tail happily thumping behind him while she gasped and panted as she clung to him.

Neteyam felt drunk off of her returning affections. He loved when her hips would begin to roll on their own, as if seeking more but not knowing what. He loved how her fingers would grip the skin of his back, his nape, his biceps, egging him on with breathy whines and mewls.

Only kissing.

That was the rule he’d set when they’d started this…and of course, he fucking hated it. He knew she did too. He knew that even though she was inexperienced, she was ever eager and always begging for more.

They were both fools though. The only kissing rule was beginning to blur. Hands began to roam further each time, bare skin was tasted and Neteyam, was always painfully rock hard by the end. Hiding it from her was becoming a task of its own nature.

The snap of a twig broke him from his spell, making him dart his head up and around at the forest surrounding them.

“What is it?” she asked, trying to see over his shoulder from their splayed position he'd rolled them to, but unable to since his heavy torso prevented her.

Neteyam listened for a few beats then jerked his chin. “Just a hexapede, over there, see?”

“Oh,” she gasped, “Teyam, it’s the same one we saw a few weeks ago. Look! She had her baby!”

Xi pushed at his chest so she could sit up to better see the knobby legged baby following its mother.

He grumbled, but shuffled out from his spot between her thighs to lean against a thick root of the tree they were lounging under. While she stared in awe at the two creatures, Neteyam took his fill of her. He wished he had a camera to save this moment forever.

She was beautiful, ethereal.

Skin glowing from the illumination around them, she was all soft lines, bright eyes and everything that was good in his entire world.

A sudden rush of overflowing affection that he’d never felt before made his heart leap.

Love…?

Love.

He waited for that thump-thump beat of panic over his realization…but it never came.

And then just as fast as that warmth of feeling showed itself, it was suddenly dampened by reality.

“What?” she asked with a little huff, amused when she’d caught him staring.

‘I love you,’ he thought. ‘But I’m not supposed to…’

“Nothing,” he said instead of the truth, “come here, sweetheart,” he begged quietly and albeit needy- a side of himself he’d never known existed.

‘Damn her.’

Pulling her into his arms with a contented sigh, he nuzzled her cheek and kissed under her jaw affectionately, feather light with hidden meaning, far more intimate than their usual “heated or passion” filled kisses.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her.

For now he’d take what he could get, he’d pretend that there was no deadline- no pressing demand waiting for him to deal with. But fuck if it didn’t hurt to think that he’d have to give her up.

But what if he couldn’t? What if he didn’t want to give her up? He was in love with her…soul wrenchingly in love.

‘Damn her.’

“Don’t make me do any more drills today,” she pouted as she snuggled further into his arms, thighs draped over each of his from when she’d plopped into his lap.

“No?” he chuckled, playing with her hair. “What do you want me to make you do instead then?”

“This, just this right here,” she sighed happily, hugging him around his waist as her cheek made a home on his chest. “Please.”

Another thing that made him secretly happy- she was much more comfortable with initiating physical contact now.

Recently, and on more than one occasion, she’d forgotten they were in public, and while he’d pretend to be upset and mumble under his breath to remind her, he loved when she’d light up at seeing him, loved how she’d plaster herself in his arms or seek him out- just to be close, just to be near him in any way possible.

“Alright, fine. Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to her hair while his arms tightened around her in return, “whatever you want.”

Neteyam tried to force himself to reign in his desires but thoughts of “What if” ran wild in his mind.

Maybe he could try to persuade the council to give him more time?

Maybe Xi would say yes if he asked to court her?

Maybe…somehow, someway she’d become his mate, his wife?

Neteyam shook his head, he didn’t want to get ahead of himself, he’d have to figure it all out later.

But for now, out here in their own world... he could pretend that she belonged to him just as much as he belonged to her…

“Son, you should get some sleep. You’re gonna need it,” Jake advised, chasing away Neteyam’s vivid memory.

He pursed his lips beneath the thick leathered mask that hid his face as he heard his father approach. “Dad-”

“Don’t give me that. It’s been days, kid. You haven’t been eating either and it’s got your mother worried sick. You’ll be of no use to Xi if you’re sleep deprived and weak as shit. We’re gearing up to infiltrate these savages tomorrow with no clue what to expect. I suggest you get your ass to camp, eat and get some fucking sleep, because so help me, Neteyam, I will pull rank and not allow out there.”

“Yes, sir,” Neteyam muttered dutifully, reigning in his annoyance yet knowing his father was right all the same.

He tore his gaze away from the vast, crimson tinted horizon he’d been staring at for the last hour and trekked down the stony mound, back to their camp of warriors- tail limp between his legs like a chided kit.

Casted by the shadows of the night, their makeshift shelters were hidden amongst a rocky valley. They were close, and having come such a long way, they’d stop to rest and recover for the night.

By tomorrow, they would finally enter the deadlands. Norm’s trace on the aircraft had died two days ago. He prayed to Eywa that it wasn't a bad sign, but suffice to say, they had a general idea of where they were heading by now.

So much happened in the past couple of days.

They didn’t leave home immediately after their update from Stephan. Strategy meetings were held, weapons and provisions for the journey were assembled, and every seamstress, weaver and capable sewer worked tirelessly to equip all warriors who were about to set out.

And thank Eywa that they had.

The heat had been a surprise to them all of course. They hadn’t even reached the “deadlands” officially per say, but yet a simmering wave had them all scrambling to cloak and cover themselves in protective wear.

Neteyam stared at his own covered feet as he walked. They were a nuisance in his mind, but they were a necessity. Who was he to complain?

His boots were sturdy and well insulated. Sal had made them, having stayed up for almost half a night before she tackled getting Jxo’s done.

And Jxo- well, warrior or not, there was no talking the man out from going with them. Neteyam had never seen his mother-in-law look so fragile when she’d learned this. Sal had hugged him tight and begged him to bring her husband and daughter back in one piece.

Their fleet flew for what felt like an eternity to him- days of travel that had his muscles sore, tired and aching. He glanced at the mess of tangled ikrans some feet away. Buddy and Journey in particular were entwined as they slept, and if it were not for their contrasting colours, Neteyam wouldn’t know where one began and the other ended.

Journey, the poor thing seemed to sense what was wrong. She was a stubborn beast, refusing to stay behind, nipping at his feet and tail until he surrendered and released her from the enclosure he’d been trying to lock her in.

As he forced himself to swallow a couple bites of food and swigs of water, Neteyam peered around at the tired eyes of the men and women so ready to fight by his side.

They were here for him, for Xilä. He had to say something…he needed them to know how much it meant to him.

With a heavy heart Neteyam made his way to the center of their makeshift encampment. He didn’t have to do much or wait too long for all to fall quiet and give their full attention.

“I can not help but feel such gratitude in my heart for each one of you. It's not lost on me, the sacrifices you've all made– leaving behind your families, your comfort and the warmth of your own bed. And for that sacrifice, I want to express my deepest thanks. Your willingness to endure this journey with me, it speaks volumes… My Xilä, my mate. Thank you for helping me get her back home.”

“You’d do it for any one of us,” Tasam called out with a firm nod, arms folded as he stood tall.

“Xilä is Omaticaya. Of course we’d fight to get her back,” W’aote chimed in.

“She is our future Tsahìk!”

“We are with you brother.”

One by one masked faces called out to him. His heart swelled, wishing Xi were here to see. Neytiri approached him where he stood, clasping their hands together as she murmured her own heartwarming words.

Later that night, while most caught some sleep, Neteyam sought out his brother who was one of the few keeping watch.

“Hey,” Lo’ak murmured in greeting, scooching across to allow Neteyam a seat on the high, flat boulder he was perched on.

“Hey.”

“What’s up?”

Neteyam plucked out his lucky dagger to fiddle with. He smirked at its still flower patterned painted handle, he couldn't find it within himself to remove Tuk's artwork.

"I need a favor…a big one," he asked as he twirled the blade skillfully, making flips and spins with practiced ease.

“Yeah, bro. Anything.”

“Dad’s right, we planned as much as we could, but we don’t really know what we're heading into… either way, I know it’s going to be a fight, I don’t expect there’d be no blood shed…” he adjusted the heavy cloak that kept him protected from the heat- it was ridiculously uncomfortable, that and the fucking pants.

“I’ve made up my mind on how I want this to go down. We’re sticking to the plans in place of course but… I need you to prioritize Xi for me.”

Lo’ak frowned. “Bro-”

“I want you to find her as soon as you can and get her out of there. Keep her safe. If Stephan’s ship is secure when we get there tomorrow, take her there.”

“Neteyam, the plan was that you would-”

“Please, Lo’ak… I need you to do this for me. Just get her as far from that place as possible. No matter what. I need you to promise me.”

Lo’ak swallowed deeply, glowing eyes set on his brother’s hidden profile. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, I’ll do it.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re planning something, aren’t you?”

Neteyam bit the inside of his cheek and shrugged. “They fucked up. So now they're all going to pay.”

A miserable three days had passed before it finally happened.

And oh how it happened.

Between Xilä and Askadu, the whispers were spread throughout the clan- the truth, things they didn’t know, things that had been deliberately kept from them.

It started with a sly comment that earned her a backhand from the person who’d brought her a “meal”, someone’s leftovers consisting of rock-seed beans that had been mashed into a paste.

An underhanded comment to Askadu’s son, a sassy comeback to Vhin who had pulled on her hair hard in retaliation, and the best of best- a tear filled conversion to the cave’s known gossiper, a woman named J'ahki.

Those small seeds of doubt were planted and spread throughout the clan, creating hushed huddles and intense pockets of conversation- tension and anger building amongst the Li’ona people.

They doubted her words at first, which was naturally understandable. But the Na’vi of Li’ona were a demanding folk. They had a code- and sure they treated each other worse than shit, but they believed in their chief- the man who’d fed them lies.

Xi’s plan was simple- create chaos and wait them out. If she couldn’t fight them physically, she’d get them where she knew mattered.

Get them to turn on themselves, or better yet- Su’ko.

She didn’t know exactly how long the journey had been by the aircraft- she’d been unconscious for most of it anyway. She also didn’t know the exact number of days she’d been taken from home- from Neteyam, but she knew how long she’d been in this dreadful cave.

Three days, and now judging by the change of the guard she’d come to memorize, evening had come…evening bringing the third night.

Three days and three nights of miserable, piss poor living conditions and lack of food, water and sleep.

It was the nights that had her worried the most. Xi had refused to close her eyes in fear of anything happening to her while she slept.

Askadu had played his part too in helping her however- not just spreading rumors also. Overplaying his illness when needed so that she could stay at his side during the day was more than she could ask for. She could tell that it irked Su’ko.

The first night she’d been lucky, having the opportunity to care for the elderly man. The second night however, Su’ko had every intention of moving ahead with his plan.

And so, she’d been dragged through the clan kicking and screaming, putting up a hell of a fight until they reached his personal alcove. She scratched the fuck out of his face, kneeing him right in the balls when he'd gotten her pinned.

His roar of pain and anger was deafening when she gained the upper hand by biting down on his ear, holding firm. Xi was feral, she clamped onto the flesh until blood coated her mouth and tip was ripped right off.

When Su'ko had stumbled back, hands cupping his gushing injury, his eyes were wide in disbelief? Shock? Fear? Xi didn't care, she simply stood to her full hight, spat the tip of his ear and a mouthful of blood right at him, stance widening as she readied herself for another round.

Su'ko had gone livid, blade pulled from his hip with every intention to kill her she knew.

But as luck or fate or Eywa would have it, a land quake erupted, rocking and shaking the entire cave with a powerful vengeance. Dust clouded the air and rubble fell from the ceiling as people scrambled in screams of terror.

Xi had been abandoned, still chained and unable to escape even if she wanted to. Instead, she curled into a ball beneath the scrapped sheet of metal she’d been shackled to.

On that night, three of Li’ona’s people died.

When all went calm again, Su’ko had his ear tended to by an overly worried and all too happy to help Vhin. Then, he and many others worked tirelessly at the cave’s entrance, desperately trying to clear away the rocks and rubble that had filled their only way out- trapping them from the outside.

And then came tonight.

The night it all went spiraling.

“SU’KO!”

From what she now called, “her seat” a ledge a few feet above the rest of the clan, but lower than Su’ko’s, a shackled Xilä watched as an angry Na’vi hostilely approached the Li’ona leader who’d just entered the cave.

Xi prayed that her plan had finally worked. She didn’t think she’d be as lucky again tonight since just before he left, Su’ko had threatened to claim her upon his return, then kill her for her actions.

“You’ve been keeping secrets from us, oh mighty leader,” the man snarked sarcastically.

Su’ko and his band of warriors had just returned from their all day hunt, which unsurprisingly, by the look of things, wielded only two measly skinny dirt-vermin.

“I’d watch my tone if I were you, Balynn. What is this about?” Su’ko asked, already on the alert as he noticed the accusatory glares scattered around the cave, some not as obvious while others were blazing in blatancy towards him.

“The girl, Su’ko…Talk is,” he turned and shot her a loathsome glare with a pointed finger, “she’s an Omatikaya’s whore. She’s fucking claimed by Toruk Makto’s boy.”

“Lies!” Su’ko roared, baring fanged teeth as he dropped his kill to step forward.

“She told me so herself,” Vhin chipped in unhelpfully- hip cocked and arms folded, “what does it matter though, Balynn? Su’ko makes the ru-”

“Silence bitch. It matters. All of you. Fools!” he hissed at the leader in particular. “Don’t you know what this means? She is Omatikaya! Taken… claimed before Eywa. They see her as one of their own.”

By the look on their leader’s face, realization seemed to dawn upon him, he caught what the man was trying to say. Su'ko fiddled with the bandage that was poorly administered to his ear, face morphing into a pained wince before he was masking it again.

Xi thought he was one tough bastard. He hadn't even taken anything for the pain.

“We should just kill her!” someone called out.

“String her up!” another yelled.

“No!” Balynn bellowed. “If you kill her, they’ll kill us all. They have a fucking army! I should know! I fought with them against the wicked ones years ago! They have weapons, demon made weapons! Faster, and far more deadly than an arrow.”

An echoing dread of silence rippled through the cave.

“Give her back,” Balynn seethed, “you have to.”

Su’ko’s jaw ticked- anger clouding his face. “I don’t like the way you’re questioning my authority, old man. You know what happens when I’m dishonored. Maybe I should string you up instead.”

“You fool. String me up all you like. But just know, it is you who will be the end of us all! They won’t let you keep her- they won’t let you keep your life!”

“Then a war will be upon them… we will fight! We will not let them enter our lands!”

A deafening roar of cheers and hoots ensued at the prospect of war, causing Xilä to swallow nervously. She didn’t want anyone from her clan getting hurt over her- especially Neteyam.

“They don’t need to know she’s here, though. They would leave if they see that. Just kill her, she is a waste anyway,” Vhin suggested, lust filled eyes falling on the man who was so keen on keeping Xilä. “Let me do it, Olo'eyktan,” she volunteered eagerly, hand reaching for the knife attached to her hip, "I could do it quickly, or slowly if you prefer-"

“No. Leave it!” he snapped. “We feast,” Su’ko ordered, clearly trying to distract and derail the conversation.

“And just what will we feast on?” a woman questioned. “Those vermin will not make a dent in our stomachs. You promised us food Su’ko, a bountiful.”

“Exactly! Where’s the rest of the food, Su’ko?” someone else demanded. “You never said that the sack you brought back was from the Omatikaya either.”

“How many other lies have you told us?!” another accused.

Su’ko blanched at the questioning, face growing enraged as the crowd grew rowdier towards him.

An uproar of agreement and disagreement ensued. Pointed fingers, bared fangs, curses and dangerous threats flew left and right. Weapons were drawn as one by one the few still seated got to their feet.

“Where’s the rest of the water and the medicine?”

“You gave us scraps!”

“Hoarding the rest for yourself, are you?”

“You’ve lied to us! You swore your truth to this clan!”

“Lies! All lies!” an elder roared. “You are no better than that bastard T'shteyo!”

It was finally happening.

The chaos…

She and Askadu had succeeded in their plan.

“SILENCE!” A man roared. “Listen…” he said ominously, ears perked as his eyes found the cave's entrance.

And in that very moment, when all had gone quiet did they all hear it…a chilling sound from the distance. The blaring call of a horn that warned of danger…grave danger.

Wide eyes and panicked expressions replaced the hostility from before, all attention falling to their leader as if he held the answer, as if waiting for instruction.

Hurried footsteps had them all tightening their grips on the handles of their weapons.

“Su’ko!”

The entire clan watched as a panting young man- no, boy raced through the entrance- exposed face pale in fear. The teen was probably one of the last to be born of the Li’ona people.

“Chief, there are people entering the boarders,” the boy declared, fire in his eyes as if excited for the prospect of a fight. “A lot of them."

Su'ko pounded the end of his staff against the ground. "Gather your weapons, round up the beasts, we ride out before last light!"

As the clan followed his directive, he marched toward Xi and grabbed her by the face, fingers and thumb sinking painfully. "Petal, your precious beloved will die tonight. I will string him up beside your father and watch as wild beasts feast on his corpse."

Xi's eyes squinted in amusement. "You're afraid. You reek of fear," she spat through clenched teeth.

His nostrils flared.

"Su'ko! Let's go!" someone called, pulling his attention away.

Su'ko paused, untrusting eyes wavering at Xi's words. "Dhgu!" he summoned his second, "Come with me, I have a plan."

“Get him down from there,” Neteyam ordered without emotion.

“Ugh, he reeks!” Lo’ak’s face squished in disgust at the sight of T’shteyo’s pitiful form being cut down from a high jagged rock. “Damn, I wonder how long he's been up there. His own people sure fucked him up… Is he dead?”

“I hope not,” Neteyam muttered, causing his brother to shoot him a mildly alarmed look.

The rest of their fleet hung back while a small group had broken away to investigate “the body” a scout had spotted.

T’shteyo forcefully peaked through squinted eyes- skin burnt and raw. “Wa-water…w-water,” he pleaded through blood cracked lips.

Neteyam crouched in front of the crumpled heap of limbs, head tilted as his arms hung lazily between his thighs.

“Where is my wife?”

“W-wat-water.”

“Where. Is. My wife,” he growled again.

“P-pl-please,” T'shteyo sobbed, bloodied fingers crawling at the dirt, reaching towards Neteyam’s feet in desperation.

“This?” Neteyam asked, revealing his own personal pouch which was secured to his hip. He uncapped it, removed his mask and took a long slow drink. He gave a satisfied sigh in delight, “Refreshing.”

Tears welled in T'shteyo’s eyes at the sight.

“Tell me where my wife is and I’ll consider giving you a sip.”

The man licked his lips. “They t-took her. Su’ko a-and his men.”

“Where?”

“Plea-”

“WHERE!”

“Past the village. T-they said s-something about a cave,” he rasped. “That’s a-all I know.”

Neteyam turned to his father who nodded, words not needing to be said. At once the Olo'eyktan ordered two scouts to fly ahead and check the area.

The sound of his name being called had him standing once more. “What is it?” he asked his approaching father-in-law.

“I’ll do it,” the elder said with a jerk of his chin in T'shteyo’s direction.

“Jxo, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I have to…I need to,” he urged.

Neteyam hesitated. He’d been imagining this moment for days now- the moment he was finally able to kill the bastard who’d taken his mate. But Jxo, he guessed probably did need this more than him.

“Alright,” he relented, moving to the side so that Jxo could take his place. Curiously, he stood back and observed the elder’s actions.

Jxo tossed a waterskin and a parcel of food at the man before him. He waited patiently as T'shteyo scrambled without a glance upward, finishing both the water and the small meal within seconds.

“You...” T'shteyo said in shock, noticing Jxo for the first time.

“Me.”

“What are you playing at, old man?” he asked untrustingly. “Did you poison me?”

“Poison?” Jxo mused. “Oh no no no. That would be too kind of me, don’t you think? Too lenient…I just didn’t want you dying of thirst or starvation. Not while you and I have much to discuss.”

“Bro,” Lo’ak whispered to his brother, “what’s he up too?”

“No idea,” Neteyam murmured back as he too watched from the sidelines.

“Do you know what I do for my clan?” Jxo suddenly asked T'shteyo, gravelly voice calm and cool as he stooped and pulled out a rolled leather case from his pack.

“What?” T'shteyo was looking at him as if he were insane.

“I’m a woodworker. Have been since I was a boy…followed in my father’s footsteps actually. Anything you could possibly think of, I can create,” he said, “but you see carving, carving is my specialty,” he smiled- and Jxo rarely smiled, “lots of intricate work, detailed,” he emphasized as he unrolled the leather case to display an array of pointed and sharp tools and instruments.

T'shteyo’s face paled, realization drawing upon him at Jxo’s words. “Don’t-”

“Don’t what? Don’t hurt you? Don’t make you suffer? Don’t cause you pain?” Jxo asked. Face marring an angry expression, he leaned closer. “Xilä may not have my blood but she is my kid -my daughter. And you hurt her! You made her suffer, caused her pain…sold her as if she were fucking nothing!”

“N-Neteyam!” T'shteyo cried, pleading eyes falling to him, but Neteyam’s face was blank- void of any emotion as he watched on.

"He's not going to help you...see, like him, I know everything. Oh that's right, don't look so surprised. That's why I said we have much to talk about..." Jxo titled his head, scrutinizing the man, "You have physically and emotionally scarred my little girl since she was brought into this world. Did you honestly think you would get away with it?"

“Xi-Xilä, Xilä!” he whimpered then.

Neteyam was on the man before he could blink, knife drawing blood as it sank inches into his throat. “You don’t get to say her name,” he spat, murderous eyes ablaze, “You did this. I warned you, I even spared your life once. Not again. Now…now you pay.”

Crimson drops formed a small pool in the dirt between them and Neteyam had to force himself not to slit the man’s throat. “I’d kill you right this instant…but Jxo’s right…you don’t deserve a quick death.”

He shoved the pathetic Na’vi away, turning in time to spot the scouts flying back towards them.

When they’d been informed about the location of the cave, Jake began to round up the rest of their fleet, going over last minute strategies once more to include details the scouts were able to provide.

“You should go. I’m going to be here a while,” Jxo said to Neteyam as he fished out a sharpening stone and started to run it along a hooked-nose knife. “Page in when you get my kid.”

Hesitating for the second time that day, he sighed, “Alright then.” Neteyam signaled to three men. “Stay with Jxo while we head out. Once he’s…” he cleared his throat and averted his gaze when Jxo suddenly began to test out a flat headed chisel against a random rock- the blade sinking into it with ease, “once he’s finished, head back to Stephan’s ship. We’ll meet you there.”

“Neteyam!” T'shteyo cried again, fear crippling him as Jxo calmly tied a leather apron to his front, humming a tune cheerily as if it were just another day of crafting.

Neteyam shot T'shteyo one final blank stare. “You better pray that she’s alive… May we never meet again,” he said, before turning to stride towards their fleet.

“Bro,” Lo’ak shook his head, keeping pace with him, “remind me to never piss off Jxo, because I swear, your father-in-law is one scary motherfucker.”

Li’ona and Omatikaya.

Each side faced off- sixty feet between them as they glared and hissed at each other.

Neteyam and his father strode forward and met two Li’ona men half way, keeping them at a distance.

“Remember, let me do the talking,” Jake murmured to his son.

“Got it.”

There were no pleasantries exchanged, no signs of respect or polite greetings.

“You are not welcomed in these lands!” one of the men hissed. “Leave now, or we slaughter you all!”

Jake merely blinked, attention set on the second man instead- the one with the bloody bandaged ear. “My name is Jake Sully. Olo'eyktan for the Omatikaya. We mean no harm unless you don’t cooperate.”

“Jakesully, the mighty Toruk Makto…there is no need for you to be here! You and your Omatikaya filth must leave at once,” the same man sneered.

“Well we wouldn’t be here if you weren't holding one of our own captive.”

“There is none of your kind here!”

“Now that’s just not true now, is it? My daughter-in-law, Xilä, hand her over,” he ordered, once again addressing the second man.

“Why do you keep looking at him, I’m the one talking to you!”

Jake smirked behind his mask. “Because he’s the one in charge…it’s Su’ko, right?” he revealed, surprising the two men who tried to fool them. “Let’s not stall this out any longer. It’s quite simple actually. Hand Xilä over, and we’ll leave. That’s the second time I’ve asked. There won’t be a third.”

Neteyam zeroed in on Su’ko, fingers itching for the blade on his hip. The man clocked this and barked a laugh, finally speaking for the first time.

“So you’ve found me out then. Dhgu and I were just having a bit of fun. I admit you are far smarter than I was expecting Jakesully.”

His gaze fell on Neteyam again. “You must be the mate my new bitch keeps moaning on about…” He cocked his head to the side as if sizing him up. “She’s a feisty little thing, isn’t she?”

That was it.

Wait for the signal be dammed.

An audible crack broke the tension and pain bloomed across Neteyam’s knuckles from the sheer force of the blow he’d administered.

Su’ko dropped like a sack of yovo fruit, stunned eyes on the three men above him as if not realizing what just happened, mouth gushing crimson through his face covering.

With a simple press to the choker around his neck, Neteyam calmly said three chilling words that sounded through every person’s ear piece…

“Kill them all.”

And then all hell broke loose.

Both sides charged.

Jake attacked Su’ko’s goon just as Neteyam lurched toward the man himself.

The clans clashed in fits of knives, guns, teeth, fists, spares, guns, bows, arrows.

It was a bloodbath.

Brutal.

Savage.

Deadly.

Through the bodies who’d joined, Su’ko, the slimy filth, somehow managed to flee from Neteyam’s clutches.

Neteyam was intercepted when a Li’ona male threw himself at him. He fought off the fool with ease, blade piercing through his chin, sprinkling blood as it was ripped out.

Striding through the battle, Neteyam gained speed and gave chase. He was not going to let Su’ko escape.

The bastard was surprisingly fast and headed straight for a line of dead trees.

Coward.

Catching up to him, they attacked at the same time, knife clashing with spear. Their strikes were vicious in a song of snarls and grunts and curses, movements fluid and deliberate, flowing almost like a practiced dance.

Neteyam poured out every bottled up fury and frustration, vengeance flowing through his veins. He couldn’t kill T'shteyo, but this was as close as he could get.

Xilä flooded his mind.

Every bruise, every tear, every ounce of pain and hurt she’d endured at the hands of these lands, at the hands of its people.

This was his revenge for her.

He gained the upper hand when Su’ko stumbled and, lucky dagger pulled from the sheath on his chest, he plunged, and twisted.

Su’ko garbled in shock, blood trickling out from his lips and down his chin.

“For Xilä.”

Plunge.

“My mate.”

Plunge.

“Wife!”

Plunge.

“Mother of my future children.”

Plunge.

“Omatikaya’s destined Tsahìk.”

Plunge.

“And the woman who brought you to your end.”

Su’ko’s body dropped with an echoing THUD around the dead woods they were in.

Panting, Neteyam stared at the corpse without an ounce of remorse.

It was done.

Vhin seethed as her people were slaughtered. It was all that girl’s fault, that stupid, stupid girl!

She fled the battle and returned to the cave with only one intention.

“You little whore!” Vhin screeched, causing Xilä to freeze from her frantic task of trying to escape her chains.

She watched wide eyed as a knife wielding Vhin advanced on her.

“We should have just killed you in the first place!”

Xilä dodged her sloppy swings with practiced ease, but could only do so much as the chain became tangled beneath her. “Vhin, STOP!”

The woman laughed like psycho, reminding her of her overly disturbed father. “Su’ko is slaughtering your fucking mate as we speak! We’ll cut off his head and string him up for the beasts to feast on!"

An animalistic rage flooded Xilä’s mind where all she saw was blood. And with a roar of blinding anger, she attacked. This time not to subdue, not to block…but to kill.

In Xi and Vhin's tussle, the knife fell to the floor. The both dived for it crawling and kicking in a fit of limbs. Vhin managed to reach it first but Xi fisted her hair and slammed her face into ground.

Vhin screamed in pain as Xi wrestled the knife from her and forcefully tried to drive it into her face. They both strained and struggled as inch by inch the blade came closer and closer to Vhin’s face.

SPLAT!

Xi blinked as warm liquid speckled her face and neck. Her grip on the blade loosened, jaw falling open as she stared at the arrow embedded in Vhin’s temple.

What...?

Head snapping to the inflictor, there stood, with their bow was, “Leati!” Xi cried.

The warrior smirked, “You were taking too long to kill her.”

Scrambling away from the dead body she was still leaning over, a relieved sob escaped Xi.

Leati grumbled when Xi flung herself at her, hugging her tightly, but her annoyance simmered the instant they broke apart.

“Xilä…” she trailed off, taking in the horrifying way she looked. Shaking her head, she tugged on her wrist, “Let’s get out of here.”

“I can’t, this chain won’t budge!”

“Fuck,” Leati swore, kneeling to see if she could help.

“Leati, watch out!” Xi suddenly yelled as a rock went flying, missing the warrior’s head by inches.

“He’s dead! You killed him!” H’mdell, stalked towards Xilä. “He’s dead! What did you give my father?!”

Xi blanched…Askadu actually did it then...

Leati did not hesitate, she attacked like a flying banshee, leaping at the hulking man in sheer brutality. The two went stumbling off the short ledge in a fit of kicks and punches making Xi’s chest pound in worry.

“Xilä!” she heard someone call from a distance.

“Xilä!”

She hesitated to answer, it could have been anybody…

“XiXi!”

“Lo’ak?!”

He found her within seconds, relief etched in his eyes. “Oh thank Eywa. Xi, we gotta go, come on!”

“I can’t.” She showed him the chain, and he cursed.

“Here, stretch your leg out and block your ears,” he instructed as he lifted the large gun strapped to his chest.

With one precise shot, the chain was broken. “Let’s go!”

“Wait, what about Leati?!”

“She’ll be fine,” he assured, pulling her with him, giving her no other choice but to limp along.

They ran the length of the cave, bypassing dead bodies and still fighting Na’vi. Lo’ak led them to the edge of the entrance, tugging her behind a boulder, so they were hidden when a pair of Li’ona men came running in.

He turned towards her, ready to tell her their plan of escape but suddenly noticed. “Where’s your shit? You can’t go out there like that!” he hissed, momentarily ignoring her cuts and bruises to instead focus on her lack of boots and cloak.

“They stole it from me.”

“Oh those fuckers,” he huffed. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Xi watched as he crawled away. Then, in less than two minutes he was back, beckoning her over eagerly. “Alright, the coast is clear, in you get,” he directed, untying his cloak to open it wide for her to share it with him.

She was lifted off her feet before she could blink and then Lo’ak was moving like lightning.

He dodged past the body he had just taken out and skirted around two females who were locked in hand to hand in combat, then out into the darkness of stifling heat. Within seconds, they were in the air as his ikran came flying out from nowhere.

Xilä curled into Lo’ak and tucked in her feet. She worriedly peered down at the raging war below for merely a second before Lo'ak was pushing her head down. "Don't look," he whispered.

When he knew they were about to approach the jagged rock, he kept her firmly locked with a gentle hold. He didn't want her to see in case Jxo was still at work on her father.

Good thing too, because when he spotted them, he grimaced at the sight. From as high up as they were, the sheer volume of T'shteyo's vibrant red blood was a stark contrast to the dull, dusty ground.

Jxo was not playing around…

They made it to the ship in no time. Stephan, a medic and two guards were there to greet them. Lo’ak carried her into the aircraft where she collapsed from fatigue, adrenaline wearing off, leaving her weak and aching.

“Drink up XiXi,” her brother-in-law said softly, pressing the sprout of a water pouch against her lips.

She drank greedily.

Lo’ak’s throat bobbed as he finally observed her. She looked like she’d been through hell. He gently brushed the back of her hair when she’d finished and slumped forward to lean into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner,” he murmured.

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

“He’s right,” Stephan said, butting in. He gave her a sheepish expression from his seat on the floor opposite them- head bandaged and arm in a sling. “I’m sorry I didn’t try harder…do more.”

Xi shook her head, a smile peeking through to let him know it was okay. She had no words, so she hoped it conveyed how grateful she was of him.

The medic had just begun to attend to her bloody ankle when she asked anxiously, “Lo’ak, is Neteyam okay? Have you checked in with him?”

“I haven't yet. But don’t worry, he’s fine.”

“Can you go make sure? Please? My husband is-”

“Will be fine,” he said firmly.

“But-”

“Xi, I made him a promise. Me being here. I’m honoring that promise.”

“You need to stay calm,” the medic interrupted, adjusting something on the beeping machine she was hooked up to.

But worry only made Xilä’s pulse roar just as fast.

“Hey,” Lo’ak murmured softly, taking her hand in his own, “Xi, everything will be okay.”

“Lo’ak…I don’t want our people to get hurt… especially my Ne- I’m here. I’m safe. They can stop and come back now…tell them,” she urged. "Tell him!"

“I can’t do that, Xi…”

“They’re going to kill them all, aren't they?”

“What do you think? If the roles where reversed, tell me.”

She pursed her lips. “I think, I think if Neteyam was in my position…I think I’d do the same thing too.”

“Well, there you have it. Now, please try to stay calm. Getting worked up won’t help him right now. Okay? It's Neteyam, come on Xi, who do you think taught us everything he knows?”

An uncontrollable huff of a laugh escaped her. Xilä nodded, then forced herself to take a deep breath.

Jxo and the three warriors accompanying him were the first ones to arrive.

Xilä broke down the minute the elder wrapped her up in his arms. They were both a mumbling, sobbing mess as they reunited. Xi didn’t even care that his cloak was coated in fresh blood that stained her already filthy clothes and skin.

“What are you doing here?” she asked through a blinding grin.

Jxo shrugged and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I may not be a warrior, but I know my way around a good blade,” he joked.

They stayed wrapped up for who knows how long, seated in a corner of the cool ship until she began to nod off- body aching and begging for sleep.

Only when the early hours of the morning finally dawned did they hear the cries of ikrans.

The bay doors opened and Xilä stepped as far out onto the landing as she could, searching the crowd of returning warriors for one in particular.

Relief flooded her when Leati was spotted unharmed.

Meanwhile, Neteyam, one of the last to land, was doing the same.

Through the parting bodies, he caught sight of her instantly and a flood of emotion lodged in his chest. She was a bruised and bloody mess, and still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

In quick strides as soon as she was within arms reach, he lifted her into his arms. Legs locked around his waist, forehead and noses pressing into each other as their gazes locked- intense and reassuring.

“Baby- oh fuck. Please, please tell me this is real.”

“I’m here. I’m here, it’s me.” Xilä tugged his mask free to cup his cheeks, “Oh Eywa, you’re just as handsome as I remembered.”

They both laughed, teary eyed and choked up. And unable to stifle it, a sob escaped him.

“Please don’t cry. We’re both here. We’re both fine.”

“C’mere.” He’d barely brushed her lips when she pulled away.

“I’m filthy,” she whined.

“I don’t care.”

And then he was claiming her lips, keeping her locked with a possessive grip on the back of her neck, and uncaring of their cheering audience as their tongues and teeth reunited.

Journey squawked loudly from above them, landing clumsily as she vied for attention. Neteyam walked them out a few steps from under the ship’s covering so she could greet her ikran.

The mountain banshee nipped at Xi’s hood making her laugh.

“Xi…”

Her husband was kissing her again, pouring out every ounce of emotion he could this time.

A drop of liquid splashed Neteyam’s cheek, and then another. And another.

They broke apart, matching frowns lifting to the sky.

Rain.

With a roar, the skies opened, showering them with sweet sweet rain as thunder rumbled in the distance. Xilä’s jaw dropped, palms reaching out to feel if she’d been imagining things but no.

Eywa.

Hoods were shrugged down and grins went wide as the Omatikaya people celebrated.

“It’s raining,” she whispered in awe as droplets fell down her cheeks. She inhaled sharply when she met her husband’s intense stare. “You’re really here. You came… for me,” she murmured, index finger tracing the soft flesh of his lips.

“Always. I'd move mountains if I have to. I love you Xilä Sully. So fucking much. You should know that by now,” he whispered, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I love you too,” she sniffed, rain masking her tears.

“What do you want, baby?”

“I want to go home,” she said through trembling lips.

“Yeah, okay,” he murmured, “Let’s get you home.”

“But wait…Kiss me first.”

He nodded, smile cracking wide as he leaned in. “Whatever you want sweetheart, whatever you want,” he said, claiming her lips once more.

I’m rushing to post this since I have an early appointment. So I may or may not come back to post a proper AN.

But as always, you know what to do lovelies :)

Seriously hope y’all enjoyed this chapter.

Tags: @jakesullyfatjuicypeen @granddearduck @riatesullironalite @strawberri-blonde @earthling55 @innercreationflower @duckworthbean @gyuventure @btsiguess-kpop @blkmystery @neteswife @luvteyams @isnt-itstrange @erenjaegerwifee @faatxma @ivysully @bakugouswaif

If you'd like to be tagged or I forgot you by accident, please let me know.

#neteyam #neteyam x oc #neteyam avatar #neteyam fic #neteyam x reader #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam sully

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hometoursandotherstuff · 5 months

Text

1969 mid-century modern time capsule in Malibu, California is pretty pricey. 3bds, 3ba, $9.8M.

The entrance was amazing in its day- look at the colored glass panes, lime green shag carpeting on the spiral stairs, artsy door.

The house is open, as MCMs usually are. The area that is the dining space fits a large table with 10 upholstered chairs.

Two steps down is a small sunken living room with a wall of built-ins and original shag carpet.

Off the entrance is a narrow galley kitchen with very nice marble counters and updated appliances. I know it's in Malibu and on the ocean, but I'm just not seeing $9.8M.

There is also a family room. I'm surprised that the furniture doesn't come with the house b/c it's original and looks very lived-in.

The primary bedroom faces the ocean and has what looks like laminate walls. Looks like this green carpet goes thru the whole house. Is that an old water bed?

Oh, my, that carpet is in the bathroom, too.

Bedroom #2 has palm wallpaper and there are built-in cabinets under the window. They wallpapered them, but you can see the handles.

This bath has nice wallpaper.

Is it me, or do the wealthy always seem to have bunk bed rooms. They must be for multiple guests.

Long deck and a terrace above is right on the beach.

It seems like it's much too close.

Stairs to the beach.

Their isn't a pool b/c the lot isn't that big, and the ocean is right there, but it does have a hot tub.

Here are some shots of the house lit up at night. It looks so worn, so maybe it looks better in dim light.

The house just looks like they never changed the original wallpaper or carpet and it really needs a refresh.

The kitchen really is tight for a $9.8M house.

The lighting is nice, though.

#mid century modern home #MCM architecture #houses #house tours #home tour

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sissyisawitch · 5 months

Text

You're Losing Me

Relationship: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Summary: After seven years of relationship, MC feels neglected by Sebastian when he's been spending too much time at work.

Word Count: ~3k

Author's Note: So Taylor Swift finally released You're Losing Me a few days ago, and in honour of my favourite song of hers, I wanted to write a short story based on it. Also, this is the very first one shot I've ever written, so if anyone ever reads this, I hope it's not too bad and that you'll enjoy it.

Warnings: Angst with no happy ending If you've listened to the song, you know what I'm talking about.

MC was sitting alone in the dimly lit living room of her and Sebastian’s flat in London. She had been waiting in the same place for almost two hours, dressed in a long, elegant lace dress. Sebastian had promised to pick her up on his way home from work to take her to the restaurant to ‘celebrate a special occasion’. But he was almost two hours late.

Just like every day.

Weary of waiting without doing anything, MC stood up and found herself drawn to an old framed photograph resting on top of the mantelpiece.

The faded image depicted Sebastian and her in the early days of their relationship. They had been together for just over a year, recently graduated from Hogwarts, and had just finished moving in together. In the picture, MC was grinning and waving at Anne who was taking the photo, while Sebastian only had eyes for his girlfriend and placed a tender kiss on her cheek, clinging to her waist. Their smiles were genuine, and their eyes sparkled with the innocence of young love. It was a time when laughter flowed effortlessly, and every shared glance held the promise of a bright future.

This picture had been taken in front of the same fireplace, where MC was now standing alone. The slightest noise she made echoed through the empty flat.

As she traced her fingers over the photograph, a wave of nostalgia washed over her, bringing both warmth and sorrow. MC could not help but notice the drastic contrast between the joy reflected in that frozen moment, and the current state of their relationship. Whereas at the very beginning, Sebastian had always been by her side and found it hard to part with her, he now had little time for her, preferring to devote his entire days and weeks to his job as a researcher for the Ministry. The smiles that once came so easily had become strained, and the sparkle in his eyes had dimmed.

The passage of time had woven complexities into the fabric of their connection, and the former carefree happiness seemed like a distant memory. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she pondered the journey they had taken, acknowledging the inevitable changes that had altered the landscape of their once-unblemished love story. The photograph became a poignant reminder of the bittersweet nature of time and the inevitable evolution of their relationship.

Nothing had gone according to plan.

Their original plan was to get married soon after leaving school, and then start a family together.

But Sebastian had wanted to put off the idea of marriage until they had found a home together. When they did find somewhere to live, he wanted to wait until he had more money to support them both, even though MC had a job of her own. Then, once he had enough money, he wanted to wait for his career to develop, and for him to climb higher up the social ladder.

Long story short, Sebastian always wanted more, and therefore still had not proposed to MC in the seven years of their relationship.

Lately, MC had been coming home to an empty flat, sleeping in a cold bed, and spending her weekends alone, with Sebastian becoming increasingly more obsessed with his work. MC, in her attempt to be the bravest soldier, had not made any remark to Sebastian about it. She had sacrificed pieces of herself, bleeding emotionally in secret to keep their relationship intact. Instead, she spent many evenings sitting in the dark, wondering if it was time, if their relationship had finally come to a dead end.

At this point, the only cure for their couple would be for Sebastian to propose.

MC remembered Poppy's words. When the Hufflepuff had come to visit her earlier in the day, she had told her that this impromptu dinner at the restaurant was suspicious, that he was bound to propose. He had asked her to wear her best dress, after all. Besides, it would explain why he had been even more absent than usual in recent weeks; he had certainly been busy planning the perfect proposal.

Once her friend had sown the seeds of doubt in her mind, MC could not resist the urge to rummage through Sebastian’s belongings. In the drawer of his bedside table, she eventually found a jewellery order form, with a red stamp reading ‘paid and delivered’ across it.

All of MC’s doubts had vanished. He was going to propose to her this evening, and she had put her glad rags on for the occasion.

“MC! I’m home!” She heard Sebastian call from the doorway. “Are you ready to go?”

**********

After a delicious dinner at a fancy restaurant of Diagon Alley, the couple indulged in their dessert. MC’s eyes sparkled with excitement, her mind racing with thoughts of a romantic proposal. She anticipated the moment when he would make a magnificent declaration of everlasting love to her, get down on one knee and take out the beautiful engagement ring he had chosen specifically for her.

As Sebastian poured them both champagne, he cleared his throat, “So, as you know, I've brought you here to celebrate a special occasion.”

“Yes?” She grinned at him, more ready than ever for what was going to happen next.

“Well brace yourself, because I have been promoted! You're looking at the new head of the Ministry’s research department.” He announced with a smile of professional triumph.

An amalgam of surprise and disappointment replaced MC’s initial beaming smile.

“That's wonderful news, honey…” MC managed to reply, trying to mask her unmet expectations with a supportive tone.

She had imagined this evening to be the oh-so-awaited milestone in their relationship, a step towards a shared future. Instead, Sebastian was excitedly explaining to her that he will be dedicating even more time to his career, and be even less present for her.

“It was Alcamene, the department secretary, who helped me get this promotion. Her uncle is in a powerful position at the Ministry, and she spoke to him about me. It was really nice of her, so I bought her a necklace to thank her.”

The champagne lost its sparkle as the weight of his words sank in. MC had not been given the declaration she had so longed to hear. Instead, she had received a proclamation of increasing separation. Added to this heartbreak, was the gut-wrenching betrayal that Sebastian had given a piece of jewellery to another woman, when he had not bought her one for years.

If hell was a place on earth, MC was right in the middle of it.

“Couldn't you have asked Ominis?” She asked bitterly, and Sebastian only shrugged nonchalantly.

“I didn't want to bother him. I'm already asking too much from this bloke.” He chuckled.

“Right.” She took a sip of champagne, but the taste lingered on her tongue with a hint of unfulfilled expectations, and the realisation that the gulf between them was about to widen even further. “So, in practical terms, now that you've been promoted, what more are you gonna do?”

“I'm going to be in charge of planning all the research. For my first project, I wanted to do things on a grand scale, so we're going to go in search of a stone that's rumoured to be able to cure any illness or curse. Me and the team are going on a five-month expedition to Estonia.”

MC nearly spat out her champagne, “I’m sorry, what? You’re going to be away for five months? And in Estonia?”

“I know it seems like a long time, but don't worry, time will fly by in the blink of an eye. I'll be back before you know it.” He flashed her a comforting smile that did nothing to reassure the girl.

“Is this expedition really necessary?” She asked, begging him between the lines not to leave, not to abandon her.

“You know it's a subject that matters a lot to me. This stone could help so many people, especially Anne.”

“But Anne's condition has stabilised thanks to my ancient magic.”

Sebastian let out a heavy sigh, “Maybe, but I’m sick and tired of you having to visit her every week to put her out of her misery. The curse is still present in her body, and your ancient magic is clearly not a long-term solution.”

MC found herself unable to form the response he was waiting for. She was too busy imagining her near future, where she would wake up alone every morning, make coffee for just one person, have no one to kiss or hug, and come home to an empty flat at night to lie in a cold bed. In the end, she realised, it would not be much different from now. There would just be a thousand miles separating them, and it would last longer than usual.

Her glazed over eyes reflected her quiet resignation. Deep down, she understood that convincing him to prioritise their relationship over his career ambitions – and especially a remedy for his twin sister – would be futile. After all the means he had used to try to save Anne – from a Shrivelfig to losing himself to the Dark Arts – it was obvious that he would never stop, not until she was entirely out of danger.

“You could be a bit more enthusiastic for me, MC. I'm finally going to do something that counts, that could make history, and here you are sulking.” Sebastian threw his napkin on the table in annoyance.

“Let’s go home. I’m tired.”

**********

The night air was crisp as MC and Sebastian returned from the restaurant, in complete silence, the remnants of their dinner conversation lingering uncomfortably in the space between them. As they stepped through the front door of their flat, the air became thick with loss and indecision.

As they stood in the living room, near the fireplace, MC took a deep breath and turned to face Sebastian, her eyes searching his familiar chestnut ones for a connection that had eluded them for far too long.

“Sebastian…” She started, her voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. “Did you have another question for me this evening?”

Sebastian frowned in incomprehension, “No… Why?”

“Nothing, forget it.” She glared at Sebastian with storms in her eyes.

But he unfortunately remained oblivious to the dying embers of their love, “No, tell me, because you’ve been acting strange tonight. I don't understand.”

She scoffed bitterly, “I know you don’t.”

“Love… Talk to me, please.” He approached her slowly, as if trying to tame a frightened little animal, and then reached out to cup her face in his hands, gently caressing her cheeks with his thumbs.

For a moment, MC leant into his touch, feeling as if she were in the presence of the old Sebastian, the one who cherished and cared for her, a presence she missed agonisingly now. She lifted her gaze to look at him, believing that the man she absolutely adored had returned, but when she saw that the flame in his eyes was still extinguished, she was quickly brought back to reality, and reluctantly pushed him away.

MC, her heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words, was overcome by a surge of courage, “When are you going to marry me, Sebastian?”

“Soon, baby. I promise.”

“You’ve been saying that for years…” She shook her head in disbelief, as if she were trying to push away the terrifying thoughts that perhaps she simply was not enough for him. “You know… I’d understand if you didn’t want to marry. I wouldn’t either. I’m just some boring people pleaser…”

Sebastian was quick to take her hand in his and reassure her (or at least try), “Hey, you know it’s nothing like that, darling. I told you I wanted my situation to get better before committing myself.”

“But your situation couldn’t be better!” She withdrew her hand from his abruptly, her tone becoming louder and louder as she grew increasingly frustrated. “You’re an honoured researcher, who’s able to afford anything he wants with his salary, but you’re never satisfied! What could you possibly want more?”

“I want to be the best. For you. Because you deserve it.”

MC laughed humourlessly in his face, “And yet, here you are, not even able to give me the worst, because you’re not giving me anything anymore, Sebastian! I barely see you anymore! It… It’s like we’re not a couple anymore! I can’t bear the distance between us any longer.”

“MC, calm down.” Sebastian said in a firmer tone, as if warning her not to take this argument any further. It was palpable that his irritation was growing too. “It’s only a matter of time. You just have to be a bit more patient. It’s not that bad–”

“Not that bad? I’ve waited seven years, Sebastian! I’ve been more than patient! I gave you all my best me's, and my endless empathy, but all you’ve done these past months is ignore me! Anyone else would’ve left you long ago!” At this point, MC was fully screaming at him, no longer having the strength or desire to contain her torrent of emotions any longer.

The intensity of her outburst left Sebastian taken aback, her words cutting him like a sharp dagger straight to the heart. A stunned expression etched itself across his face. He stood there, momentarily at a loss for words.

MC was biting her nails to the quick as she stared at him. She was waiting for him to find the miracle solution to all their problems, like he always did, and for their relationship to be saved. However, he did nothing more than stare right back at her, lips parted as he struggled to find a response that could bridge the growing chasm between them.

The icy silence reminded them that their relationship was nothing more than a ship that was slowly sinking. Its demise was inevitable. This realisation was unbearable for MC, who could not stop herself from snapping at Sebastian.

“Do something, Sebastian. Say something. You’re losing me!”

The echoes of her plea filled the space, and for a moment, the silence spoke volumes. Sebastian, caught off guard by the rawness of her honesty, met her gaze, recognising the urgency in her eyes. It was a pivotal moment, the point of no return where they needed to confront the cracks in their relationship and decide whether to mend or let go.

“I love you, MC.” Sebastian finally said. These were the only words his mind could muster.

MC huffed at how basic and devoid of authenticity his declaration was, “How can you say that you love someone you can’t tell is dying?”

Sebastian stammered, his usual poised demeanour shattered by the force of her cold indifference, “I… I… I don’t know. I don’t know what to say…”

“Then I’ll make it easier for you. It’s either me or your research. You have to choose now.”

“I can’t believe it!” He exclaimed, putting his hands on his hips in exasperation. “You can’t ask that of me, MC. I need to do this research, but you have to understand that it doesn’t mean that I don’t love you. You’ve got to believe me.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, “I’ve got nothing to believe unless you’re choosing me.”

Sebastian, confronted with the reality of losing the woman he had taken for granted, faced a choice that could either breathe life back into their love or push it beyond the point of no return. Nevertheless, he did not need to rack his brains for very long, for his choice was already made.

“I’m going on this trip, whether you like it or not. It’s too important.”

MC’s eyes widened at his answer.

“More important than me?” She asked, her facade of indifference cracking in the same way as her voice.

Sebastian looked away without responding, but there was no need to. His silence spoke louder than any words ever could.

And just like that, he had dealt the final blow, carrying away with it the last vestiges of MC’s feelings for him.

Her heart, once resilient like a phoenix, now struggled to find a pulse. Her heart would not start anymore for him. She was tired of always having to mend the gashes he had been inflicting on her heart every day for months. She was done.

“Leave this house.” MC ordered in a weak, strained voice, indicating that her tears were about to flow.

“MC…” Sebastian called her name like a prayer to reconsider her decision.

“LEAVE!” She shouted again, this time firmly to force Sebastian to comply. “I don’t want to ever see you again, Sebastian.”

Sebastian nodded in resigned agreement, and retreated to what is – or rather once was – their shared bedroom. He mechanically began to pack his belongings, the act itself a silent testament of their love being beyond repair. The sound of clothes shuffling and drawers closing punctuated the oppressive silence that did nothing to help forget about the gravity of the situation.

With one last lingering gaze at the space that held memories both beautiful and painful, Sebastian shouldered the weight of his bags and walked towards the door, leaving behind his home, his lover, his best friend, and his life.

The thud of the door closing behind him sounded the death knell of seven years spent together, brutally gone up in smoke.

Her tears began to flow down her cheeks, as abundant as torrential rain. MC was suddenly overwhelmed by a profound sense of loss that instantly made her collapse to the floor of a room that had once been a sanctuary of light and love. She looked around the gloomy room that was adorned with remnants of their shared history, and had now become a silent witness to their break-up. Photos, souvenirs, and gifts of them were everywhere. MC had no idea if she was supposed to throw out everything or keep it.

They had chosen this flat together. They had bought it for its living room, which they both loved because of the light. That same room was now shrouded in the darkness, with MC alone and crumpled to the ground, crying her eyes out.

She could not believe what had just happened. She could not comprehend how everything had gone downhill so rapidly.

Sebastian had lost her.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow angst

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cod-dump · 1 year

Note

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE CONTINUE THE “A BIT TOO MUCH” FIC PLEASE! I WILL GIVE TOU MY SOUL! 🫡🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Oh! A soul yum! *accidentally let’s the soul slip through my fingers and it flies away like a ballon* Huh…

Also check out @ltjvega! They wrote a continuation of “A Bit Too Much” and it’s really good! You can find it by going through the reblogs of the first fic!

___

A Bit Too Much

Part 2

___

Ghost stopped trying a long time ago. He stopped trying to “act normal”, seem less intimidating, act as though he wasn’t scarred for life and could never return to normalcy. He chose to fight because he didn’t have to be human. He gained a reputation of a hard-ass that didn’t take any shit from anyone and didn’t do friends.

Then Soap walked into his life.

Soap and his confident, downright cocky, attitude. Challenging him from the beginning. Ghost, originally, couldn’t believe the gall of this man. But after a bit, Ghost couldn’t help but love how refreshing that was. The man wasn’t phased by his attitude, reputation, the mask. None of it seemed to matter. Soap treated him like everyone else.

After some time Ghost began to look forward to working with Soap. Soap who laughed at his jokes and even shot some back at him. Soap who didn’t view him as a weapon and constantly reminded him that he needed rest. Soap who teased him about how ridiculous his accent was when he spoke Spanish.

Soap who treated him human and reminded him that he was human.

It was no wonder that Ghost found himself craving to be around him. Soap would talk enough for the both of them and Ghost found himself loving the sound of his voice. He remembered being stuck with two boxes full of files that needed to be sorted and Soap offering to help. That evening flew by with Soap telling stories after stories, filling the room with life.

Ghost never thought he would find someone that he would care for again, caring for someone in a way he hadn’t in years. He engaged with Soap as much as possible, slowly opening up to him. Hearing Soap call him Simon— It took every bit of strength to not cry because of how right his name sounded coming off of the man’s tongue.

Ghost looked forward to every interaction with Soap. No matter how short the duration. And Ghost knows he has a hard time showing that he cares, but he thought he was actually putting out there where Soap could see that he cared. That Soap meant the world to him.

Then Soap just started to avoid him one day. Ghost saw him enter the meeting room and when they locked eyes he could tell something was different. There was a brief moment of Soap lighting up before he visibly dimmed. The Scot chose to sit elsewhere instead of next to him. Chose to all but run out of the room as soon as the meeting was adjourned. No words where exchanged, just that dull look in Soap’s eyes before he left.

That hurt Ghost like a bullet through the heart.

He tried to ease himself by telling himself Soap was probably having a bad day and would tell him what was up soon enough. But then Soap avoided him the next day. And the day after that—

Ghost knew that he had to have done something wrong. What else could possibly be going on? He had to have done something to make Soap not want to be around him. Was it the jokes? His blunt nature? Did Soap only hang around him because he felt like he had to? That he pitied Ghost? What did he do wrong? He’s never been good with his emotions. So he quickly turned to anger, the one emotion that he knew very well.

His rampage affected everyone. Recruits especially got the worst of it. He snapped at them often. Punished them during training if one hair was out of place. He knew he was taking his anger out on the wrong people and they didn’t do anything to deserve what he was throwing at them, but he didn’t know how else to express his feelings.

Price finally pushed him to the side after week three and told him to get his act together.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you need to take a step back and reevaluate your actions.”

Ghost apparently rolled his eyes (not that he had a doubt that he would do such a thing, he just didn’t remember doing it) and Price huffed and forced him to sit.

“What is going on, Simon? I thought we’ve gotten past this unnecessary aggression.”

“Nothing is wrong, Price.”

“Five recruits came to me today, at separate times, because you took things too far in training.”

Ghost huffs, guilt creeping through his chest. Price sighs when the man doesn’t respond, looking down at his desk before looking at Ghost, trying to catch his eyes.

“Simon… You know you can talk to me, right?”

Ghost swallows, of course he knew that. Yet why couldn’t he bring himself to tell Price what was going on? Was it because he felt shame that he drove off his first friend in years? That he was just a walking, talking weapon incapable of maintaining a single relationship? Ghost peaks up at Price to see his concerned face, looking at him with such gentle eyes.

“I-“

Suddenly Gaz runs into the office with a recruit, “Captain- Oh! Shit, sorry! I should’ve knocked!”

Price looks from Ghost to Gaz, “What is it, sergeant?”

“Soap’s missing.”

Ghost tenses and sits up straight, turning to look at Gaz, “What?!”

“He ran off a couple hours ago and no one knows where he is.”

“Sir, he’s been gone for two hours-“

Ghost stood immediately along with Price. After security confirmed that Soap hadn’t left the base, the search was on, everyone scouring the base for Soap. While they were looking, Gaz explained what happened that set Soap off.

“He said he left ‘before something did happen’.”

Ghost heart throbbed in pain. Did Soap really think that Ghost was going to get fed up with him? Did he really not know how much he meant to him? Ghost focuses on finding Soap, hoping that he was alright and that they could clear this mess up.

After a bit they split up, Ghost heading outside. Someone had mentioned seeing Soap heading out this way but they didn’t know where he could have possibly been headed. The ground was muddy but the rain would have washed away any prints. Still Ghost searched outside, his hoodie soaked through but he kept looking. He walked through the grounds, tears in his eyes.

He was so afraid something bad was going to happen. That when he found Soap he wasn’t going to like what he found. Ghost came to the training grounds, he didn’t think Soap would come here… then again he didn’t think the man would run out in the freezing rain.

He walked through the grounds, calling for Soap. He was practically begging for the man to answer him. For him to be alright. Panic was practically rushing through his veins as he ran through, coming to the edge of the training grounds. Still no Soap. Ghost had to take off his face mask so he could breathe better considering the mask was soaked through.

He turned around and started to walk through the grounds again, freezing when he hears a noise. He turns his head to the sewer pipes that they used for training and runs over. He slides on his knee’s through the mud and peaks inside to see a huddled figure. Shaking, Ghost recognizes Soap.

“Johnny!”

The man barely moves and Ghost fears the worst. Without thinking he crawls into the pipe to get to Soap, grabbing his leg and shaking him when he had gotten close enough.

“Johnny! Are you alright?”

“Ghost?”

The soft reply sounded like music to his ears, “Yea, it’s me.”

Soap fucking whimpers and Ghost’s heart breaks. He gently crawls further into the pipe, squeezing next to Soap. The moment he touches Soap’s arm and feels how cold he was he couldn’t restrain himself. He pulls Soap against him and holds him, tucking his head under his chin. He rubs his arms in an attempt to warm him up but it wasn’t seeming to be doing anything.

“Johnny, let’s go back inside. You’re freezing.”

Soap doesn’t reply, just shakes in Ghost’s arms. Ghost tries to wiggle out, pulling Soap with him since the man wasn’t making any effort to move. He was concerned about his well-being, both physically and mentally.

Ghost gets out of the pipe and pulls Soap out, picking him up and holding him against his chest before he makes his way back to the main building. He takes him straight to medical to get him looked at, only leaving with the nurses shooed him away. He calls Price and tells him that he found Soap. It didn’t take long for Price to show up.

“Is he alright? Where was he?”

“He’s… I don’t know… He was in a pipe at the training grounds. Was cold like ice when I found him.”

Price’s jaw clenches and crosses his arms. They wait together before a nurse comes to them, telling them that Soap was fine but had some frostbite on his hands, feet, and nose and ears. But she assured them that it would heal with time and it could have been a lot worse if he was out there longer.

“Is he awake?”

“Yes, but I would let him rest. He’s somewhat delirious from the cold.”

Price nods and the nurse leaves. Ghost watches her go back into medical, snapping out of his daze as Price pats his shoulder.

“Give it time. We’ll come back tomorrow and see if he’s up for talking. Alright?”

Ghost nods, “Yes, sir.”

Price looks at Ghost’s bare face, now able to see the man’s expressions.

“Until then… Let’s have a talk.”

Ghost huffs before nodding, letting Price lead him away from medical. From this moment, the clock was ticking down until the moment Ghost would be able to see Soap again.

#a bit too much #fic #fanfic #ask #cod mwii #call of duty #modern warfare ii #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soapghost #ghostsoap #john price #kyle gaz garrick #modern warfare

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thecameronchronicles · 1 year

Text

Snapshots

TW: Smut. Language.

SUMMARY: Drew’s newest subject for his pictures, you, leads him to capture a more intimate series of pictures this holiday season.

WORD COUNT: 1500

*ORIGINAL CONCEPT*

Snapshots

It wasn’t uncommon for Drew to be without a camera, in fact it was rare that he wasn’t as he had a proclivity for those vintage lenses. And most recently, you had become the subject of his focus. Picture after picture, frame after frame, he had taken you at your most distracted while you were focused on accumulating the addresses for the very Christmas cards he was preparing the camera to take pictures of. But the concern of the optics had been reserved solely for you. Using his fingers to brush away your long hair at a cascade over your shoulder, he would take a photograph of how you appeared focused, a second later, your hand reaching for the origin of the click as he would chuckle.

“Don’t mind me, baby.”

“Kind of hard to focus with a camera in my face, Drew…” You shot with a raised brow, frustrated with just how many of these envelopes you had to send out.

“It’s our first year sending cards together…I want them to be perfect…but you look good in every shot so how am I supposed to choose?” he spoke more to himself while looking through the camera as he fixed it to you once again. “But I prefer…” He pulled the strap of your camisole down just enough to reveal the skin as you scoffed at him in half annoyance and half disbelief.

“Drew…”

“Just testing the lighting…” He lied, a grin validating this from behind the block set before his face as you tried to focus as he now moved behind you, reversing the screen to take more of a selfie, before taking a photograph of him kissing your shoulder and then your neck. Those same two fingers that began to undress you would draw to your jaw, turning you to face him. As you went to speak his name as if to berate him, you were silenced by his lips. A soft kiss, making you forget everything from your task to your own name while he pulled his tongue to the bottom of your lip, making you gasp. With a hand set on either side of your cheek, he guided you to your feet before taking you onto the table, legs resting at his hips as he seemed to distract you with the labels while you had distracted him from his impromptu photoshoot.

Click.

Or at least you thought.

“What are you-”

“You know I think you’re gorgeous, baby. But do you know when you're absolutely irresistible?” You cocked your head, reaching for the camera to bring his focus back to you as he would only reach further away and set it back to take a snapshot of your pout. “When you come…It’s the most beautiful face you make…bliss and pleasure…disbelief and expectancy…not to mention…it’s sexy as hell…and I have every intention of getting THAT on film-”

“No!”

“Maybe get it blown up into a sixteen by twenty right above our couch-or our bed! That way I can make you mimic it every time-”

“Absolutely not!”

“Fine. But I’ll just keep it for me then-” He lifted you into the direction of the bedroom, setting you softly on the very edge of the bed, before you could object. The dim light of the lamp left illuminating the room as he had ventured earlier for the camera had produced the perfect lowlight for the sultry ambiance of the film itself.

“Let me see you, sweetheart…”

“Drew-”

“You’re so beautiful…” He assisted, using his fingertips to draw the straps of your top loose until you bit your bottom lip.

“Just like that!” He lifted to capture you in this moment, perfection looking back at him through the finder as he shook his head. “Goddamn, you’re so angelic…But so sinful too…Keep going…” Something in the thrill behind his eyes and matching smile was enough to prompt your continuation as you stood for him, removing your shirt and looking over your shoulder.

“Shit…” He breathed deeply as your fingers now came to the line of your jeans, pulling them down slowly as he took a quick series of you undressing.

“So fucking stunning…”

“Drew…”

“Please baby…I want all of you on camera for me…” You offered him what he wanted as you removed the only remaining article of clothing left, your lingerie, before climbing to the bed.

“You promise nobody else will ever see these?”

“You’re joking right, baby? I am the only one who will ever…” His hand came to your breast, teasing it for a moment and taking a picture from this point of view, as he continued speaking, “Get to see THIS but ME.” He promised as you would bite your bottom lip and slip your two fingers between legs suddenly pulled apart.

“Oh shit…” He fumbled with the camera as you smirked. “Baby-”

“Can’t handle it?” You challenged, throwing your head back and moaning.

“I knew I should have gotten a video camera instead…” You bit your bottom lip as he stood at the edge of the bed, using only his knee to hint your legs to move wider, but you were stubborn, wanting to exercise dominance.

“Wider.” He requested with that same cadence as you finally obliged.

“Jesus Christ…Faster…please baby…” But instead, you would lift your fingers to your lips, moaning to your own taste, before crawling towards him. He would take pictures throughout your motions until you pulled him in to you.

“My turn…” You pushed him onto his back, straddling him as he grinned wildly.

‘Off.” You instructed for his shirt as he cocked his jaw before obliging. The sunkissed skin was beneath your secondary hand as your other took a picture of the scene.

“Off.” You spoke again towards his pants as he would shuffle beneath you, struggling to do so with an effortless descent as you weighed him down. The more humorous and blurry of pictures would be taken now as you chuckled.

“I want to show you how beautiful you look on your knees baby…”

“You want me on my knees for you, Drew?”

“Always.” He teased, a gentle hand to your cheek driving you to place his fingers into your mouth.

“Touch me first…” He obeyed, managing to collect the campera in the process and gaining evidence of your vulnerable expressions as you had managed to forget about it while the pleasure of his fingers applied to that most sensitive cavern had you too distracted.

“Oh Drew…”

“Please baby…knees…Your moaning is enough to make me wanna come…” You obliged, slipping from his waist as you saw his strain, watching him suck you from his fingers before he followed your adjusted angle until he sat close enough to take a picture of you taking him.

“Eyes to me…this is a goddamn money shot…oh, fuck…” He breathed deeply.

“Put the camera down, Drew…just let me choke on you.” His eyes rolled closed as he obeyed, setting the camera aside before wrapping both hands through your hair simply for stability as you needed no direction.

“Yes…YES…” He began to whine as you smirked at how helpless he was with your lips controlling his pleasure. One second faster and you would feel him spill down your throat and one slower you would hear him beg. You knew his body well, just as he knew yours, and it was enough to find the way he pulled you on the bed to be unexpected, and yet a gasp still left your lips.

“You’re too fucking good at that…” He smacked your ass, taking a picture of the red skin as you turned to face him.

“Keep looking at me like that. I want you to see when you look at these, just how gorgeous and confident you are…” He spoke while aligning himself to you.

“THAT moment-When you know how good I’m about to make you feel…When you remember how good it’s gonna be.” You nodded, the camera forgotten as he thrusted, a second hand now alternating from your shoulder to your hip, snapshots taken for every angle, as you climbed to that mutual high.

“Drew!” You were taken onto your back, hips a point of anchoring for your legs, as he dragged himself between your folds.

“Ask pretty for me, baby?”

“Please…” You obliged, pouting, another click of the camera gathering further evidence as a series of following captures would hold you in memory of each orgasmic face as you continued that ascent.

“Shit!”

“DREW! I’m-”

“Me too! Fuck-” He groaned. But through the rush of his high, he still managed to get that shot he set out to begin with. The one that showered your back into an arch and your mouth parted wide, eyes screwed shut, and the perfect sheen of perspiration taken by the light of the dimly lit atmosphere.

And in the final moment, you would take the last picture, which had been of his prideful grin, a heaving chest, and lust blown eyes all worn beneath hair damp from sweat.

“Absolutely going to be our next Christmas Card-”

“You do that and those pictures will be the only evidence you had a-” He threw his hands up.

“Okay…just for me then.”

“Us.” You reminded as he nodded.

“Us.” He finalized with a kiss.

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @drews1love @phildunphyisadilf

#drew starkey smut #drew starkey #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey x reader #outer banks #obx #outerbanks #Cameron Chronicles Christmas 2022

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ikroah · 1 year

Text

Pistol packin' mama, lay that thing down before it goes off and hurts somebody! —“Pistol Packin’ Mama,” Bing Crosby (1943)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #24 - Ring-a-Ding-Ding III

Collaborative Issue! Guest Artist: @yesjejunus

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Read IKROAH on Archive of Our Own

Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes:

Oh noooooooooooo :(

These pages might get shrunken a little by Tumblr for some reason so either right-click to view at full-size or just read it on AO3 at the link above. And give a round of applause to my wonderful and wonderfully talented friend @yesjejunus who returns to guest art duty with this new issue, which is just another car crashing into the pile-up that is happening to Agnes in the closing half of Volume 2. Issue #25 will be all of my own art again, and I've been working for a long time on reinventing the look, feel, and production of IKROAH's artstyle so I hope you'll all be as excited as I am. Some really big things are about to happen.

Original Pencils

Here's another reason why mr. jejunus deserves a round of applause: patience. I talk often about how IKROAH is a very long-term project but this issue marks the longest collaboration in the history of the comic: the original pencils for this issue were drawn in August 2021. This was also when yesjejunus and I first discussed him doing guest art for this issue, and it would have been a lot sooner, of course, but you know, things (like months of burnout) can just happen. By the time this issue was finally next in the queue, I had committed to increasing the resolution of IKROAH's pages just to ease my own production, but these pencils were still formatted for the old size. I had to reformat these pencils for the new size and aspect ratio.

The tumblr editor keeps crashing every time I try to include them, so here's links instead: [1] [2] [3].

The thing about working with yesjejunus on comic issues like this is that at this point we're so deep in each other's heads that I barely even need to give him feedback. He understands the assignment completely because we're both sickos pressed against each other's brain-windows going "Yes…ha ha ha…yes!" and drooling. It's the kind of friendship as well as creative partnership that you really just treasure.

Transcript

INT. BENNY'S BEDROOM, THE TOPS CASINO, NEW VEGAS.

AGNES SANDS stares down, exhausted, at BENNY, the leader of the Chairmen and the man who shot her in the head.

BENNY does not stare back. He is dead. His eyes have rolled up lifelessly and blood is oozing from the gruesome wound in his skull.

AGNES looks away.

Suddenly—

SFX: KNOCK KNOCK

VOICE FROM OUTSIDE (off): Hey, Ben-man! Everything alright in there?

AGNES jerks up in surprise. She searches her surroundings frantically, looking for a way out. The gun that she shot BENNY with—the gun that BENNY shot her with—is still in her hand. She sees a side door, barely ajar, leading out of BENNY'S BEDROOM with a dim light coming from behind it.

AGNES sprints forward, her arm outstretched to shove open the door, and barges in. Then she freezes in her tracks. In front of her is a large and ambulatory machine, with claw-like arms and a computer monitor in its center. The monitor displays an unchanging vector of a happily smiling face. It speaks.

THE MACHINE: Hello! I'm Yes Ma—

AGNES raises the gun with both hands and fires repeatedly, her eyes wide and mouth agape in terror. She empties it of every single other bullet that was left in it.

THE MACHINE (shorting out): I-I'm sorry…!!

THE MACHINE crumples from the repeated shots, which shatter its monitor-face like a glass window and send it falling backwards. Its robotic corpse snaps and cracks with electricity and malfunctioning hardware as AGNES remains stunned in the doorway.

SFX: KNOCK KNOCK

AGNES looks up as BENNY'S men pound harder on the door to the suite.

VOICE FROM OUTSIDE (off): Benny! We heard shots! We're coming in!

AGNES drops the gun and flees through the hallway's secret private elevator.

VOICE FROM OUTSIDE (off): Oh, shit, somebody iced 'im! Get security!

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #courier six #agnes sands #benny gecko #yes man #ikroah archive #volume 02 #24

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motherloads · 9 months

Text

I Know You

Summary: Reader who isn't what she seems to be. Supposedly a normal college student working in a grocery store, she has no idea what is about to be revealed. When waking up, she is unknowingly surrounded by the heroes of the DC Universe who have to watch snippets of her life before she jumped into their universe.

->Possible One Shot

-> Word Count: (6,648k)

-> Pairings: Implied! Tim Drake x f!Reader, Past!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (it is not what it looks like)

-> Crossover DC/Marvel, Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse, Bat family(Main)

-> Warnings: Suicide(not reader), Grieving, Guilt, Miguel being an ass.

a/n: First Official fanfic published! Originally, the first was supposed to be a Star Wars/Moon Knight crossover but I lost motivation lol. It was halfway done before I stopped writing it. I do not see many fics written with crossovers that include the readers so why not? Fic does include song lyrics relating to the situations but this is a watch-it fic! If anyone would like, in the future I can possibly write more related to this universe. :)

Pls ignore grammar mistakes as I ignore Grammarly. This is an escape from my summer courses.

I hate who I was before.

Her eyes dimmed, as they ran through the inventory list for her work. She murmured the calculations under her breath as she pointed out the things that were most likely stolen by the preteens who laughed their way out of only buying 2 red bulls. With a sigh, she writes down the missing inventory.

This would come out of her paycheck.

Songs came and went through the earplugs she had inserted in her ears. At a good volume to hear any incoming customers, she continued on her way to the last aisle.

No, I never knew what it meant, what it meant to be content with you.

It was less likely for people to steal coffee products. She was thankful that this was the last one she had to look through. Despite her shift having another 3 hours to end, she knew her 30 minute lunch break was coming up soon. She hoped nobody would steal her lunch since she forgot to write her name on the box.

She started ticking off the items and counting them in her head. She murmurs the lyrics under her breath, continuing down the aisle.

I’ll quiet down if that’s what you want. I understand I’m not the only one for you.

Someone calls out her name, a familiar voice that brings her out of her thoughts. Lowering her music just a tad bit, she turns to the customer.

Alfred smiles at her kindly, offering a curt nod in which she responded with a smile and a wave. “Have any new creamers?” He questioned her, now looking at the assortment of creamers in front of them.

She shakes her head in response, “It’s very rare for us to have new stock Mister Alfred. Would you like a new recommendation, though?”

He holds a brand she instantly recognized, “That’d be lovely. What about this one?”

“Lovely choice Mister Alfred. Although, I wouldn’t add too much since it will get too sweet. Don’t think Tim would like it.” He smiles in response, putting the creamer in his basket.

“Fortunately, he is still banned from coffee. I assumed he would have told you?” She felt her face grow hot in response. She sends him a sheepish smile.

“We’ve both been busy. Haven’t had the time to talk.”

All I wanted was you.

Alfred knew what she meant, sending her a sad smile. He instantly recognized the signs of people drifting away the moment things got out of their control. He bids his goodbye, walking away from the worker stuck in her own thoughts.

All I wanted was you.

She rubs her cheeks tiredly, making sure to avoid the makeup she woke up early for. Her bags had grown worse during the past month, reminiscing of the old and what it once was. It was not like it was all Tim’s fault, really, that he had begun to slip away when he noticed things started to change between the two. When Steph noticed the change and brought it up with her, she avoided the conversation as a whole.

“People drift apart, Steph. It’s normal.”

Steph scoffs, “It isn’t normal when you guys are best friends! When you worked at that coffee shop before, you were literally the only one who didn’t decline his weird order. Hell, he stayed when you went through that changing major crisis!”

She continues to bag Steph’s groceries, ignoring the looks she was receiving from her coworkers. Things were slow today, it was not her fault Steph decided to confront her while she was at work.

“Steph,” She sighs tiredly, “I really don’t want to talk about this. I just started my shift. Can we talk about this another day?”

Steph grabs her own bags, patting her hands in response, “Fine. I’m here if you need me.”

You’re not who you are to anyone.

She leaves for the break room, notifying her other coworker, who waved her off with a farewell. Taking out her lunchbox, she heats up her leftovers from the weekend. Scrolling through her phone, she sees the spam messages Steph had sent her. Updating her about Tim and their families’ weekly dinner.

It wasn’t like the dinner always worked! Jason almost never shows up unless it is absolutely necessary. Dick uses his status as a cop to get out of dinners. Tim was always working overtime to avoid the dinners. Damian had to be there or else he would be grounded from going out. Cass was almost always there but never began conversations. Duke, the brightest one who tried to start conversations, became demotivated over time. Barbara, sweet Barbara, who worked too far to arrive at the Dinner on time. Steph ranted to her about the family and she could not help it.

She began to cry.

Can you come back to me? ‘Cause I was too blind to see that you were right in front of me.

She missed her friends. But she could not go back after she failed them.

She failed them all.

I’m so sorry Miguel.

She slips her food onto the table, beginning to eat the cold, but at the same time hot lunch.

She wipes the tears from under her eyes, looking through her small pocket mirror to make sure she did not smudge anything. She felt her eyelashes prickle against her eyelids, feeling ticklish and sensitive from the crying. She sniffs the snot away, pushing her half eaten food away. She was no longer hungry and she wanted to go home.

I want to go home.

She throws her food away, diminishing the past thought from her head. Waltzing into the employee bathroom, she leaned her head on her arms in front of the closed door. No matter how nasty this bathroom was, she still managed to find the (almost) silence good for her.

Used to stick together. You’re my best friend, I’ll love you forever

Her time was ticking to go back to work, silently cursing to herself when she realized she forgot to clock out for her lunch. God, her boss is going to reprimand her for this. For any little thing she slipped or missed to do, her boss was on her about it. Guilt tripping her on the problems she can cause with her mistakes.

She was just trying to do her best.

She steps out of the bathroom, manually writing her clocking out and in for lunch. She was back to work.

When she stepped out, she realized how silent it was. There was no noise except for her song.

What’s up danger?

She called out for her coworker but there was no response. She walked down the aisle but there were no customers. When she walked to the front she realized there was nobody.

Everyone was gone.

Everything knocks out of her at once, feeling the prick in the back of her head that something was wrong. Her phone clatters to the floor, yanking her earbuds out of her ear.

She drops to the floor as well, holding her hands to her ears. The world's noises began to grow louder but there was absolutely nobody around. No cars honking, no children playing at the park nearby.

Only the sounds of the birds chirping and the wind picking up outside.

With that, her eyes roll to the back of her head and she knocks out.

⋆｡°✩

When she woke up, she noticed how the noises were dimmed. The same way it was before the spider bite. Before everything occurred. She looked around, sighing in relief when she noticed the people who had similar confused looks.

Her eyes stopped at Tim, who was next to Steph.

Who was next to Cass.

Who was next to Damian.

Who was next to Dick.

Who was next to Bruce.

Who was next to Duke.

Who was next to Alfred.

Who was next to Barbara

Who was next to Jason.

She sees other familiar faces like the famous Clark Kent. She sees him with unfamiliar people. With boys who had similar looks as him.

She noticed others as well, people who looked like they were important. Like they were part of a team.

Is that Wonder Woman?

She noticed in the far corner, there were recognizable people. People who should be in Arkham Asylum. Villains. Her breathing still remained normal despite this.

When people began murmuring their theories, Clark was the one who spoke up, “I would recommend that everyone should sit down. The villains especially.” He set his eyes at the corner.

Harley giggles in response, “Wouldn’t dream of doing anything big guy. Wonder Woman is here after all!”

"Shouldn't we all be finding a way to escape?" A redhead explains, "This was honestly not on my bucket list today. Waking up with Bruce Wayne beside me--no offense."

Bruce grunts in response, ignoring the way his children tried not to laugh at the redheaded man's comment.

She noticed a group of people now going closer to Wonder Woman. Younger in age, they all varied in appearances. One was light orange.

Wasn’t that Starfire?

She sits down hesitantly, avoiding the light to make sure they did not see her. Especially, Tim, he could not see her. Not now, maybe not ever.

Once everyone sat down, things were quiet.

People began to grow restless at the uncomfortable silence. The people who knew who were in this very room had begun to feel suffocated. They hoped this wasn't a trap from their greatest enemy.

A song began to play, one she recognized from her playlist.

Nothing scares me anymore. Kiss me hard before you go Summertime sadness

She stifles her gasp when the big screen flickers, showing a familiar face.

It was her.

She heard others who couldn’t quite hide their gasps while others murmured, wondering who she was.

Tim’s family definitely knew who she was.

She was smiling, her head tilted. Her hair flowed with the wind, sometimes getting in her face but not quite where she felt bothered by it. She still wore the same headphones.

Dressed differently than how she does now, she knew what was hiding behind that outfit. That bulky outfit that she collected from her own friends.

“I think you’re scared,” She laughs, talking to someone who was not shown on the screen. “Afraid you won’t catch me?”

That’s when everyone noticed where she was. On a high building, the colors became brighter as things began to glitch into place. This world was not there. But she still looked the same. How was this possible?

“I ain’t scared,” a deep voice responds, as a teen steps out into the shadows. A familiar face, adorned with piercings and the tiniest bit of smudged eyeliner, smirks at her. A suit, shredded in a way that screamed edgy was displayed as his outfit. “Think you're scared.”

The accent was unrecognizable to the ones living in Gotham.

“Come on Hobie! I can see you shivering in your platforms.” She shakes her head, stepping closer to the ledge. “You scaredy cat. I thought Pav was supposed to be the one scared.”

“Think that’s Meows,” The teen now known as Hobie reasons, “That man ain’t know how to catch a human.”

“Obviously, dumbass,” She rolls her eyes, “He’s a cat!”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Hobie warns, “Might wake up to ah dead rat in your bed.” He paused for a moment, before gesturing to her headphones, “ ‘Ink it’s ok to jump like tha’?

She fiddles with her headphones, “I like the hazard of being hung.” She shrugs shamelessly.

“Mmm,” Hobie steps closer, “Or is i’ that you don’ want to speak to Miguel?”

“No,” she immediately shoots back at him, “I don’t need his help.”

“Don’ you think it’s time to move on?”

“I have moved on, Mr. O’Hara is not a problem!” She exclaims, “Why does everyone think I’m in love with the guy? He's old!”

“Technically he was younger.” Hobie shrugs shamelessly, “Ain’t a problem to like older men. What about Oscar Isaac?”

The girl glared harder, “Do NOT bring Poe Dameron into this. This isn’t about him!”

“Suree,” Hobie drawls, “When are ya—“

He gets cut off with a jacket thrown at his face. When he pulls it off, she grins at him innocently.

“See ya around, Punk.”

And she jumps.

The screen turns dark at this, the people viewing it sharing looks of confusion and awe.

“So did she die?” Jason was the first to speak, shrugging shamelessly when Dick smacked his head in response.

“Obviously not,” Steph argues, “She’s my friend. I would know if she’s dead!”

"She always makes morbid jokes like this?" Duke questions Steph, who glares at him in return, "Hey--I'm just asking!"

Tim stayed quiet throughout this whole ordeal.

The screen flickers on.

But I got needs, yeah, I got needs. I want war, But I need peace And you kept calling me crazy But baby that's what you made me

“Have you ever been in love?” A teen asks, playing with his fries through the cane’s sauce. His chicken tenders were left untouched.

“I think everyone has been in love at least once now,” She responds back to the younger teen, taking a sip of her Sprite. “Why? Are you in love with Gwen?”

“Yeah,,,” He sighs, his eyes widening when he realizes what he said, “What! No, No— I have never been in love! Not with Gwen! Totally, definitely not. Not after what she did, siding with Mig—“ He stops, looking at her sheepishly.

“Sorry. I know how much you like him.” She scowls in response to his comment.

“I do NOT like Mr. O’Hara. Never will, Miles. Do not say that again, or I’ll tell Gwen you painted a mural for her.” She threatens, pointing a chicken tender at the teen now known as Miles.

“Okay! I promise! Sheesh— I should have never shown you!” Miles rubs his neck embarrassingly. He closes up his half-eaten box of chicken tenders.

“Back to patrolling?” She asks, throwing her own tray of food. “Wanna find a kid in need to give that to?”

Miles nods in response, walking out with her.

“So…who is your first love?” He questions her as they walk down the street together.

“He’s long gone.”

“Canon event?”

“Canon event.” She agreed.

“How—How did it happen?” Miles hesitantly asks.

She smiles sadly, “We heroes think we know everything. Think we’re saving everyone. We don’t see the struggles our loved ones are facing just by breathing every day.”

“Did he…”

“Yes, Miles. He did.”

The screen turns black.

“Well,” Barry scratches his head awkwardly, “This has been…informative…but who is she? Or anyone else shown? Or Miguel? The recurring character.”

“I think they’re real people, Barry.” Cyborg answers. “Real people dealing with real things.”

“Heroes,” Poison Ivy hisses, “Always heroes.”

I thought you were my new best friend. Wish I knew better then. Who knew you were just out to get me? My whole world just fell apart. Cause I never felt so alone, felt so alone.

She is pushed to the floor, huffing puffs of air into her lungs. She was tired. So so tired.

“Please Mr. O’Hara,” She gasps, “I can’t—I can’t take it anymore.”

“Heroes don’t give up.” An older man snarls in the dark, darting around the girl, “Heroes keep fighting. They never stop. We never stop.”

“You—“ She wobbles up to a fighting stance, surveying the dark room. She dodges his first attack, but the next hit her right in the stomach. She doubles over in pain. “You are no hero. After everything you did? This—This society is not—“

She gets cut off when he grabs her from behind, putting her in a chokehold, “Say that again, I dare you.” He hisses into her ear.

His face is clear. A man, tired from age and wrinkles adorning his face. His lips twisted up in a snarl, showing off his sharp teeth. His eyes glow red in response. His height compared to the girl was intimidating to the eyes.

She struggles against his hold, slamming her head back to hit his chin. He lets go as she pushes herself away. He loses his balance and grabs the first thing close to his vicinity.

He grabs her headphones.

Noises suddenly blossom everywhere, causing her to stumble to her knees. The noises grew louder as various voices surrounded her. The familiar humming of the machines is felt under her fingers, through the floor.

“It hurts so much!” She cries, holding her ears together, “Please, Please make it stop!” She rocks herself back and forth, screaming in the room that should have no noise. But her senses were enhanced. Too enhanced for her body to handle. She could not live a regular life without something blocking out most noises from the world.

As abrupt as it came, it suddenly stopped. A whirring sound connected to her ears adjusted her hearing to her surroundings. Her soft music starts to play once again.

She touches the back of her ears carefully, feeling an unfamiliar placement of a small mechanism there.

She looks up at Miguel who showed no response to what he had done. How he had just helped her.

“H-How—“ She murmurs, “How did you know?”

“I know everything about you. Was going to wait until you asked. How was I supposed to know that you’re a stubborn son of a bitch who is still in love with my counterpart? Avoiding your boss isn’t wise, you know. ”

She glares in response, “Was. And it wasn’t you. It never was you and you know that.”

“I know,” Miguel shifts his stance, “Let’s go again.”

“Okay so that’s Miguel,” Harvey cooed, “He’s so! Delicious! I wonder if he bites his lovers.” She giggles, squishing her cheeks together as she sways around.

“If it isn’t him, then who is it?” Bruce questions, “None of this is making any sense. Is she around? Can she answer questions?”

Before they could begin looking around, another scene begins.

What’s the kindest way to say You took away my friend, my buddy? What’s the kindest way to say. The end?

“Miguel!” She calls out, removing her shoes at the entrance of his place, “Your brother called me to check up on you! He’s been worried?” She has no answer in response.

“Miguel?” She questions, stepping farther into the dark apartment. There seemed to be nobody, but she knew better. She smells the blood from where she was.

“Don’t do this to me,” She whispers, “Come on, don’t do this…” She steps closer to the bathroom, the only place that had the lights on.

“Miguel? Are you—Are you in there?” She nudges the door open. But, she immediately falls back when she sees the familiar puddle of red.

There laid a younger Miguel, face clear of wrinkles. His eyes are closed, his hand holding a gun in return. She kneels down next to him, looking for his pulse. Anything to show that she wasn't too late.

There was nothing.

All she could see was the red on her hands. The red of his blood. His blood had been cold.

His body had been dead for hours.

She cried, holding his body close to her chest, feeling his cold skin against her warm skin. She felt his eyelashes against her cheek. She felt his lips on her neck.

She felt the gun wound on the side of his head.

The scene switches in front of a gravestone. There, an unfamiliar person stood in front of it. Her face was obscured by a motorcycle helmet. It glowed in response to her eyes, narrowed in the familiar spider eyes that they all had.

Her suit is predominantly displayed in several colors to blend in the night. The spider emblem was bright against her chest, glowing in response to her heart as if it was humming. As if it was alive and a part of her.

“I could have saved him.” She placed the flowers on the grave, pressing her hand against the cool surface.

“Gabriel texted me an hour before he shot himself. Gabriel could tell something was off but I was… patrolling. I was doing my job.”

The figure’s helmet disappeared as if it was never there, showing the girl they all had been seeing.

The girl they recognized now as one of the workers at the grocery store many frequented. The one that was posted on Tims and Steph’s Instagram page. The one Alfred spoke to for recommendations on items he should buy from the grocery store. The one who once met Dick when she had to file a police report for a robbery gone wrong.

She had been the one who secretly gave Duke an employee discount. The one who refused to sell Jason alcohol because his appearance didn’t match his age. She was the one who occasionally offered Cass affordable options for alternative clothing. She was the one who agreed to take in a cat that Damian could not keep. She was the one who Barbara frequently saw visiting the library.

Her eyes, tired from the lack of sleep she’s been getting, teared up at her thoughts, “He could have been alive. I could have saved him.”

“What kind of hero am I?” She whispered, “I’m so sorry Miguel.”

A voice calls out her hero's name. Quickly, her helmet appears again, covering her identity. She turns to narrow her eyes at the woman calling her name.

Jessica leaned against a tree. A brilliance of orange, red, and multiple shades of purple was behind her, “You ready to go? Gotta have your introduction to our Society first.”

“Yeah, yeah, Mom,” She shakes her head in response, walking towards the woman who was evidently pregnant, “Let’s get outta here. Who's your leader again?”

“You’ll see,” Is what Jessica responds. When they walk through the portal, it disappears as if it wasn’t there.

“Oh,” Barry responds dumbly, “That’s Miguel.”

“Why did she never tell us…” Steph whispers, turning to Tim, who turned a lighter shade. He looked sick to his stomach from the recent video.

How did he not notice she was going through something? How could he not push away his selfishness and see what was wrong? He should have. He definitely should have.

Afterall, that’s the girl he likes.

“Well technically he’s alive again, right?” Jason questions. “Mr. O’Hara dude? Anyone?”

“I don’t think…” Barbara hesitated, “I don’t think they’re the same person.”

“All evidence points that they are not the same. First, the age difference. Second, the comments everyone has been making in the videos.” Dick supplies helpfully.

“Then who is that guy?” Duke questions, “A clone?”

“Possibly.” Cass signs, “The pit?”

“No, that can’t be possible.” Talia, who had not shown she was there, spoke up, “I would know if he was dragged there.”

“Mother,” Damian scoffs, “Of course you would have a book keeping that.”

“Anyone going to talk about the portal? Hello?” Duke questions, receiving looks of equal confusion from the Waynes.

But I'm not like the others. I don’t always like what I have to do. But I know I have to be the one to do it. I’ve given too much to stop now.

“What’s this?” A familiar face pops up. It is Miles. A blue, glowing orb is represented in front of him in a dark room. He was wearing an unfamiliar suit with a familiar emblem.

“This is everything.” Miguel, in his glory, is in front of Miles. His height was terrifying and intimidating.

When the orb hits the floor, it suddenly begins to sprout in a bright blue light. It started to spread like blood pumping in veins.

“Can you be more specific?” Miles questions.

“Can you not talk for a second?” Miguel snarks back. Miles agreed.

Red had started to spread.

“This here…is all of us.”

“All of our lives, woven together in a beautiful web of life and destiny.”

“The Spider-verse,” Miles murmured.

“Spider-verse? Huh— that’s…stupid. It’s called the Arachno Humanoid Poly Multiverse.” Miles gave a look towards Miguel.

Miguel concedes, “Which sounds…stupid, too, I guess.”

“In these nodes where the lines converge?” Miles' sentence falls off but Miguel continues, “they are the canon.”

“Chapters that are a part of every spider's story, every time. Some good, some bad, some very bad.”

Different scenes and pictures are presented to Miles who looks in awe. When Miguel moved his hands, an array of heroes with similar suits showed up, kneeling over their loved ones body.

At the last one, it showed Miles losing his Uncle.

As Miguel continues to explain, the dread had started to pool in everyone's stomach. They weren’t liking where this was going.

As many spiders are shown, there are canon events. There was one that many recognized. The death of Miguel.

“Canon events are the connections that bind our lives together. But those connections can be broken. That’s why anomalies are so dangerous.”

Miguel had begun to grow more assertive towards Miles, showing him the problem he had caused with disrupting Pav’s canon event.

“You weren’t supposed to save him. That’s why Gwen tried to stop you.”

“I thought you were trying to save me.” Miles turned to an unfamiliar face, now known as Gwen. She looked guilty.

When Miles questions Miguel on how he knew this would happen, Miguel reveals his own secret.

“I found a world where I had a family, where I was happy.” The scenes shift to a little girl and Miguel, happy together. They were so happy, she did not have a clue on what was going to happen.

“At least a version of me was…and that version of myself was killed. So I replaced him.”

The girl's face was more clear, Miguel so happy—opposite of who he was now.

Citizens were running—from what they had no clue. But they feared for their lives. Miguel ran too, holding his sweet, sweet girl. He continued to run, despite the glitching she was experiencing.

She cries in fear, “Daddy! Dad! Dad, help!” Slowly but surely, she disappeared from his grip. She was gone, as if she was never there.

“We could lose everything.” Everything breaks all at once, disappearing from view.

“My dad is about to be Captain...” Miles realizes. It began panning to the people in the room. The familiar girl appeared, shifting her feet restlessly, free from her helmet.

Suddenly, Miles's spider senses began to overload. His memories continuously shift to an unfamiliar white figure and himself. The figure had abruptly turned pitch black, glitching as it ruined everything from its vicinity.

“I’m going to take everything from you, like you took everything from me.”

An unfamiliar cop was running towards a small child who was frozen in fear in front of a building that was collapsing.

Miles grew restless, asking Miguel of his fathers death.

“I’m sorry, Miles.” Miles refused the apology, asking, almost begging to be sent home.

“Send me home! What else am I supposed to do? Let him die?” The no response was a clear answer to him, but he could not accept it.

He began projecting towards Gwen, trying to make her see reason. Nobody was listening. Why was nobody listening?

He then attacks an unfamiliar man, holding a baby who cooed cluelessly at the situation. The man also deflected Miles’ projection.

“And you? What about you, huh? You said you’d do anything to go back in time! You won’t give me that chance either?” She looks away from Miles, feeling the tears stinging her eyes. She stayed silent, knowing what her answer was.

“So we’re just supposed to let people die just because some algorithm says that’s supposed to happen?”

“You have a choice between saving one person and saving an entire world—every world.”

“I can do both! Spider-man always—“ Miles gets cut off by Peter. That’s when Miles began to notice the people surrounding him.

“Being Spider-Man is a sacrifice. That’s the job and that’s what you signed up for.”

Miles grew more agitated at the people surrounding him.

“You should have never come to see me.” Miles directed to Gwen. His pain was reflected in his eyes. He turns his attention to Miguel, directly stepping forward to face the man. Their prolonged eye contact intensified the situation.

All of a sudden, Miles is trapped in red. He couldn’t get out. They weren’t letting him out. Why were they not letting him out? He bangs on the red blocking him from the rest as everyone argues in the background.

“Palms,” Hobie mouthed. With her helmet back on, the girl stepped closer to the red projection blocking her.

“Do what everyone else can’t, Miles.”

With that, Miles pressed his palms onto the red prison blocking him. Blue electricity ran through his fingertips and followed through his palms. He released his entire electricity current as the room erupted in the remains of the red prison. Many were hit on impact.

Miles breathed deeply, staring at the masked heroes who were gaining their senses back from the explosion.

“Run.”

“Spider-Verse,” Barry Allen gasps, “Is this the multiverse? But for them? Oh my god! This must mean she’s a part of this universe. We should find her, to ask her more about this Society. Are they like the Justice League?” He rambles as others groaned at his tangent. His voice sped up at the end, which caused everyone to realize how interested he was in the subject.

“Is Miguel a bad guy?” Jason questions instead, “Hell, he seems to play the role just fine.”

“Not necessarily,” Bruce argued, “It seems like he has a valid reason for doing so.”

“Yeah, but…would you not do anything if you knew of your future? I think Miles' feelings are valid.” Dick tries to reason with Bruce.

Damien scoffs, “Obviously not, Grayson. It would be a necessary sacrifice to lose one life over everyone.”

“It’s his father, though,” Steph meekly responds, “Tim? Back me up on this?”

“I…” Tim hesitates, “Maybe we should hear this from the source? The connection we all have?”

Before they can find her, the final scene begins.

I’m comin’ through with my crew to make ‘em pay. I don’t need no super suit, I’m feeling brave Don’t be a hero, turn around and walk away. Who in here tryna start a riot?

She hums as the lyrics fill her ears, packaging the orders for the recent customer who had used over 20 food stamps to lower her price. There was a maximum of 5 food stamps, and everyone knew the rules. But, she was feeling generous.

“I hope you have a nice day.” She smiles at her customer, a grateful mother who quickly deposited her bags into her trolley. The woman thanks her in response as she leaves.

“There seems to be a lockdown at a Wayne Gala. No bats seem to be near the premise as unfamiliar villains hold the citizens' hostage. These hostages include the Wayne Family…” The news continues speaking of the situation, the girl focusing on the broadcast.

“The villains seem to be demanding a hero. No heroes go by this name. A Spider…Woman? Do I hear this correctly?”

She tenses up at this, her eyes widening as the helicopter zooms closer to the villain closest to the window.

It was her Green Goblin.

Peter Parker.

“I—“ She looks at her coworker, who looks at her confusingly, “There’s been an emergency. I have to go.”

“Our boss will fire you if you leave!” Another coworker pipes up, “They’ll replace you, I don’t think—“

“Then I quit. I have to go.” With that, she removes her employee’s t-shirt, leaving it on the conveyor belt.

“I’m sorry, Stan,” she apologizes to her next customer, “Your groceries are on me.”

Stan waves her off, “Go save the world, kid.” With a confused look at him, she leaves the grocery store.

“What do we do?” Tim hisses, pointing a glare at Damian who was held down by Cass. They couldn’t believe they were being held by new villains.

“Stay put,” Bruce was on his phone, trying to get into contact with Barbara. “They stopped any communications from the outside. I can’t get through to O.”

“You think Red knows?” Dick questions beside him, “They all have to know what’s going on, right?”

“Like he’d come,” Damian scoffs, “He hates all of us.”

“He wouldn’t leave innocent civilians to die,” Dick shoots back, “He wouldn’t.”

“He totally would,” Tim argues, “These are all rich folks. He absolutely despises them all.”

With those final words, they all quieted down.

“They’re blocking all the exits,” Bruce says after a moment, “I thin—“ He gets cut off from a window smashing into themselves, an unfamiliar person jumping through the hole created. Screams are heard as many stepped back from the glass flying everywhere.

“Heard you were looking for me,” The voice calls out. Her helmet’s eyes narrowed at the main villain, who snarls in response, “Now I’m here, Parker.”

“It’s GREEN GOBLIN!” The villain roars angrily, “Peter Parker is not here right now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” The figure’s rolls her eyes—well helmets eyes, “Take that up with my boss.”

“It is idiotic for you to appear with no backup. All alone, bug?” Another voice hissed out, a black, looming figure that grinned. His array of teeth showed off the leftover blood from his past victims. His eyes, similar to the unfamiliar woman, grinned with his smile, “What a bad idea.”

“Bad, Bad idea.” Another voice agreed, a woman sitting atop the lights above the ballroom. The vulture squawked in laughter, giggling at the lonely woman.

“Ain’t got no friends,” cooed the lizard. Their voice, combined with many, left their identity unrecognizable. Their height overpowered the rest of the villains, nearly similar to Venom’s.

“Who says I came alone?”

With those words, different portals had begun to open around the room. Different figures stepped out, a specific two high-fiving one another.

“Spiders!” Doc Oc shouts, “There are more!”

A portal opened up near the Wayne’s. Bruce protectively put himself in front of his kids. What a way to protect them when he couldn’t before.

The man loomed at Bruce, tilting his masked face at the family. He was silent for a moment.

“You Batman?” The man asks, “Don’t worry. We got this from here.” With those words, the man began instructing the other spiders.

“Byte! Get the civilians out of here. Escort them to the nearest exits.” He calls out, hearing confirmation from a woman who glowed blue.

“Pav, you and Punk get the Lizard. Try not to get bitten by them.”

“Aye aye, Captain!” Pav salutes, running towards Lizard who growled in anger. He swipes at Spider-Punk, who easily dodges his attacks.

“Web-slinger! Vulture is coming at you!” A shot resonated in response. Everyone grew nervous, looking at the man in a cowboy outfit. The man was not who they were freaked about. It was the horse that was matching with him.

Venom stepped forward, grinning at the cat dressed similarly to one of the other spiders. The cat blinked up at the man-eating villain. No thoughts behind his expression.

“Someone get the cat away from Venom!” He hears another confirmation as Gwen scoops up Meows Morales before Venom can take a bite. With the both of them, they both decided to prance around Venom.

Jessica Drew revved her motorcycle engine, lining the floor with her wheels as she guides her motorcycle to hit Doc Oc head-on. She grins in return, her belly no longer evident.

“All that leaves is…”

Green Goblin snarls at the fights surrounding him, avoiding the hits from the woman in the helmet. “Focus on our fight, Parker! Don’t want nobody to steal your attention!” She snarks, finally kicking him in the stomach.

His glider slams into her back at the same time. She grunts in frustration, grabbing at the ends of the glider and hitting him with it instead. “Coward!”

“Mierda…” The man whispers, “Stand down, Astro!”

The woman whips her head at him in response to her nickname. The nickname to tell a difference between the Spider’s when in battle.

“Stand down.” The man asserted, “I’ll handle this.”

“Old man,” she replies back, grunting suddenly as she avoids the onslaught of Green Goblin who continues his relentless attacks, “He’s my villain. I’ll handle this.”

“They’re all your villains, kid.” He replies back, joining her in the fight. Green Goblin screams are filled with pure malice at the continuous attacks from both sides. “Go get the Wayne’s out. And suited.”

“Suited? I don’t know if you’re delusional but they are in suits.”

“Stop ignoring me! At once!” Green Goblin screams, pulling at his mask as he slams it down angrily.

“Shut up Parker!” They both snapped at the villain. The man turns to Astro, “They’ll know what you mean.”

With one final punch to Green Goblin, she lets Miguel handle the rest. As she walks closer to the Wayne’s, Miguel is shown behind her, his eyes from his mask shifting to glare at Green Goblin. Miguel slams him to the ground, sitting on his back as the Green Goblin’s face smooshes against the floor. Miguel’s face is obscured from sight, no one could tell what he had planned. When his mask dematerializes, Miguel bites down with a small grunt.

Green Goblin howls in pain, feeling himself go slack in Miguel’s grip. Miguel stands up, his mask back on, blocking his face from the viewers.

“Oh he’s definitely dead.” Cass confirms.

“He isn’t,” the woman is in front of them, tilting her helmet at the Wayne’s. “Mr. Bossman says you all should suit up. I’m sorry, I think he has bad eyesight.”

“How—“ Bruce glares around the room, seeing the various heroes bring the villains down. Venom, who was now a red headed woman, was knocked out cold. The cat held a vile with an angry, black slug.

The Lizard was entangled in two different webs and slackened into himself as Pav and Punk high-fived one another. They ignored the look they received from Miguel, who had paralyzed their opponent.

Doc Oc talked into themselves with their limbs, murmuring an apology to Jessica. They had a look of pure embarrassment with how they hung upside down.

Vulture pouted from under the horse, who absentmindedly licked the sugar given Web-Slinger. He smoothened out his horse’s mane, softly cooing at them.

“How does he know who I am?” Bruce asks her.

“He knows everyone, Mr. Wayne. Can’t hide anything. Believe me, I’ve tried to hide my weed.” She jokes. The only one who let out a laugh was Dick, who immediately covered it up.

“That was a joke.”

“So he definitely knows.” Tim spoke up from the uncomfortable silence. “He literally said your alias, Bruce.”

“Bruce Wayne is Batman?!” Harley screeches, “I knew it! I totally knew it!”

“No, you didn’t,” Poison Ivy frowns, “You thought Jon Bernthal was Batman.”

“Does that mean…he knows everyone else?” Jason asks, “And is anyone going to mention how he bit that villain? Literally nobody?”

“Is nobody going to talk about the cat?!” Damian hisses, “Alfred can do the same!”

“Do not get any ideas, Master Damian,” Alfred reprimands.

“Guess I need to reintroduce myself.” She spoke up, standing from her position as she waved at everyone who snapped their head towards her.

She grins, her facade of the normal grocery store employee fading from their view. Her clothing shifted in their eyes as the suit began to materialize against her skin.

She gives her name, “I’m one of the many Spider-Woman from the multiverse…although your universe is a completely different path with their own worlds intertwined . I just decided to land in the less…traumatic one.”

“I’m your world's only Spider-Woman, Astro Spider.” She makes eye contact with Tim, her smile widening.

“It’s nice to finally meet this world’s heroes.”

I hope you find some peace of mind in this lifetime. Tell them, Tell 'em, Tell them the truth.

#tim drake x reader #crossover #dc universe #spiderverse x reader #red robin x reader #tim drake imagine #dc comics #batfam imagine #identity reveal #song fic #dc universe x marvel universe #batfam

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ashtonisvibing · 2 months

Text

"You have both of our lives in your hands!"

Fandom: Life Series/Double Life SMP

Alternate Universe: None (Canon Divergence)

Ship(s): Slight mention of Grian x GoodTimesWithScar

Character(s): Grian, GoodTimesWithScar

Warning(s): None

Originally Published: February 4th, 2024

Word Count: 1,601

Author's Notes:

seasons skirmish gift for dusty_daffodil on AO3

first time writing... anything for mcyt, let alone the desert duo. but i certainly tried! :D

if you liked what you read, consider giving this a reblog, please! it'll let more people see my work!

[plain text: if you liked what you read, consider giving this a reblog, please! it'll let more people see my work!]

Full Story:

The sound of a pickaxe whacking against stone was the only sound that carried through the tunnel Grian had started to make for himself. Nearly a month in and neither him nor Scar had any sort of diamond equipment, not even a measly hoe or shovel. And with how wreckless Scar was being, Grian was fed up with using only iron armor as protection. He had such a huge chance to not end up with one of the few people here who had no regard for their safety. How did he manage to luck out as badly as he did? Well, what’s done is done now. All he needed to focus on was making sure they didn’t lose their first life already.

“Damn it, where are the diamonds??” Grian huffed, resting his pickaxe on his shoulder as he looked back up at the makeshift stone stairs that was his mineshaft. He couldn’t see the outside with how deep he had gone. “I’m almost out of torches, too. I’m surprised I haven’t found much coal down here, either..” He looked back at the stone in front of him, gently fiddling at the red, yellow, and blue feathered wings where ears should have been. A forcive habit for whenever he was thinking. “I should probably get back to the sur- Gah-!”

The avian dropped down on one knee as he clutched his chest, using his pickaxe to prop himself up. A sharp, burning pain shot from his heart and spread around his chest. He was far too familiar with this pain by now, even if it was usually slightly dimmed down. The phantom pain of his soulbound partner taking damage. And judging by how impactful it was this time…

Grian tapped the glowing green heart on his chest, revealing his health and hunger bars. And he was suddenly down four hearts. Okay, maybe Scar just fell while dealing with his cats, nothing to- “Shit-!” Another wave of pain, another three hearts lost. What was his partner doing up there?! He quickly grabbed a piece of steak out of his side bag and ate it in hopes of keeping his hunger up. It must be night time right now, why else would the two be taking so much damage

And suddenly, after another bout of pain… One heart left. The avian was panicking now. His face was pale and breathing quickened, almost to a degree that it felt like he was choking on his own air. This was it, they’d be losing their first life. And then it wouldn’t be long until they were down to red, and then completely losing. He started to scramble out of his mine shaft. His hearts were slowly regenerating; Scar might have gotten a moment of peace and was eating. But that didn’t mean the danger was over. Since it was currently night time, he could get swarmed by zombies, or blown up by a creeper. He could simply fall off a cliff.

Grian just hoped he could find his partner in time before anything happened.

The avian decided to stop by their base first, calling out Scar’s name into the dark oak trees around him in the hopes that he’ll get a response. But he wasn’t getting anything. Scar could be on the other side of the area for all he knew. At the very least by now their hearts were almost full. Grian just had to hope that it would stay that way until he found his partner.

“Scar-!” He was quick to rush through the entrance of their base, eyes darting around frantically in the hopes he’d spot a glimpse of his friend. “Scar, are you here?!”

“Grian!”

Running through the entrance was the man himself. With that stupid without-a-care smile on his lips, his hand waving to his partner before stopping right in front of him. “Oh man, you’ll never bel-”

“Scar, we just almost died, what the hell were you thinking?!” Scar was used to Grian’s frustrated yelling by this point. There was no shortage of silly and, to everyone else, stupid ideas from the salesman, especially now that he had acquired those huge gray cats. And considering that yes, he almost got the two of them killed, he wasn’t surprised that the other was so upset.

“Oh Grian, you would not believe how many monsters can appear in the jungle!” Scar laughed a little as he headed over to the cat pit, pulling some bamboo sticks out of his backpack. Grian was quick to follow him. “I just wanted to grab some snacks for the kitties, and suddenly I’m getting swarmed by skeletons and spiders! Good thing you had some food on you, I completely forgot to grab some before I left.” He chuckled, about to jump right into the pit, before his partner grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Scar, I really don’t think you understand. We. Almost. Died. And for what, just because you wanted to feed your cats?? They don’t even need to eat!” He threw his hands up in the air to try and add more emphasis to the situation. His feathers were getting really ruffled trying to get the other to understand the situation.

“Well- I didn’t think you’d be so upset by this.” Scar huffed a little, deciding to just toss the bamboo sticks into the pit in the hopes that the felines would just eat them themselves. “Sure, we almost died because I got caught by monsters, I’ll admit to that. But guess what? We didn’t! So no harm done!” And there was that confident smile, one that could either quell the avian’s worries or just make him more annoyed by how sure Scar was in whatever he was saying. And unfortunately, it wasn’t the former.

Grian took a deep breath, through the nose and out through the mouth. He couldn’t let himself just blow up on his partner. His singed pants remembered the last time that happened. “Okay. I don’t think you quite understand the situation here. The two of us?” He punched Scar’s arm, hard enough to remove half a heart from their health. The other responded with a “Hey-!” as he rubbed where he was punched. “We’re linked! I wouldn’t be upset about you running off to who knows where at whatever time if we weren’t! But any damage you take, I take, so whenever you go off on your silly little adventures you’ve got both of our lives to worry about. I just-” The avian let out a sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why do you constantly put yourself in danger, hm? Is it just to prove some sort of point?”

Scar was completely taken aback by Grian’s words. He hadn’t even thought that his own little adventures would upset his friend so much. Sure, this wasn’t the first time he’d gotten them so close to death. But it’s not like he ever did it on purpose. Yet the avian was upset all the same. And when Scar gave it a second of thought, he was right to be upset. He could always be a little more careful, a little less reckless. He could try to not go out at night, or start fights with the other soulbound people here. He could try to be a better friend.

“You’re… You’re right.” He chuckled a little, fingers running through his hair. “I really haven’t been the greatest friend, huh..? But I’m gonna start doing way better. And I can start by- By getting rid of these pesky cats!” And like he did only a couple of minutes before he tried to jump into the cat pit. And like last time, Grian stopped him. But this time it was more out of confusion than anger.

“Wha- Scar, I didn’t- You are the most… Bullheaded person here, aren’t you?” Despite his words, there was a small smile trying to form on his lips. Oh, he was trying hard not to be amused by his friend’s antics that never made sense. It was certainly a tough task. And Scar’s laughter wasn’t helping in the slightest.

“And here I thought you hated the cats. Have you warmed up to them, my friend?” That cocky smirk was on his lips as he crouched down a little to meet Grian’s height.

Grian hated his friend’s cocky nature. He hated how he never thought things through, how quick he was to jump into anything. How he always made a bad situation seem good. And how his smirk could easily bring a red blush to the avian’s cheeks.

He was quick to turn his head away so that said cheeks wouldn’t be visible, trying to hide his fluster as he crossed his arms over his chest. “No, not at all! I just- You’ve cared for them since day one, it would be stupid to get rid of them so soon!”

Grian’s stubbornness to always be right was the funniest thing to Scar. And who was he to deny his friend’s needs? He chuckled as he put his hands up, surrendering to the avian in front of him. “Alright, alright, the cats are staying then! Now, for my first decision as the new and responsible Scar, I say we go to bed. That way the day will come and all the skeletons and zombies and such will burn away.” Despite his attempt to hold it back, the avian let out a little chuckle as he looked up at his friend. Always the one for the dramatics. Another thing he “hated”.

“That’s the greatest decision you’ve ever made.”

#ashton is writing #mcyt #life series #double life smp #grian #goodtimeswithscar #scarian #gift fic #avian grian

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wheeljack-boom · 3 days

Text

Entropy

The entirety of this can be found here.

I've posted numerous bits and pieces before for fun, but this is the initial piece of writing I did several years ago. Only recently have I gone back to it and decided to keep writing, despite it initially being intended as a one-shot. Originally when I wrote this years ago I was inspired by the way the 5th Doctor meets Amy Pond. Don't know why, but here we are. It was a bug I couldn't get out of my head.

No warnings. Cybertronian/Human relationships. Platonic only, but lots and lots of fluff. Human is an AFAB original character. Non-canon AU.

Like clockwork, the earth’s moon rose high into the atmosphere, a burning white disk of reflected solar energy that bathed the terran landscape in cool white light. The tidally locked piece of rock, perpetually circling the organic planet in the solar system designated 876B, was itself a consistent reminder of the passage of time. It was predictable, and observable with all the reliability of a Cybertronian energon flux. The earth’s entropy relied solely on its inhabitants and its ever-changing climate, but never its predictable partner in the black. Order, and its close approximate chaos, were two parts of the same spectrum, just as the order of the cosmos inhabited the same plane of reality as the chaos of the living, changing planet.

Chaos was the friend of the large, robotic mass now currently trying to navigate through the relative quiet and darkness of what was usually a place thrumming with life. Chaos was what he thrived on; it breathed creativity and ingenuity and change, and that was something that heralded some of the greatest scientific discoveries of order and truth. The order of the cosmos, sometimes got very dull.

Now, however, the particular bit of chaos that Wheeljack found himself in was nothing if not unsettling.

Wheeljack’s joints groaned with a subtle whir as he moved, the transformium paneling on his legs shifting and one shoulder wheel spinning slowly as he crept forward through the darkness. The Autobot scientist was suddenly very self-conscious that he was out in the open, vulnerable and undisguised in his much more conspicuous bipedal form. A collection of small buildings surrounded him, but none of them even came close to his own height, so he had to duck slightly as he crept his way through to his target: the human power station.

The surrounding landscape was only inhabited by a scattering of human agricultural settlements, so the night hours afforded Wheeljack some privacy without having to worry about being seen. It still made him uncomfortable however, as every movement he made seemed uncharacteristically loud even to his own audio receptors. Every scan he omitted could potentially be picked up by human equipment, including their own military base some miles away, but the Autobot took care to be brief. His audible presence, and to some extent his invisible presence could be easily explained away, but his visual presence was not something that the dominant organic life forms knew existed. Quite simply, if a human saw him, the probability that they would react poorly was quite high.

With this in mind, the large Autobot moved carefully in the black, mindful of the way the moon highlighted his white armor panels. His glowing blue optics were soft and searching in the dark, but were obvious markers of his presence as he awkwardly tried to retain a quiet, steady pace to his destination. He dimmed their brightness, but didn’t expect it would make much difference. He wasn’t exactly outfitted for camouflage; he wasn’t a soldier per say, but necessity never particularly cared for those details. The open night sky above him was filled with more stars than what he remembered seeing on Cybertron, but he couldn’t take the desired time to admire their scientific wonderment. Wheeljack was practically a glow stick against the inky black, illuminated with the night’s natural ambiance.

A nearby sound startled the large form, and he froze, ducking his head as the soft thrum of machinery reacted to his sudden movements. He wasn’t entirely sure what he would do if he got caught sneaking around. Current positioning was too tight to transform, unless he wanted some sort of catastrophic misalignment on his way down; wouldn’t that be fun. His only option was to duck harder, maybe make himself less obvious and a visual illusion in the darkness—human eyes weren’t always reliable unaided at night—but at roughly two dozen feet in height and made out of living metal, that wouldn’t really do much. He waited a few minutes longer, systems and venting cycles stilled until he was satisfied with the lack of movement in his immediate vicinity. His destination was so close, and a sudden urgency overcame him as he vented the air he’d been holding inside his chassis.

The central power grid for the immediate human population center sat before him, relatively small, but about the right size one might expect for a settlement of this size. It would do for what he needed: that being the desperately sought out energy reserves him and his fellow Autobots required to keep their shielding running. So far from home, on an alien planet, stranded and functioning at not even half capacity with a skeleton crew, they could not synthesize energon themselves. Wheeljack had developed a process—unbeknownst to a certain Prime that would highly disapprove—that could convert the electrical currents from human power grids into a slightly lower grade energon. It would do to keep them functioning and protected, but it would require more in terms of sheer volume to do the job that a fraction of naturally occurring energon could. This was a stop-gap that wouldn’t last for long, and eventually he’d have to come clean to Prime and the rest of the Ark crew that he was using human resources.

Wheeljack was one of the most brilliant Autobot scientists to ever live, possibly the only one left, and this organic planet had him scrambling for scraps and drastically understocked of supplies needed to carry out any idea he might have. He was trapped and didn’t know what else to do, but the other Autobots were looking to him for an answer. He could deal with the truth later, and Primus willing, would have enough time to come up with a means of synthesizing what they needed without stealing it from the native life forms. Until then, it was his secret, and the most they had to know was that he figured out a purely practical way to produce a lower-quality brew that could at least tie them over.

The main power conduit was just on the other side of a chain link fence. Wheeljack stopped just short of it and crouched. He didn’t even have to climb over the tiny barricade. He could just reach in and take what he needed.

This gave the Autobot pause. It felt wrong, but Wheeljack was disconcerted with how this was becoming easier to justify in the name of survival. Theft, and deception was not something the Autobots did. It was one of the many things they had fought against when trying to save their planet; when they had failed. What he was about to do was something that was typically more associated with the Decepticons, the other side of the war that had proved to be too relentless. Even the more morally reprehensible acts the Autobots had engaged in—out of necessity and against their very nature—could not even compare to the atrocities committed by the opposing faction. Driving them off their planet was not enough. Now, the lingering impact of being alone and crippled was a continuing punishment, but even then, to the Decepticons it was not enough. They followed their evacuation, lurking somewhere out in the shadows of the cosmos, waiting for one Autobot misstep that would give away their location.

Survival however, was a drive that was strong not just amongst organics, and the Autobots would not survive without energon. That much was simple. They would either go offline from malnourishment, suffer catastrophic injuries that were beyond repair without the life-giving blood of their species, or be blown apart by the Decepticons once their shielding failed and they were finally found. Energon was used for just about every component of Cybertronian life; it was little wonder that its availability and the fight to appropriate the dwindling resource would bring about their ultimate downfall. The Autobot scientist had no other choice.

Wheeljack carefully reached an arm towards the main conduit but paused. Doubt and fear nagged at him. As soon as he started syphoning power there would be no going back. Their presence would be detected, and even if the humans didn’t immediately determine what was happening, it would still open up many questions.

Their existence was probably going to be detected soon enough anyway, Wheeljack reasoned. Either the Decepticons would find this backwater planet and make themselves known, or force the Autobots to make themselves known preemptively. It was a matter of when.

Reaching back over the fence, Wheeljack sub-spaced the minute form of an energon cube. As he edged it closer to the power source, its programming cycled through the myriad of commands Wheeljack had dictated to it. It expanded as a series of bicortex nanotubes took root into the human machinery. The cube started to glow, pulsing as it grew with the energon that began to trickle into it, filtering through the anchored piping that had now weaved its way into the cracks and entry ports of the central power conduit.

There was a brief hiss, which turned into a low hum that seemed to emanate around Wheeljack, growing in intensity as the energon cube increased in mass and brightness. It was working, and as the few lights around him started to power down without the sufficient energy flow to feed them, Wheeljack felt a sense of guilt.

“Well, not like I can put it all back now...” He muttered to himself, looking at his prize. Like the ancient human story of Prometheus stealing fibre… I’m gonna be in a lot of trouble—

A sudden ping on his internal com system alerted him to an additional presence attempting to make contact. It was like a prickling into his awareness, a sudden sense of no longer being alone in his own head and it made him jump with a start. Nobody was supposed to know what he was up to, much less where he was, and if they were contacting him on his com link rather than searching him out that meant they knew he wasn’t in the Ark.

“Wheeljack.” The voice pressed. It was abrupt, and sounded very, very annoyed.

“Ratchet!” It was the Ark’s chief medical officer, which also meant Wheeljack was about to get an audio full of whatever had Ratchet’s temper up this time. It was usually him anyway, so he was used to it. Whenever Wheeljack wasn’t in Ratchet’s med-bay partially blown apart, melted, electrocuted or otherwise incapacitated in some way of his own doing, Ratchet usually found other things to get angry about.

“What are you doing?” Ratchet sighed with the typical tone of resignation, as if he was expecting Wheeljack to attempt to lie his way through this. Sadly, that had been exactly what he was about to do.

“I was uh—”

“Save it. I know what you’re doing, I’m not stupid. I’m on Teletraan-1 right now watching you syphon off that power.” Ratchet of course meant he was detecting the energy fluctuations resulting from Wheeljack’s theft on the Ark’s central monitoring system. Wheeljack hadn’t even thought of that...

“We need this more than they do. They can just build a fire or something.” Wheeljack knew the absurdity of his statement was reason enough for Ratchet’s impending incredulity but he was out of excuses. He hadn’t even thought of one to begin with.

“Primus help me, you can’t be serious.” There was an exasperated ripple that pulsed through their psychic com link. “That isn’t the point, Wheeljack. For one thing, stealing from the humans was expressly forbidden by Prime.”

“Don’t tell Optimus.” Wheeljack faltered. Not out of fear, as Optimus Prime was not the type to heavily punish his subordinates. It was shame, because then he would know that Wheeljack had let him down… No one wanted to let Optimus Prime down.

“Just get back here before someone else sees you.” Ratchet said tersely, as Wheeljack quickly retracted the now-full energon cube. It detached from the human power structure with a crackle of energy, a few errant drops of white-hot energon showering the ground as he subspaced the cube for travel.

“Alright, I’m comin’, nobody’s around for miles—” Wheeljack turned quickly, internals thrumming as he prepared to make a hasty retreat, but he froze mid-crouch. He was not alone.

Ratchet’s voice continued in his audio receptors. “Right, they may not be there now, but you know they have their own scanners and sensors, weak and understandably inferior as they may be, but they’re certainly enough to figure out that someone is stealing something—and Wheeljack are you even listening to me?”

He was listening, but Wheeljack had a far more immediate concern, offsetting Ratchet’s yammering to ambient noise. His entire body tingled with the intense need to flee, but he remained rooted to the spot.

“Wheeljack, are you still there? What are you doing? You need to get out of there.” There was a pause. “Primus, Wheeljack. Please, tell me nobody has seen you.”

“Somebody sees me.” Wheeljack responded slowly, his optics locked on the new development in front of him.

It was a small, tiny human being. It stood there, quiet and still, its optics locked on Wheeljack’s. There was an immediate hiss from within his processor as their joined com link was overcome with an exponential amount of creative expletives.

“How do you know?!”

“It’s lookin’ right at me…”

“Is it a threat?”

“I...don’t think so. No.”

“Then deal with it, and extract yourself immediately.” Ratchet severed the link, not so much out of anger, but sheer panic and necessity; self-preservation dictated that it was better to not take the chance in assuming humans couldn’t sense their link and track it to the source, but Wheeljack highly doubted that was true, at least with what he currently faced.

Ratchet’s more immediate demand of dealing with the threat was upsetting, the implied action behind it vague enough that it made Wheeljack feel queasy. The humans weren’t a threat, at least he didn’t think so, and the one that was looking at him now didn’t seem to be dangerous at all. Ratchet had megacycles more field experience than Wheeljack, however. The decisions the medic would have had to make on the battlefield were beyond Wheeljack’s desire to contemplate.

This wasn’t a battlefield however, and this did not appear to be a soldier.

It made a noise, much like a soft venting of air, but it was small-sounding and very much unthreatening if the way the small human’s optics were casually locked onto him was any indication. This didn’t stop Wheeljack from recoiling back in alarm, the noise startling him out of his frozen state and right back through the small fence and into the very power conduit he had just been stealing from.

As if things couldn’t get any worse for him, the entire structure came crashing down under his sheer weight. Whatever light or electrical device was still working with what power he’d left behind was now out, and would be for miles. The noise was staggeringly loud from cables, wires and metal panels piling on top of him as he scrambled to get upright. Eons spent on the battlefields of Cybertron had conditioned Wheeljack against his very nature to always be prepared to fight for his survival, so he’d gotten rather good at picking himself back up. Nearly offlining himself in his own lab on a daily basis certainly kept him well-practiced.

This wasn’t a Cybertron battlefield, and this wasn’t his lab, so as soon as Wheeljack was upright he quickly processed every nano-inch of his surroundings. His urgency was only matched by his concern for the human. Firstly, he feared that it had gotten hurt in such a display of uncoordinated prowess, and secondly being on his back and vulnerable meant that he was open season for anyone, human or otherwise, to drop a bomb on him.

The human thankfully had been smart enough to have scuttled out of danger, and was now peering at him from behind a nearby pillar with what Wheeljack thought he recognized as the human expression of amusement. A quick check from his memory banks told him that this human was female, rather small and underdeveloped for the species, and quite possibly not very—

—It was a child.

Wheeljack’s processor stuttered to a halt, the sudden revelation that he was standing in front of a human child fascinating, yet also very terrifying. By his estimation the female couldn’t be more than four feet tall, looking pale and somewhat disheveled in the moonlight. Human children were smaller, weaker, and mentally underdeveloped relative to their fully grown counterparts, which wasn’t saying much to begin with. That said, the sheer novelty of observing such a small human up-close was nothing compared to the trouble he was going to be in if he didn’t somehow coax the human into not seeing what she was currently seeing… and forget all about him.

The Autobot was so internally focused on figuring out how to get out of the situation that he didn’t immediately process the soft noise the human was making. It was laughter. The human was laughing at him.

This went completely counter to his expectations.

The noise was small, and quiet, but it was so non-threatening that Wheeljack instinctively lowered his guard. The small human was covering her mouth with a hand, her small dark optics just barely glimmering in the moon’s light but they revealed enough of her state-of-mind to tell Wheeljack that for whatever reason, this human child was not afraid of him.

It was then that Wheeljack realized maybe his full height was a little too much, and it also made him vulnerable to other prying eyes. He carefully picked his way out of the rubble he had created, mindful of the way he moved and how heavily he stepped. The little human didn’t seem to react, other than to remove her hand from her face, presumably the humor in the moment now gone. Wheeljack spared a glance at the flattened mess he’d made, ruminating that if he’d been able to get away with his little stunt undetected before, he certainly wasn’t going to be able to now.

“Are you a fairy?”

The soft noise made Wheeljack jerk back around, the immediate source unmistakable as the human child still standing in front of him. Her expression was one of naive wonder, and it made Wheeljack uncomfortable. Human expressions were not so different from Cybertronian, and that wasn’t an expression he often saw coming from his own crew mates when they were looking at him. It was usually terror. That was usually followed by something blowing up.

Wheeljack switched his speech codex to English, rapidly filing through data banks searching for an appropriate dialect; the North American continent, United States of America, New York City—large population center and common stereotype in human popular culture. Their current coordinates were on the opposite end of the continent, but it would do because he probably needed to say something. Communicating with her in Cybertronian would not have been productive as she wouldn’t understand it.

“A fairy?” He checked the local knowledge bank—the Internet—for the definition of the word. Once he was able to ascertain the visual representation of a typical mythological creature that went by that designation, he found himself perplexed.

“Duh. You have wings.” The child’s reply pulled Wheeljack out of his internal research and brought his focus back onto her. She was pointing at something behind him, and the frankness of her voice gave the Autobot the impression that she thought this was something that should have been obvious. It dawned on him that this human child was actually giving him attitude.

Wheeljack made a show of looking where she was pointing, at first not getting her meaning until it occurred to him what she was so focused on. She was talking about his rotary fins, purely sensory-net but freely rotating from his body. They most certainly were not wings…

“Oh these?” Wheeljack replied, the soft blue illumination from the venting panels on the sides of his face blinking with each syllable of English he spoke. “They’re not wings, but highly-sensitive neuro-net transmitters that—” Wheeljack was about two-thirds of the way through his highly detailed explanation before he realized that the human was definitely not listening, and more likely that she didn’t even know what he was talking about. She now seemed more distracted by his blinking then anything else.

“Alright, they’re wings. You got me. I’m not a fairy though.”

He took care to keep his voice low and unthreatening, not wanting to scare the small human away. It was probably better to humor the child rather than outright run away and leave her with questions… that she would later go to the much more mentally capable adults to answer…

“Oh.” The little human pursed her lips, then proceeded to point at one of the venting panels on the side of his head. “Why are your ears so big? And why do they do that when you talk?” She looked genuinely interested in him, and that made him even more uncomfortable. That was on top of the mild annoyance he was beginning to feel at having to explain his anatomy to her.

A microsecond scan revealed she was referring to audio receptors. She had actually mistaken a very important component used to consistently filter heat from his advanced processor for audio receptors. He hadn’t modified audio receptors to indicate his speech after the accident that left his face catastrophically damaged. That was simply ABSURD. “These ain’t ears.” Wheeljack jabbed a thumb in the general direction of one of his panels, optics narrowed slightly until he saw the somewhat incredulous look on the human’s small face. He softened somewhat, reminding himself that he was not trying to match wits with a juvenile human. She was clearly harmless and probably lonely; what else would a single human out all by herself be feeling? Primus, he was lonely, and he was surrounded by Autobots most of the time. Perhaps now was an opportunity to gather field intel on the indigenous life forms. It was kind of nice talking to someone that wasn’t afraid of him for a change.

What harm would there be in talking to her, for just a little while?

Wheeljack lowered his height, crouching down as low as his armor plates would allow in front of the female child. “You want to know a secret?” She didn’t even flinch, but even so Wheeljack kept his distance for safety’s sake. Who knew what sort of biological pathogens she carried. Biomechanical beings weren’t completely immune from purely biological ailments, although he doubted anything she carried would pose a threat to him. The girl nodded, eagerly.

“They’re actually motion trackers,” Wheeljack lied. “And they’re so big so I can track humans like you for miles.” Alright, I’ll play along.

“Well, I found you, so they must be broken. You should get them fixed.”

“Maybe I wanted you to find me.” That obviously wasn’t true—quite the opposite in fact—but he’d kind of walked right into that one. After all, this human child had managed to catch him completely unawares, and the mess around him was the proof of that.

“Lying is bad.” Clearly, she was sharper than he was giving her credit for too. Maybe human children weren’t as stupid as he initially thought.

Wheeljack allowed himself a sly smile with what was left of his mouth behind his battle mask. It was something she couldn’t see, unless she understood the shifting of his optical lids. “You’re clever. I like you. But what are you doing out here all by yourself little...female?” He hazarded gently, unsure of what exactly he should call her. He only realized he’d made an error in judgment when her face scrunched up into something close to indignation.

“I’m a girl,” she corrected pointedly, but then for the first time her small dark optics shifted around carefully and she began to appear uncomfortable. She began to sway, as if unsure of what to do with her own body, and actually looked sad. “I ran away…”

Wheeljack struggled internally with how to process this information. Part of him didn’t want to become any more involved in her life when he shouldn’t even be talking to her. But the other part, the deeply fascinated scientist that had to know, had to know. “Okay… why did you run away?” That’s… generally a bad thing, right? The irony in the fact that it was exactly something he had done when he needed to get away from the Ark and just think was not exactly lost on him...

She didn’t say anything at first, staring awkwardly at the ground. Wheeljack tilted his head, the illumination produced from his panels when he posed the inquiry highlighting the red, blotched hue on her skin and the moisture beneath her optics. He wasn’t sure what that meant, the biological and psychological links escaping him. He thought better than to ask her, and she probably wouldn’t know how to respond anyhow. It was reasonable enough to assume that she had been distressed before blundering into him—or probably still was but he was enough of a distraction for her to temporarily forget about it.

“It’s okay, you can trust me.” For a moment the girl was entranced in the light that rapidly flashed in-time with his words when he finally spoke. She raised one hand, holding it out in front of her and watched as the blue light illuminated her skin.

“My mommy is sick, and daddy got angry with me because I broke the radio. But he’s just upset because mommy is upset…” The little girl was looking around again, clearly unsure of herself in this situation. “It was already broken, I was just trying to fix it…” She mumbled, the sound so quiet. Wheeljack had absolutely no idea what to say, and thought about offering a personal anecdote until something she said caught his interest.

“Tryin’ to fix a radio, huh? That’s quite a big job for something your size.” Wheeljack was actually mildly impressed. Imagine a human small as this one was, actually trying to fix primitive, illogical human machinery without proper training…

“No,” she finally replied, almost indifferently. ”I fixed daddy’s Internet when he didn’t know what to do, and that was way harder.” She spoke as if this was just daily routine for her, and fascinating as this was, Wheeljack had to keep the conversation moving. He was on a time-table, and needed to wrap this up.

“Well, then maybe you shouldn’t have run away little girl… he might need you to help him with that radio thing. Besides, it’s dangerous out here.” Wheeljack did his best to sound soft, but authoritative, internally wincing at how awkward it sounded coming out of his mouth. “How did you even get in here anyway?”

“I heard something and wanted to see what it was, so I came in through that hole in the fence… same way you did,” she said, motioning towards the way she’d presumably come.

“Ah, I’m a little big for a hole in the fence little one. This is no place for a human like you to be all alone.”

“You’re all by yourself,” the little girl retorted, looking snarky again. “Did you run away as well?” She looked shocked. “Did you kill somebody?”

“What…? No!”

“Are you doing crime?”

“Do I look like a Decepticon to you?” Wheeljack put his head in his hands, growing exasperated, and starting to feel mildly guilty because technically...

“What’s a...De-cep-ti-con?” It didn’t take a moment to spot the look of confusion on her face and he realized what he’d blurted out. She cocked her head as she spelled the word out slowly, ensuring she got the pronunciation right. “Are they bad? They sound bad.”

“Look, human girl, I—yes. They are bad. If you see one, and I hope to Primus you never do, I—”

“Primus? What’s that?”

Wheeljack found himself staring blankly at her, struggling to think of a way to describe to her what Cybertronians considered a God of sorts; not quite a god or a creator, but something more transcendent, yet tangible at the same time—why was he even contemplating telling her about such things that she surely wouldn’t understand? He’d committed a crime, gotten found out by Ratchet, and was now accidentally revealing top secret and deeply personal information to a tiny human girl. This was not a good night for Wheeljack.

“My name is Allison, by the way.” The human girl was looking up at him expectantly, and Wheeljack suddenly realized he had just dug himself into a very deep hole. Primus… don’t tell me your name… don’t make this harder than it already is…

“Look, little g—Allison.” Wheeljack vented air, underestimating the strength of it as it kicked up the loose strands of organic fiber on her head in a gust of heated wind. She seemed thoroughly overjoyed by this oddity. “I’m out here all by myself cause my friends can’t know I’m here. It’s a surprise… so this is our little secret, got it? You never saw me here.” Wheeljack saw an opportunity and ran with it, and the little girl named Allison nodded enthusiastically. Although, she still had a look of expectation in her eyes, and Wheeljack realized he better get it over with.

“Okay, fine. I’ve already revealed all my other secrets. My name is Wheeljack,” he said, pointing at the broadside of his chest where his Autobot insignia was. “I’m an Autobot.”

“Oh! I know what a wheeljack is. It’s that thing that fixes wheels on cars. What’s an Auto-bot? Is that like a Decepticon?” Allison looked perplexed, but genuinely interested, and he realized she would have no idea what an Autobot was. That was obvious when she seemed to stumble over the word, sounding it out in two chunks, much like she had done with Decepticon.

“No!” Wheeljack answered that one a lot faster and more indignant than he probably should have. “Autobot means I’m a good guy. Decepticons are nothing like we are.” Well that sounded ludicrous, but he didn’t know what else to say.

Allison seemed to think about it for a moment. “Okay. I trust you because you sound funny.” Wheeljack didn’t know what to make of what she’d said and whether or not it was a compliment, but he couldn’t respond before Allison followed up with another question. “What do you do, Wheeljack?”

“What do I...do?”

“Yeah. Like...what’s your job?”

“I’m a scientist. An engineer, specifically, and it’s not just a job, it’s more important than that. I help my friends stay safe by inventing useful equipment.” Wheeljack knew he was being a little loose with the word “safe.” Not all of them fit that description. “Though, I have been known to occasionally dabble in biomechanics. I recently finished writing a technical spec on the Tersial III replication and induction plate—”

“That’s neat,” Allison interjected, changing the subject. “Can I ask you something else?”

Wheeljack shrugged, sad to hear the young human wasn’t as excited about his proposed model for improving the wingspan of Tersial III quadrupeds. “Okay, sure. What is it?”

“Why do you talk funny?” This was the second time Allison had raised the issue of his voice. The question was nothing if not direct, and it then occurred to Wheeljack that he had likely made an error in judgment when picking the dialect that he did. He should have paid more attention to how she spoke.

“What’s wrong with it?” He cocked his head, now curious as to what about his choice was apparently so offensive. Instead, Allison laughed, betraying the idea that it was not so much offensive, but different.

“You sound like you’re from one of the shows my daddy likes to watch, dummy.”

Wheeljack didn’t know what a dummy was, but he assumed it wasn’t a good thing. “Doesn’t everybody talk like that around here?”

“No!” She was laughing at him again, and Wheeljack was getting frustrated. This shouldn’t have been that complicated—how many stupid dialects were there on this rock?!

“Look, I underestimated the linguistic diversity amongst your species. I didn’t realize accent was divided up by zone on this planet. It makes no sense—” He saw her expression start to go wide and realized he was losing her again. “Anyway, that was more than a question, that was two. Now it’s my turn to ask you one.”

“Okay fine.” The girl huffed, looking mildly startled and confused by his abrupt rant. Instead of the question he’d been intending to ask—that being what is the purpose of all that organic fiber on her head—Wheeljack opted for something a little more friendly. He was talking to a child, a fact of which he kept forgetting.

“Can you guess where I’m from?”

Allison looked blank for a moment, presumably trying to come up with an answer to his question. He had to stop himself from being abrupt with her. Perhaps if her experience with him was a pleasant one she was more inclined to trust him and do what he asked—that being: don’t breathe a word of this to anyone.

After a moment she shook her head, unable to even hazard a guess as to where he was from. So he pointed skyward, thinking she would get the point. But she didn’t.

“You’re from up?” In a shocking turn of events, she’d directed her optics in the vague direction of where he was pointing, looking at nothing and everything as if there was something very specific she was going to see. He probably should have felt guilty teasing a human child like this, but Wheeljack admitted to himself that this was actually a rather fun little exercise.

“Further.”

“The moon?”

“Even further!”

She thought for a while. “The sun? Pluto? A satellite?”

“No; that’s not a planet; and now you’re just guessing. The correct answer is I am from Cybertron.”

“Cybertron.” She repeated the word slowly like she did all the other ones. If anything she seemed very careful about learning new words. Primitive, but respectful. “I don’t think we have any place called Cybertron in our solar system. That must mean it’s pretty far.”

“Your deductive reasoning is correct. It is very far. Farther than you can travel in your lifetime, little one. Think of your solar system. Now think of another solar system, one that just looks like a tiny star in your sky, but it’s actually two stars! Closer than you might think, eh? Cybertron is a lonely planet that sits in the middle of Alpha Centauri, undetectable by your human technology.” He didn’t even realize that he started gesturing passionately until it was too late. “That’s where I’m from.”

Something dawned on her then, and her eyes widened. Something close to absolute joy spread across her face as something clearly now had her excited, making Wheeljack wonder if he should have just kept that detail to himself; he’d been trying to make conversation.

“You’re an alien!” Allison declared happily, clapping her small hands together in a show of positive acceptance as she put the pieces together. She was definitely smarter than he was giving her credit for, and was now practically lit up with such a revelation.

Something broke loose from within the Autobot and for a moment his perception dulled. There was an internal distraction at the edge of his awareness and he couldn’t place what it was. He lost focus and several barriers in his coding fell down all at once, unlocking a cache of programming that had been put away a very long time ago. There was a stirring of something in his spark that he hadn’t felt in eons: something warm and nurturing; he was actually starting to enjoy talking to the little human named Allison. He was afraid he was starting to care.

Whatever was happening, it was because of this girl, actually enamored and happy to be in his presence. She wanted to be around him. Autobots tended to avoid him when they could, not out of hate, but a general unease in his presence. Decepticons wanted to capture him and use him. Primus, he was lonely.

But he had to go. He couldn’t linger. If anything, his presence in her life was a danger not only to her, but to himself and the other Autobots that despite everything he still cared for. Needing to care for a human life was a liability he couldn’t risk, and there was no way he was going to let a human, much less a human child, get caught in Decepticon crosshairs. It wasn’t even his place. She needed to be back with her own parental units.

“Heh, okay, but remember, this is our secret okay?” Wheeljack leaned forward, trying to emphasis the point as gently as he could while cutting into her excitement. She nodded her understanding, but he had to make sure. “You promise?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Allison said, and she did something that Wheeljack was not expecting. She reached up and touched his face. It was such a soft, barely perceptible touch, right on the planes of his battle mask but it was enough to nearly make him rear back. It was a reaction that for sure didn’t match the level of threat she presented so it made no sense, but neither did what he actually did. He froze. He stopped moving as if the small hand on his face was going to cut him should he so much as shift in place. It was the first time he really looked the young human in her optics, and she didn’t so much as flinch as she returned his direct stare. His optics were neither unsettling or threatening to her. It was just a purely natural connection, unyielding without learned bias or mistrust.

He hadn’t even realized he’d been in arms reach, small as she was, which meant he’d really let his guard down. That frightened the large Autobot more than anything. His first time interacting with a human and he’d completely opened himself up to any number of attacks.

An attack—

Suddenly Wheeljack reared up, head snapping in the direction beyond Allison to something in the distance. He heard something approach—a vehicle, not one of his own, and he suddenly knew he had to go. Their time together was over. He looked down at Allison with a sad sense of finality that she wouldn’t be able to understand. She looked distraught, hand still hovering precariously above her head where his face had just been moments before. It was obvious she didn’t hear what he had.

“I’m sorry Allison. I have to go.”

“Why?” She sounded sad.

“Someone’s coming. Nobody else can see me, so I have to go.” He started to retreat, forcing himself to crouch back from her faster than she could catch up to him. Something tugged at his spark as the little human called after him, something Wheeljack wasn’t willing to spare another nanosecond thinking about in that moment. He had to transform, and for that he needed room.

What if it’s someone that means to do Allison harm… do humans hurt the offspring of other humans? Sadly Wheeljack knew the answer to that question. They had access to global news, and had been monitoring it for some time. I can’t be seen… but I can’t just leave her here. Maybe I can just hang back until this person passes… Pit, why did he care?

Wheeljack was thinking through how we was going to appear nonchalant as a white drag car just hanging around this ruined power station with a human child standing there, when the approaching human vehicle slowed. He heard an adult male’s voice calling Allison’s name, and thankfully Wheeljack reasoned this laid all his concerns to rest. He could leave content in knowing that her father had come to retrieve her. She finally heard it too, and she looked back in a manner which implied recognition. This gave Wheeljack the needed opportunity to leap back from her and transform into his vehicular form, the sound of which drew the girl’s attention back to him for enough time to see what he had become. It wouldn’t matter, because he’d be gone by the time her father arrived.

He couldn’t linger, a pang of guilt settling on his spark long enough to make him hesitate as he retreated but he knew he had to move on. It would be better for Allison to move on as well, so the sooner he disappeared, the better.

How wrong he was.

#transformers #wheeljack #fanfic #transformers fanfiction #transformers x oc #maccadam #transformers x reader #transformers au

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fallingforfictionalcharacterss · 1 year

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Traitor pt.1

A/N: This is the first part of my mini-series, I really hope you´ll like it. While writing this I mostly stuck to the plot of the books and not the movies, so if you haven´t read the books (for some reason, I really can´t think of now) this might be a bit confusing at some points.

You watched the fire in the fireplace dying slowly. By now, the comfortable warmth it had radiated was fading, still, you and your fellow students were crouching on the couches in front of it and stared into the glow gloomily. Today had been probably the worst day in a long row of bad days. Not only that the DA had been exposed by Umbridge and was now at its end, but also your reckless behaviour had brought Professor Dumbledore in a more than just uncomfortable position, as Harry had told you. Your headmaster was by now on the run, after he had put off Fudge and his henchmen in his office. Now, the school would be fully exposed to Umbridge´s cruel reign. You didn’t even want to think about all the things that might happen in the near future in this school that -until now- had always been a safe haven for you and your friends.

“This is all my fault.”, Harry finally broke the silence and slumped in his seat. “I should have never even started all of this.”

But Hermione was quick to shake her head eagerly.

“If anything, it is my fault. Oh, Harry, you haven´t done anything wrong. This was all my idea.”

“You didn’t even want to do this. We talked you into this, man.”, Ron confirmed.

“But I´m the one who started this. I´m the one who took the lead.”, Harry argued, visibly upset.

“It really doesn’t make sense to put the blame on any of us.”, you cut him off harshly. “This is on Umbridge. And Fudge.”

“But I should have seen this coming. I knew that Umbridge was up to no good.”

“We all knew that.”, Ron said. The boy shrugged his shoulders. “And we all knew that she was going to catch us sooner or later.”

“We can´t change what happened. What´s important now is how we´ll keep going from here.”, you said.

“We won´t do anything anymore.”, Harry stated. “It´s over. We should just forget about it.”

“But there must be something we can do.”, you persisted.

“But Umbridge has the list. She can´t prove that we´ve done something, but she knows that all of us were up to something.”, Ron argued.

Hermione´s gaze shot up and suddenly she seemed to be as energized, as she had been when she had come up with her original idea of founding the DA.

“That´s it, Ron. You´re a genius.”, she stated. Even though you could see Ron flush in the dim light of the fireplace, the look on his face was as questioningly as on Harry´s and yours. But Hermione didn’t seem to notice. “Not all of our names are on the list. Don’t you remember?”

When she grinned at you excitedly, you realized.

Back in the day when everyone had met up in the Hog´s Head, you had been lying in bed with a nasty flue, regretting bitterly that you couldn’t accompany your friends to the very first meeting of the alliance forming against Umbridge. But maybe that exact fact could somehow help you out now. Because while back on that day, everyone had signed up on Hermione´s bewitched list, you hadn’t been there to do so. And by the time of the first meeting, you, as well as your friends, had somehow forgotten about the fact, that officially, you weren’t a part of the DA yet. And if Umbridge would use the list as a register of suspects, your name wouldn’t appear.

“But she still knows that we are friends. And even if there would be no connection between me and any of you at all – what am I supposed to do about the entire situation?”, you asked.

Hermione frowned.

“We have to think of something. And we need to be careful. We can´t allow any mistakes to be made once more.”

You nodded and let out a heavy sigh as you sank back into your seat. Just like Hermione, you weren’t ready to give up the fight yet, but on the other hand, for now, you couldn’t think of a single thing you were able to do in this situation. But as you saw Hermione´s gaze fixed on the fireplace, her brows furrowed and her lips moving constantly, as she talked to herself inaudibly, you strongly suspected that she was already working on a solution for your problem.

And your determination to do something -anything- about what was happening at your school only grew the next day. Because over the night new placates had appeared all over the castle. The Educational Decree Number Twenty-Eight announced that "Dolores Jane Umbridge (High Inquisitor) has replaced Albus Dumbledore as the Head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry".

Many rumours were spreading around the entire school, suspecting what exactly had happened the day before. Surprisingly, many of them weren’t exactly wrong. At least most people were informed well enough to know that Harry had witnessed the entire scene and now he was bombarded with questions. And no matter how hard Harry tried to shield himself from the curious glances and remarks, somehow someone always found their way to him.

One of those people was Ernie Macmillan. You had always liked the Hufflepuff boy, but sometimes his constant talking got on your nerves. Today was one of those days, but then again it wasn’t that hard to appreciate his chatter, since he not only shared your aversion against Umbridge, but he also wasn’t afraid to say it out loud. And just like that, Ernie and Hermione worked themselves into a rage, gossiping about your new headmaster.

But as Hermione was using a barrage of not-exactly-friendly words to describe her, she was interrupted by a sneering voice.

“Do you really want to finish this sentence, Granger?”

You turned around, facing the boy who had interrupted Hermione´s hate speeches. Draco Malfoy had somehow managed to stalk you and was now standing behind you, accompanied by his friends Crabbe and Goyle and a superior grin on his face, making you suspect, he was up to no good.

And you were right. While the grin on Malfoy´s face only widened, he explained to you, that members of the Inquisitorial Squad had by now the authority to dock points from other students. And he promptly took advantage of his new power, as Malfoy docked five points from Hermione for running her mouth over Umbridge, and once more ten for her being a -as he referred to her- mudblood, five from Ernie for disagreeing with him, five from Ron, for not dressing properly, and five from Harry. With Harry, Malfoy didn’t even look for an excuse to dock points, simply stating that he couldn’t stand him. Finally, the Slytherin turned to you, eying you with a sly grin on his face. Until that moment you had just stood there, watching the scene quietly, simply left speechless by the audacity of the boy. You could feel your heart pumping loudly in your chest, as Malfoy´s grey eyes set on you.

“Let´s see (Y/l/n).” He paused, his eyes scanning every centimetre of your body, searching for something to criticise. You could feel your skin burning under his intense gaze. Finally, Malfoy looked up again, his grey eyes meeting yours. The smile on his face only grew wider as he said: “Five points from you for having such bad taste in friends.”

You looked at the guy in disbelief. It took you a few moments to find your ability to speak again.

“Excuse me?”, you squeezed out, as a part of you was still denying what was going on right now.

“You are excused (Y/l/n).”, Malfoy said in a haughty tone, making Crabbe and Goyle giggle meanly.

As he saw the dumbfounded look on your face, Malfoy just laughed, before he turned on his heel, and walked away.

Only when Malfoy was almost out of sight, you slowly started to process what had just happened. And with the realization setting in, you felt the anger boiling up in you.

“That stupid bastard.”, you hissed, grabbing your wand, ready to fire a nasty curse right at Malfoy´s back. “I´m gonna…”

“You won´t do anything about it (Y/n).”, Hermione cut you off, grabbing you by the wrist. “Not yet.”

“But Hermione, we can´t let him get away with that. We can´t let all of them get away with that.”, you said in a desperate voice.

“Oh, don’t worry. We won´t.”, Hermione said grimly. “And I already have an idea how we will do this.”

A few days had passed since the incident with Malfoy. You and your friends turned the situation over in your minds over and over again. And by now, you knew exactly what to do.

You walked along the corridors of the castle until you finally stopped in front of a pink-painted door. You took a deep breath and knocked.

“Come in.”

You pushed down the handle and slowly opened the door. As it swung open, you squinted. You were genuinely wondering how Umbridge was able to spend her time here. Everything was shocking pink. The walls, the accessories, even some of the furniture. By now you had no doubt that Umbridge´s preferred method of torture wasn’t as effective as if she would just lock up the students inside this room for an hour. There was no way anyone would ever want to risk getting in here ever again. As your gaze wandered, you noticed the many cat pictures on the walls. Even if the situation was more than serious, you had to fight a small smile that threatened to appear on your face. You were absolutely certain that Professor McGonagall had taken it as a personal offence when she had realized what Umbridge´s favourite pet was.

Finally, your gaze settled on the desk in the middle of the room. You could have taken the Professor for a part of her office as well since her entire outfit was matching with the walls behind her perfectly. You could see that your arrival surprised her. Umbridge raised an eyebrow questioningly, nevertheless, the toadlike smile on her face was the same as usual.

“Miss (Y/l/n). May I ask you what brings you here?”, she said. Her voice was sweet like honey, but not in a good way. You could see her eyes glistening suspiciously.

You shifted from one foot to the other, your hands buried inside the pockets of your cloak.

“I… I would like to talk to you about something Headmistress.”, you said.

Calling Umbridge like that was even harder than you had imagined. Your voice shook slightly, and you had to bring up all your courage to not pull a face in disgust. But luckily, even if Umbridge would notice how nervous you were, that wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing.

“Well, have a seat then.”, Umbridge said and pointed at the chair on the opposite side of her desk.

You mumbled a small “Thanks.” as you sat down. Umbridge placed the cup of tea she was holding in her hand on the desk and looked at you.

“So, Miss (Y/l/n), tell me. What is your concern?”

“I… would like to talk to you about… About what happened earlier… the day Professor Dumbledore… disappeared. About the DA.”

You could see Umbridge´s googly eyes widen. The corner of her mouth twitched upwards as her hands clenched around the armrest of her upholstered chair.

“The DA?”, she said in an even higher-pitched voice than usual.

“Dumbledore´s Army.”, you clarified. As if she didn’t know.

“Very well. So you confess that you have been a part of it?”

You shook your head, even if it broke your heart to do so.

“I haven’t. But I… knew. About some things.”

“Miss (Y/l/n), I really appreciate the fact that you came here. But do you really want to tell me that you haven’t been a part of all of this? That all of your friends have done those awful things, but you were completely unaware of it?”

“I wasn’t unaware of it, Professor. I simply wasn’t involved. Harry has told us that you have seen the list with all the members. You know I´m not on it.”

“And why are you telling me this?”, Umbridge said, by now sounding slightly impatient.

“Because I know that what the others have done was wrong. I knew it back then and now I´m certain. I also know that their resistance is pointless. For my part, I want to be on the right side of this. And this is yours.”

Umbridge nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on you. For a few moments, she remained quiet. Then she let out a small sigh and smiled at you sweetly.

“My dear, I feel like this is going to be a longer conversation. Would you like to have a cup of tea?”

You felt your stomach drop. You knew what was about to come, you had talked the scene through several times, yet, you could feel the palms of your hands beginning to sweat. But you put on your sweetest smile and nodded.

“Yes please.”

Umbridge returned your smile and flicked her wand. From a sideboard, a tea service flew towards you and landed on the desk. Your hands shook slightly as you raised the cup to your lips. You could feel Umbridge´s gaze burning on you. When the warm porcelain touched your lips, you squeezed your eyes, trying to focus on a certain point in front of you. And in your head, you repeated the words all over again: Evanesco. Evanesco, evanesco, evanesco.

You gulped heavily, even though your mouth was dry before you put the cup back on its saucer.

Umbridge´s gaze fell on the cup, as well as yours. You couldn’t help but let out a small sigh. The cup was by now half empty.

Umbridge, who had seen the same, nodded with a pleased look on her face.

“Tell me, how are you feeling Miss (Y/l/n)?”, she asked you in a mellow voice.

“Good.” Your voice broke. You cleared your throat. “Good. I´m just a bit nervous.”

Umbridge smiled contentedly.

“There is no need for that my dear. It´s just the two of us. And we both want the same, don’t we?” You nodded. “So, why don’t we continue where we left off?”

“The DA?”

“Exactly.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Just tell me everything you know about it.”

Umbridge leant back in her armchair and folded her hands.

“Well, I don’t know exactly much.”, you hesitated.

“That doesn’t matter. Every little detail could be important.”

You deliberated a few seconds before you started.

“They were still at the very beginning. Professor Dumbledore had asked Harry to build the group. This was supposed to be the first official meeting.”

“The first official? So there have been interactions before?”

“I only know about one. They all met up to plan everything.”

“Who is all?”, Umbridge asked.

You shrugged your shoulders.

“I can´t be sure, I wasn’t there. But I suspect everyone from the list.”

“And what was your plan? What did you want to achieve with those meetings?”

“As I already said, I wasn’t a part of that.”, you pointed out. “But I know Dumbledore has asked Harry to teach the students how to fight.”

Umbridge´s hands clenched around her own cup of tea.

“To fight?”, she whispered breathlessly.

You nodded.

“Dumbledore held the view that the purely theoretical teaching in Defence Against The Dark Arts wasn’t enough. He wanted us to gain practical experience. And in his eyes, we didn’t do so in your class.”

“Obviously just an excuse.”, Umbridge interrupted you. “His goal was clearly a different one. The only purpose of this association was to form an army to bring down the ministry.”

“I don’t think so.”, you busted out. You bit your lip the very next moment, regretting your words.

But Umbridge didn’t seem to care. She threw you a compassionate smile.

“My dear, I totally understand that you want to think so. He had been your headmaster ever since you attended this school. But you have to understand that Dumbledore isn’t the man you all thought he was. Do you understand?”

By now, you bit your lip so hard, you could taste the metallic flavour of your own blood. But you nodded anyway.

“It´s just… so hard, you know? I always thought he was such a great man. And now he has done all those awful things. In the beginning, I thought that he might be innocent, but now that he´s on the run… I mean, why should he disappear when he isn’t guilty? But all of my friends still believe in him. And now they are all turning against me, just because I have doubts.”

Who hadn’t any doubts anymore, was Umbridge about your sincerity. By now you were absolutely certain that you had pulled the woman on your side. She tilted her head and threw you a -what she thought was- warm smile.

“I know my dear. But I can assure you that you have done the exact right thing. I am very proud of you.”

About half an hour later, you were still sitting in Umbridge´s office. The tea had by now gotten cold. Your Professor had asked you several questions about the DA, Professor Dumbledore and your friends. You had answered all the questions patiently.

“Well, I think that´s it. For now.”, Umbridge finally said with a sly grin on her face. “Or is there anything else you think you have to tell me?”

You pondered for a moment.

“The Galleons.”, you finally said. “The members were handed bewitched Galleons to communicate with one another.”

Umbridge nodded eagerly and scribbled down something on the pink parchment in front of her, which she had started to use halfway through to make sure she would remember every small detail you told her. Then she put down her quill and looked at you.

“Thank you very much, my dear. I really appreciate your effort. And it will be rewarded. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

You smiled.

“Thank you, Headmistress.”

Umbridge mirrored your smile.

“You earned it. You know what I told you. Good students will be rewarded, while bad students will be punished. Congratulations Miss (Y/l/n), you really honoured your house today. You have been really brave indeed.” Oh, if she only knew how much you had been. “You may leave now.”

You thanked the Professor with a sweet smile on your face and got up. When you had almost reached the door, you stopped.

“Headmistress?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“My friends… They won´t get in trouble for what I have told you, will they? I mean, I know what they have done wasn’t right, but I´m sure they wouldn’t have done it if they wouldn’t have been talked into it.”

“Don’t worry. I am very much aware of the bad influence Dumbledore had on his students. But from now on, that will change.” She threw you a tight-lipped grin. “So please tell your friends that from now on they will be responsible for their actions. And if they decide to keep on showing bad manners, I will take action.”

“I highly doubt that they will still listen to me after what I have done today.”, you responded glumly.

“They will understand that what you have done was for the good of all.”, Umbridge said softly.

You nodded.

“Thank you for your time, Headmistress.”

“Any time, my dear.”

Only when you pushed down the handle, Umbridge held you back once more.

“Miss (Y/l/n)?”

“Yes Headmistress?”

“Why don’t you attend the next meeting of the Inquisitorial Squad? By now there aren’t any Gryffindors in the group. But I want all students to be represented. I am sure we all can benefit from this collaboration.”

If she only knew how much you would benefit from this.

“I would love to. Thank you, Headmistress.”

And with that, you finally left.

But as you returned to the Gryffindor common room, the other students threw you some deadly glances and whispered with one another. And for the rest of the day, no one said a word to you, and everyone treated you with contempt.

pt.2

Taglist: @xodracomalfoyxo @marigold-morelli @army24—7 @lbhmoon @cappgyuccino @writingwitch007

#draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco x female reader #draco x you #draco x y/n #draco fluff #draco angst #draco fanfiction #draco fic #harry potter #dolores umbridge #gregory goyle #hermione granger #ron weasley #vincent crabbe #gryffindor #gryffindor reader #slytherin #fanfic

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