#going back to our primitive days

[opheliathegreekgoddess]

my sister and i bought supernatural dvds and those are gonna be children of divorce when we move out

[wildsaltair]

one night, Maximus! one night and then a lifetime PLEASE I am begging you

[rhq2744]

Sorry for the ugliness of the view, or should I be the one sorry or the occupation? Of course, dear reader, you could not bear the ugliness of the scene, but what should I and my family say? We have been here since the third of December,

[ vertified by @nabulsi and @el-shab-hussein , num.221 on fundraising list ! ]

See the evidence below !

Note, the iron thing in the picture in the back is the primitive oven in which we bake our daily bread using firewood and plastic. CAN YOU IMAGINE ????!!!!!!! Is your food covered in sewage, urine and feces? Sorry for the words but this is crazy, I'm going to lose my mind!

We have been here since the third of December,in addition to the filth and waste, it explodes daily due to the presence of 30,000 thousand displaced people. It explodes and the place here is flooded with filth, sewage and dirt. It is definitely a hotbed of diseases. Why do I and my family have to live, sleep, eat and cook here?????? Do you see this little threshold? A few centimeters that separate us and it's not enough, a lot of insects and worms,If you go out with your shoes, they will get dirty and dirt will enter inside. We are inevitably stuck in dirt. Is there a decent person who would be satisfied with a life like this? I am tired. We are all exhausted by the disease. Everyone is here with yellow eyes and epidemic hepatitis. Everyone is like a zombie because of this tragic and inhuman situation in which we live. My family does not leave the bed due to the severity of illness and fatigue. [is there a bed? Of course NO, we sleep on the floor, specifically on dirt, but unfortunately we have begun... We get used to the tent like a house and we use its terminology. This habit and habituation is killing me. I cannot accept and do not want anyone to accept the humiliation we are experiencing Or try to beautify it in any way.]

If you would like to help even a little for my family, please do not hesitate for a moment. It is an unbearable situation. Our lives have been destroyed. Or you can help spread the link to our family to someone who might be able to help. Thank you for reading. Have a good day. At least someone should be happy today.

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/u/0/d/1yYkNp5U3ANwILl2MknJi9G7ArY4uVTEEQ1CVfzR8Ioo/htmlview

[thighsa]

sex slave nmixx on a private island being used by their master? just not a gangbang please!

Request :

AZURE WHISPERS

NMIXX Sullyoon and Kyujin X Tribe

Warning : Non Con Smut (please don't read if you don't like it, thanks!)

"What the fuck is this place? Where are we?" Sullyoon groaned as she stumbled off the boat, her voice a mix of exhaustion and irritation. The salty sea air filled her nose and the rocky shore bit into her bare feet.

"I thought you liked adventure, Sully," Kyujin giggled, her youthful eyes sparkling with excitement. "It's like our own private island!"

Sullyoon rolled her eyes, her long black hair sticking to her sweaty forehead. "Adventure, yes. Being marooned on a shithole, no."

Their manager, a middle-aged man with a perpetual sheen of sweat, waved his hands dismissively. "Girls, please. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for rest and relaxation."

The two young women looked around skeptically at the dense jungle and the primitive huts that made up their "vacation resort." They were the newest members of K-Pop's hottest girl group, Nmixx, and this was supposed to be their chance to unwind after a grueling world tour. But so far, the only thing that was unwinding was Sullyoon's patience.

Their first night on the island, they were both woken by strange noises - the rustling of leaves and the faint echo of distant chanting. "It's just the wind," Kyujin had murmured, trying to comfort herself as much as Sullyoon. They clung to each other, whispering in the dark, until the sounds of the jungle finally lulled them back to sleep.

But when the sun rose the next day, their carefree vacation turned into a living nightmare. The tribe that called the island home had other plans for their celebrity guests. Bound and gagged, the girls were dragged through the underbrush, the thorns tearing at their clothes and skin. The air grew thick with the scent of fear and the acrid tang of sweat.

In the heart of the island, in a clearing surrounded by torches and leering faces, they were presented to the tribe's leader. He was a towering man, his body covered in intricate tattoos and adorned with bones and feathers. His eyes gleamed with a hunger that made Sullyoon's stomach drop.

"Welcome to our island," he growled in a language they didn't understand. "You will serve us well."

Sullyoon's heart hammered in her chest as she took in the scene before her. The tribe was a collection of fierce-looking men and women, their bodies painted and scarred, holding an assortment of crude weapons. The fear in Kyujin's eyes reflected her own, and she could feel the younger girl's trembling against her.

The leader barked out an order and the ropes binding their wrists were untied. The sudden relief was short-lived as their captors pushed them down onto the hard earth. Rough hands tore at their clothes, leaving them exposed and vulnerable in the dirt. The crowd jeered, reaching out to grope and poke at their bare skin.

Sullyoon's mind raced, trying to think of a way out of this nightmare. She'd heard of islands like this before, where modern civilization had never reached, and she knew the kind of fate that awaited them. But she wasn't about to go down without a fight.

Kyujin whimpered as a particularly brutish man approached, his intentions clear. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to her feet, and she stumbled, trying to keep her balance. He tore her shirt away, revealing her small, perky breasts. The crowd roared in approval.

Sullyoon's eyes narrowed, and she balled her fists, ready to spring into action. But before she could do anything, she felt the sharp sting of a slap across her face, and another man pulled her to her feet.

The leader stepped forward, his gaze lingering on their trembling bodies. "You will learn to serve," he said in broken Korean, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "And if you are very good, you may even come to enjoy it."

The two Nmixx members were led to separate huts, the doors slammed shut behind them with a finality that sent a shiver down their spines. The sounds of the jungle grew distant, replaced by the muffled cries and grunts of the tribe's sick games.

Sullyoon felt the bonds around her ankles tighten, and the rough fabric of a sack was pulled over her head. She was hoisted onto a makeshift wooden frame, her limbs stretched wide. The air was hot and sticky, and she could feel the sweat pooling in the small of her back.

The sound of footsteps grew closer, and she braced herself for the horror she knew was coming. The sack was ripped away, and she was met with the leering faces of several of the tribe's men. One approached, his erection obvious through his loincloth, and she could smell the musk of his lust.

Her mind screamed for her to fight back, but her body was held firmly in place. The man leaned in, his breath hot and sour on her face, and whispered, "You will be ours now." With that, he claimed her mouth in a brutal kiss, his tongue forcing its way past her clenched teeth.

Kyujin, meanwhile, was on her knees, the leader's hand tangled in her hair as he forced her to perform an unspeakable act. Her eyes were wide with shock and pain, and she gagged around his thickness.

The days turned into a blur of humiliation and pain. The tribe used the girls in every way they could imagine, pushing them to their limits and beyond. The screams of their group members echoed through the night, a constant reminder of their new reality.

Sullyoon's mind grew numb, the only thing keeping her going was the thought of escape. But with each passing day, hope grew fainter, and she feared that they would never leave the island.

The tribe's cruelty knew no bounds. They were whipped, bound in agonizing positions, and subjected to brutal, unrelenting sex. The girls were no longer the glamorous idols they had been, but mere playthings for the savages' twisted desires.

One evening, as the sun set and painted the sky a deep, foreboding red, the leader approached their shared hut. He carried a whip in one hand and a twisted smile on his lips.

"Tonight, we have a special ceremony," he announced, his eyes glinting in the firelight. "One of you will be chosen to become the bride of the jungle."

Sullyoon felt a jolt of terror at his words. A bride? To what kind of monster? She looked over at Kyujin, who had gone pale, her eyes wide with horror. The younger girl's hands were shaking as she clutched at the tattered remnants of her clothes.

The leader stepped closer, stroking Kyujin's cheek with a finger that left a trail of grime. "You," he said, his voice low and menacing. "Come here."

Kyujin's eyes darted to Sullyoon's, pleading for help, but there was nothing she could do. The other girls in the group had already suffered unspeakable things, and now it was Kyujin's turn.

The ceremony was a twisted mockery of any wedding they had ever seen. The leader painted Kyujin's body with a foul-smelling paste, and the tribe danced around them, chanting in their incomprehensible language. The air was thick with the smell of burning herbs and the sound of drums.

The leader stripped Kyujin completely, displaying her naked and trembling before the entire tribe. He then proceeded to bind her to a large wooden stake in the center of the clearing, her wrists and ankles secured with thick, rough ropes that dug into her skin.

The man was massive, his muscles rippling in the firelight. He bent Kyujin over the stake, her small frame quivering as she tried to resist. But she was no match for his brute strength. He positioned himself behind her, and without preamble, he plunged into her anus with a roar of triumph.

Kyujin's scream was piercing, a sound that would haunt Sullyoon's nightmares for the rest of her life. She had to clench her teeth to keep from crying out herself, but she knew that any sign of weakness would only make things worse.

The leader took his time, savoring Kyujin's pain and the power he had over her. And as she watched, Sullyoon realized that this wasn't just about sex. It was about domination, about breaking them down until they were nothing more than objects to be used and discarded.

But she wasn't going to let that happen. Not to Kyujin, not to any of them. As the leader's attention was fully on Kyujin, she began to work at the ropes around her wrists, feeling for any slack. If she could just get one hand free, she might be able to do something.

The ceremony went on for what felt like an eternity, the sounds of Kyujin's suffering echoing through the jungle. After almost an hour of continuous anal rape, finally, the leader withdrew, and Kyujin's limp body was lowered to the ground, her anus was gaping wide enough as Sullyoon saw the tribe leader's cum dripping out from Kyujin's young anus.

"Now, the others may partake," the leader declared, gesturing to the eager tribe members who had been waiting in line.

Two of the burliest guards grabbed Sullyoon by the arms, pulling her to her feet and forcing her to watch as Kyujin was brutally used. They secured her to a nearby tree, the bark biting into her skin as they bound her wrists tightly. She struggled, but their grip was like iron, and she was powerless to do anything but watch in horror as one man after another approached Kyujin's ravaged body.

The first few men were rough, their thrusts deep and uncaring, their grunts of pleasure mixing with Kyujin's cries of pain. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the air, punctuated by the occasional thud of a fist against Kyujin's backside. Despite the pain she was in, Kyujin's training kicked in, and she managed to keep herself in a position that allowed for the least amount of pain, but it was clear she was in agony.

As the men took their turns, Sullyoon felt a growing sense of anger and desperation. Her eyes searched the shadows for any sign of escape or rescue, but there was none. The tribe reveled in their brutality, cheering and shouting as Kyujin's body was violated over and over again.

Tears streamed down Sullyoon's face as she watched the girl she had come to care for so deeply be reduced to a whimpering mess of pain and despair. The guards holding her in place laughed at her plight, their grip tightening with every sob that tore from Kyujin's lips.

One by one, the men approached Kyujin, their eyes gleaming with a hunger that was all too familiar now. Each thrust was a declaration of their power over her, and she could do nothing but endure. Her anus was torn and bloody, the delicate tissue stretched beyond what any human should have to bear.

Sullyoon's thoughts grew dark, her mind racing with plans for vengeance. She would not let this be their end. Her fingers moved surreptitiously behind her back, working at the knots that bound her wrists. Her nails dug into the ropes, the pain a small price to pay for the chance at freedom.

The night grew darker, the firelight flickering over the scene of carnage. Kyujin's cries grew weaker, her body no longer able to respond to the relentless assault. The leader took her again, his cruel smile never faltering as he forced himself into her gaping wound, pushing her to the very edge of consciousness.

Finally, unable to take anymore, Kyujin's body went limp, her eyes rolling back in her head. The leader stepped back, panting and sated, his member still erect and smeared with blood and excrement. The tribe grew quiet, the only sound the crackle of the fire and the distant call of the jungle's nocturnal creatures.

"Now," the leader said, turning his gaze to Sullyoon. "It is your turn."

The guards released her, and she stumbled forward, her legs wobbly from the effort of staying upright. The leader approached her, his hand outstretched. "You will be the bride of the jungle," he said, his voice low and menacing. "You will bear our children and ensure our line continues."

Sullyoon's mind reeled. This wasn't just about rape and domination; they wanted to use her to breed. She felt a cold fury build in her chest, a fiery determination to survive, to fight back. But she knew that she was outnumbered, outmatched. For now, she had to play along.

The leader's hands roamed her body, his touch as cold as a serpent's. He ripped away the last of her clothes, leaving her just as exposed and vulnerable as Kyujin had been. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, and she could feel the eyes of the entire tribe on her.

He forced her down onto the altar, her legs spread wide for everyone to see. She gritted her teeth, her eyes locked on Kyujin's still form. The first man approached her, his eyes hungry and his member thick and engorged. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come.

The man didn't bother with gentle touches or sweet words. He simply plunged into her, filling her to the brim with his hardness. Sullyoon bit back a scream, her nails digging into the wood beneath her. The pain was unbearable, a white-hot agony that shot through her core.

One after another, the tribe members took their turn, each one more brutal than the last. She could feel her body growing sore, her pussy stretching to accommodate their massive sizes. The leader watched with a twisted smile, occasionally barking out an order or joining in when the mood struck him.

The night grew long, and the stars above her were cold and uncaring as the men continued to use her. Her mind retreated into a place of darkness, focusing on the sound of the ocean waves in the distance, trying to block out the cacophony of the tribe's grunts and Kyujin's whimpers.

As the last man pulled out of her, she felt the warmth of his seed spurt across her thighs. Her pussy was a mess, filled with the cum of so many men, dripping down to the earth below. The leader approached, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"You will bear many strong sons for us," he said, his voice thick with lust.

Sullyoon managed a weak nod, her body trembling with exhaustion. The guards untied her from the altar and dragged her back to their hut, where she collapsed onto the dirty floor, her mind and body broken.

The days that followed were a blur of pain and degradation. The tribe used both of them without mercy, taking turns in their hut and often bringing them out for public display. Kyujin was barely conscious most of the time, her eyes glazed over with pain and fear.

Sullyoon felt a cold resolve settle in her heart. They were no longer the glamorous K-Pop stars they had once been; they were now the tribe's playthings, to be used and discarded at will. Yet, amidst the horror, she found a spark of defiance, a fierce determination to survive.

The tribe had no concept of mercy, and every day was a new form of hell. They were subjected to the most depraved acts imaginable, their bodies pushed to the brink of endurance. The men took them in every way possible, leaving no part of their being untouched by their brutality.

The only respite they had were the brief moments when they were allowed to tend to their wounds, which had become a grim daily ritual. They whispered plans of escape, but the island was vast, and the tribe's vigilance unyielding. The hope of rescue had long since vanished, replaced by the harsh reality of their new lives.

One day, as Sullyoon lay on the ground, her body bruised and sore, she overheard some of the tribe members talking. They spoke of a ship that would come in a few days, a ship that would bring more 'gifts' from the outside world. Her eyes widened with a glimmer of hope. If they could somehow get free, maybe they could signal for help or stow away.

The night before the ship was due to arrive, the tribe held another ceremony. The leader approached them with a new set of ropes, a sadistic glint in his eye. "You will both perform for our guests," he said, his voice dripping with anticipation. "You will show them what good little pets you have become."

Sullyoon and Kyujin were brought before the entire tribe, their bodies slick with oil and their wrists bound to a thick wooden pole. They were forced to perform a lewd dance to entertain the guest, their bruised and beaten forms moving in time to the pounding of the drums. The men watched with hungry eyes, waiting for their turn.

THE END

[nonbinarypirat]

Palome and Kirio

I think we should talk about the similarities between Palome and Kirio. Obviously the story of Palome is a work of fiction within the universe of Iruma-kun created as a group effort between Beem, Iruma, Silvy, and Marnie but the similarities between them are very clear. Palome was a demon who wanted to be accepted by her peers and put herself out only to be ridiculed. From this trauma, she derived pleasure from the experience rather than the typical pain she should have felt. This is not just a sporadic “oh I love the look of despair now!” This came from her deep seated insecurity, previous trauma, and self hatred. Just like Kirio, she has been constantly rejected and to save her from the trauma, her brain derived pleasure from the sensation.

However, we then learn that the only reason she came to this conclusion was because of her sadistic sister. Galna manipulated her their entire relationship and probably contributed to her ostracism. She used Palome’s distress to her benefit to make her loose her mind and spend the rest of her days as a painting. Only to become an even more dangerous painting to one up her sister for the final time.

While Amy came to the conclusion himself to shield himself from the trauma of constant isolation, Baal has also used and twisted his desire from his own gain. A vulnerable young demon who is confused and looking for connection with deep seated issues? That’s the perfect victim to recruit into your budding cult. Kirio may have already been on the track to origins but Baal grew the likelihood and has since been using him. I mean, their relationship is just plain not healthy? A little back and forth teasing is great and all but the abuse he spit at Amy when we first learned about him is just not normal. But for Kirio, he’s the first person he sees as understanding him and when we are talking about evil schemes, this type of relationship is fine right? Idk, it’s just very interesting for Nishi to make a fake character with this type of story when we have a character so similar to Palome. I don’t believe it was an accident. I think we as the audience are supposed to see this, recognize their similarities, and connect all the details.

More evidence pointing towards this is during the Walter Park arch. When Elizabetta is in the shelter, she takes it on herself to take care of the children there. Obviously they are scared out of their minds and confused on what’s going on. From her thoughts we learn that this stressful experience could cause them to have severe issues with their evil cycles or even turn to origins. From this, we know that trauma is one of the root causes for returning to origins. Now I don’t believe it’s the only way, there may just be demons more prone to this line of thinking. Demons who were just born more "primitive." But it’s clear that this is a psychological issue that, if not addressed, can turn to deadly consequences.

The parallels between these two is very curious and it makes me wonder about how Kirio will end up. Will he too be trapped in a "frame," unable to come back to himself and falling too much into the deep end to recover? With this ending, it seems that Baal has won and there's nothing left to do other then to one up him after Kirio has served his purpose. He will fashion himself into a grander painting that will be feared by all that look upon it (or at least, that's his hope). Or will Kirio find a middle ground and escape his fate of being internally trapped in the painting? Will the story have a different end for him? Only our lord and savior Nishi will know the answer.

(Also, I meant to post this a looooong time ago during the haunted house arch but better late than never as they say. Sorry for taking a long time in between posts, college is destroying my brain but I'm surviving.)

[thephantomsdream]

so I've been reading real published romance books and they cannot fill the void that ao3 and company do fill, but they did give me an idea. ok, lmfao, hear me out. (I've had this in my drafts for way too long, i decided to release it because why tf not)

content: alien!141, soulmates!141, abduction, intergalactic human trafficking, space shit; very vague idea of anything ever; probably made up alien names; writer is at work while dealing with annoying costumers so it's rushed and dumb.

imagine:

Good ol' you, in your house, unaware that in the deep, vast universe, trafficking also existed. Not long ago, a reptilian race found out about our warm bodies, interesting features and intelligent yet primitive brains, and started to abduct and sell men and women to rich buyers. It was good business, especially considering our side of the universe wasn't even aware of extraterrestrial life, so they couldn't even guess where they disappeared! The treaty and all intergalactic laws were vague about us. "Let them be" meaning "Let them fuckers figure their shit out, lol idk".

Well, as you can understand, the Sheh'deauz (lmfao stay with me) decided to in fact not let us be. So back to lovely you, yeah?

Home alone, playing videogames or something, when suddently you see some flashes of light out the window. It was weird considering it wasn't raining but you remained calm, as you assumed maybe a storm is approaching? Mainly, you couldn't give a shit but the moment you heard scratching and hissing outside your door, you panicked. Long story short, your house slowly started filling with an invisible gas that just made you pass out, but you did see your door opening, same weird blue-white light emanating from under it as it did, and a scaly leg entering your home as you fell on the floor.

You figured, as the genius that you were, that you were, in fact, not dreaming as you spent many hours (days? felt like days) in a cage. Very oddly technologically advanced. In another strike of genius, and of course, after seeing your kidnappers, you figured it was a spaceship and you were in some deep sci-fi shit. (maybe after laughing and asking them where are the hidden cameras. i would...)

After throwing tantrums and having the ugly multi-colored creatures mock you and hiss at you, you kinda gave up and sat by the very human bed you've been given and allowed time to pass. You were given food every so often, a toilet nearby, water at your disposal. But you feared for your life.

Well, let me tell you something. You have the luckiest misfortune of all, really. Or maybe, just maybe, things are meant to be this way. Maybe it was all meant to happen like this. Allow me to explain.

In another corner of the universe, four of the greatest warriors of the Intergalactic Army frowned at a holographic screen. A female alien, older, still beautiful, ethereal looking, skin creamy white with some lavender edges and striking blue eyes was frowning back.

"You're fucking kidding me." Their captain said (in a different language than ours but your writer here is multi-lingual, don't worry), getting closer to the screen. She just nodded, rubbing her forehead.

"Where is that again?" Asked another.

"So like—" a third one, this one with a distinct accent compared to the others, tilted his head incredulously. "They're our cousins genetically?"

"You can say so." She groaned. "The Council decided to not touch that part of the galaxy. They are being observed. Fucking hell! They were going on the right path."

"If they don't destroy their own planet before." The captain muttered, voice tired and coarse. In his many, many years lived, he's seen it happen again and again. Greed and stupidity almost whipped their race, so he's been following the Terrans close-by, as close as a mere Intergalactic Task Force Captain (stick with me lmfao) could follow.

"So what's the plan?" The tallest one asked, mask made of what others assumed was one of his most dangerous prey's skull was placed on his face.

"We give them hell." Captain commanded, Laswell nodding.

"Stay close, at the outskirts of their galaxy. We intercept any package and find their buyers."

"What do we do with our lil cousins then?"

"Eliminate any witnesses."

Shit went down really quick. You figured they were preparing for something as the guards by your cell somehow summoned some advanced looking chairs from the walls to strap themselves on and hissed at you mockingly, as they've done before. You just sat in a corner, by the bed, and wanted to cry. You were going through all stages of grief every few hours and it was getting exhausting. You were just now starting to understand how dire your situation was and how little chances you had of going home.

They turned off the main lights and a thousand scenarios crossed your mind. It was as if they were bracing for something. You frowned as you saw the guards tense as some alien hieroglyphics appeared on a holographic screen. It looked... like a countdown... You grasped the bed, trying to brace yourself for something. And good that you did because it felt as if the ship collapsed with something.

It basically shook you off to the ground, and while you'd think this was supposed to happen, you quickly realize it wasn't since the guards unstrapped themselves from the chairs and started shrieking as alarms suddently blared. After that? Seconds and it was over. Two white blasts ended them both, hitting them exactly in the middle of their ugly skulls. You did not hear any footsteps but you saw a shadow approaching your cell, so you scurried closer to your bed and now presumably magic shield that will block blasts that melt alien skulls.

The barriers from your cell unlocked, sliding to the sides and someone jumped in front of you. Someone big, dressed sleekly in black, although you could swear the edges of his frame looked transparent for a second. It was big, yet had the complexity of a human so you stayed locked in place, big scared eyes on the person pointing a big son-of-a-bitch gun at you. You heard it growl and speak something shortly, and the hairs on your whole body pricked.

World stopped for Price as he cracked another neck, just after locking eyes with the leader of this "cargo" ship. He was about to take a step forward to gently guide this person towards personal enlightenment by confessing all the information they needed, even if it would be involuntarily, when Soap spoke... well, growled just one word in their comms.

"Mate."

[raileurta]

Miko's wings

Have a good idea for a au. Miko when she first arrived in the US sees someone with a keychain tail, she thinks it's really interesting and asks about it. The stranger kindly explained to her how they bought it and why. This greatly interests Miko so researches it online; while looking so sees people even make horns, wigs, all types of stuff but the thing that catches her attention is people wearing wings. She really liked the aesthetic appeal of it so she decided to make own.

They are bat inspired and sewn onto a sleeveless jacket. She treats them like they are actually a part of her body and feels wrong if she doesn't wear them. (Can relate)

If someone were to make a comment about how it's not really attached she will try to gaslight them into believing her.

The bots not really knowing a lot about humans assume Miko wings are real and treat it as such. So one day after Miko sneaked onto another mission she obviously got caught in the crossfire and an attack from starscream meant for an autobot grazed her back. Besides from some minor burns she is pretty much injured but for some reason the autobots are looking at her like she just killed their puppy. Then she notices that she doesn't feel the familiar flap of weight turning on her back. When she takes a look behind her she sees that her wings are obligated. Bulkhead is beyond furious as a flyer himself he never thought starscream sink so low to take lanother's wings.

Among Cybertronians or more generally flyers it's considered abhorrent to permanently take away the ability of flight from someone especially a sparkling. Even Megatron would be hard pressed to do this. A flyer that can't take to the skies will slowly go insane before they just break.

A bot can fix a destroy wing easily so it doesn't matter if another bot targets them in battle but a human can't. They can't regenerate a limb and with our "primitive technology" no tech replacement will allow someone to truly fly again.

Bulkhead curses out starscream for doing something so horrible to his sparkling charge. Starscream is beyond mortified with himself, he didn't know the little organic had wings! He flies off into the sky not knowing what to do with himself.

Miko is immediately rushed back to base afterwards to address her injuries. While she's bummed about her wings Miko notices that bots are taking it harder than her. She quickly figures what's going on so she tries to rectify the situation. "Don't be sad guys can't fly with them so I'm not missing out on anything." This translates in the bots' minds that Miko was so young she couldn't have the chance to fly yet. Needless to say this just makes them feel worse.

Starscream also has this misunderstanding so obviously he feels like shit. He feels so guilty in fact he builds Miko a new set of wings for her. They would attach to her spine/nervous system so she could feel and move them as they were a part of her. She loves them of course. When Miko gets the hang of them she'll be feared by all decepticons as she quickly becomes a flying menace.

[tinydefector]

SEEKER TRINE VENTS

The Seeker trine x human (separate)

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: swearing, injury

Skywarp masterlist

Starscream masterlist

Thundercracker masterlist

_____________

Based on this photo

Starscream 

Small noises of displeasure fell from their lips as they scrub grime off of Starscream, the mech had been rather vocal about how much he hated earth and the muck that would get itself stuck in his vents, ledges and creases of his armour.

 "How do you get so much stuff wedged in here?" They ask in annoyance. Starscream vented heavily as they scrubbed at his plating, not bothering to conceal his distaste for the task. As one such pesky piece of debris came loose, he huffed derisively.  

"You organic creatures are so primitive, dragging all manner of filth into our ship. Your flimsy exteriors offer no protection from this planet's foul substances." 

The human scowled up at him, unamused by his answer. He continued more dourly, "The intricate grooves and seams of Cybertronian plating are evidently well-suited for trapping debris, as I've discovered to my irritation. “Your "muck", as you call it, works its way deep within joints and transformation seams, which it then proves vexing to dislodge." His brow ridge drew down in a scowl.

He remained still while the human tended to him, but he dared not harm them and risk angering Megatron. For now, he bit back any further complaints.

"Oh yes, the primitive who somehow can keep themself cleaner than you. Stop being such a pissbaby " They shoot back as they scrub the soapy water across his wings.

 "You'd think highly advanced Cybernetic aliens would have a way to deal with this" they tease. The soapy sponge scrubbing against the insignia.

Starscream scoffed haughtily at the human's insolence.

 "And yet here you are, assigned the menial task of removing such filth from my plating." He vented in irritation as the sponge scrubbed over a particularly caked-on patch of grime, the insignia proudly displayed upon his wings now slowly becoming visible once more. 

"Make no mistake, human, had I been leader of the Decepticons we would not be on this wretched planet to begin with." His plating gave an involuntary shiver as a transformation seam was ruthlessly scoured.

If Starscream had been bipedal at that moment he would be looking down at them with a fixed and pointed glare. "Now cease your prattling and get on with the task, unless you wish to spend the remainder of the day at it!" he Snarled, he felt humiliated having someone else clean him, but some of The areas he just couldn't reach himself.   

"Mimimi" they make the whiny little nose at Starscream as they use his wing to drop down onto the floor as they begin checking the underside of his wing, scrubbing more groves. Starscream's wings twitched in irritation as the human scampered down to scrub at his undercarriage. 

 before they move towards the Jets vents. "Fucking hell you have that many leaves wedged in here!." They state. "Be careful! many of those plates are far more sensitive than exterior armour." He snarled sharply as they crawled up into the vent grabbing leaves and debris slowly dislodging them from hidden seams and vents.

 "Seeker frames such as mine offer countless nooks and crannies for debris to work itself deep within." A particularly stubborn clump came free, causing his vents to shudder involuntarily. They roll their eyes at him. "You can just say thank you, no need to be a prick Stars" their voice somewhat echoes and reverberates off his plating as they grab even more handfuls of leaves, throwing them out while they begin scrubbing the more sensitive plating.

Starscream shutters as his voice hitched as the human's hands scraped roughly against his more delicate vent internals. "Mind your hands, I'm not your toy!" he snapped, wings twitching in irritation. "Do not manhandle so crudely.” He cries out before going quietly, he feels defiled. 

Despite his complaints, he had to admit some relief as handfuls of debris were cleared away. "Can you not work quicker?" he groused. "Your primitive fingers pale in comparison to a proper Cybertronian sanitation cycle. And lingering here invites further filth and dirt with every moment." His plating flared, venting a burst of hot air to dislodge any remaining flecks. It puffs a collection of dust and dirt at the human who begins coughing and cursing him out. “ fuck you Starscream, trying to kill me!” After they finish having a choking fit they shoot him a glare. 

"Oh I'm so sorry that you can't clean your own vents" they remark in a snarky tone the soapy water seeps in and begins dislodging the other dirt and grim. Their eyes linger realising that his vents were much more spacious than they had expected. They scoot further in. They run their hand across a large 'scar' that is on the inside of the vent, fingers ever soft again the large grove. "Who did this to you?" They ask softly, their anger from before fading almost non existent. Starscream vented sharply as their hand lingers over an old wound. 

"A battlefield skirmish on Cybertron, an Autobot believed shoving a blade into my vent would end me " he replied tersely. "Such scars often remain, embedded in our armour's self-regenerating molecular structure. They serve as reminders of battles won and lost." 

His voice hitched as delicate sensor nodes were brushed. "Remove your hands, you have completed your task," Starscream stated curtly. While thorough cleansing was necessary to dislodge filth, he had limits to how much manhandling by fleshy human digits he would tolerate. 

 His plating rippled in a not so subtle threat, but he never let anyone touch his scars. The sooner this indignity was over, the better. They let out a soft huff and slowly slide themselves back out of the vents, moving towards the other buckets of water. Grabbing it and throwing the icy cold water across the soapy areas.

Starscream gasped sharply as the human doused him with the frigid rinse water, his armour plating clamping down tightly in response to the uncomfortable temperature differential. 

"Primus, have you no care for My paint?!" he snapped irritably. "That was Cold!” He cries out again. Nonetheless, it washed away the remaining suds caught in seams and joints. His plating gave a few experimental flutters to normalise to the temperature. 

That let out a laugh as they fill the bucket from the water punnet and proceeding with the next wing. "It's not my fault the water is so cold, don't you like a little cold water?" They call out teasing him again as they rinse the soap and grime off of starscream, even flushing out his vents to make sure they were clean.

Starscream flinched as frigid rinse water splashed over his plating once more, droplets seeping into seams and joints. "Primus, have mercy. Must you freeze my circuits,?!" he Shout irritably. "How anyone stands your planet's wretched temperatures is beyond me” 

He snapped his intake shut tightly, vents expelling a sharp burst of hot air to fully purge any remaining moisture. Though loath to rely on such crude organic methods, Starscream's newly cleaned plating shone as triumphant as ever. The human had proven. sufficient, if barely, for their demeaning chore. 

They squeal as Starscream transforms, grabbing them and lifting them up optic level. They laugh more, and for once Starscream finds it almost delightful how their voice echoes of the different frequencies. Even if they were a pest at the best of times. "Well look at you, all freshened up you don't look half bad." They state proudly.

"Your a pest," he conceded grudgingly. His optics flickered, scanning the organic clutched close. Gingerly, Starscream lowered them back to the ground. "It seems your crude manual methods have...sufficed, Now run along." His engine rumbled, a not-so-subtle dismissal. But for once, no sting of wrath laced the Seeker's words. "begone, before your nasty touch soils me further." His grumbled with an audible click. 

Skywarp 

Skywarp felt the human shudder against his frame. He vented softly, knowing he lacked the energy reserves to maintain his internal heating to run the heater in the cockpit for long in this condition. After being shot down, they had barely managed to make it to this cave and he could feel his systems needing to shut down to conserve power to heal.   

"Easy little one, try to stay awake. My self-repairs are attempting to reroute what power I can, but it may not be enough to keep you warm." His plating rattled shakily as tried to patch what gaps they could. A fall of temperatures that would do little to him but could snuff out their fragile form or make them sick. "Remain still and try to breathe slowly. I've tried contacting the others, but the rock is interfering with transmissions."

They pull their jackets closer. "How's the damage?" They ask through a shaky voice. Their breath is visible in the air but they still so more worry for him than their own situation. 

Skywarp ran another self-diagnostic scan. The damage was severe. his systems were barely functioning above stasis lock but he was fighting against it, for their sake. 

"My systems are heavily damaged from the crash and stasis is trying to set in," he said as evenly as possible his voice is static-laced and shaking. "But my self-repair functions are attempting to stabilise the worst systems so I can last until help comes. If the Autobots don't find us first" 

He focused what remaining power he had into his communications beacon, hoping his location ping would finally break through the rocky interference.

Skywarp knew they were likely frightened, putting on a brave face for him due to how injured he was. being trapped in a dark cave with a half-disabled mech wasn't what either of them had planned on their night flight . But he had to keep them alive and try not to panic himself. For now, all he could offer was what protection and warmth his tired frame could provide. 

" I may have a plan to keep you warm," he said gently. "My vents are internally heated and large enough that you could climb inside. Being so close to my engine and spark should keep you warm. It is not an ideal situation, but may better allow me to shield you with what power I have left and even in stasis it will keep you warm." 

"Ok" they state softly as they slowly move carefully climbing up into the vent. As they move back further into the vent they lay down against the warm metal letting out a sigh of relief. The sound of the heavy rain outside makes them peak their head back out just enough to watch it. 

"Thank you" they call out, eyes slowly fluttering closed as they bask in the heat that radiates off Skywarp. He emitted a soft rumble in acknowledgement. As they settle back further inside against his internal metal walls, he vents a sigh of relief. 

"You are most welcome, little one," Skywarp replied gently. "How do you feel?" he asked. “tried, I'm just glad you're alright, try and recover. I'm warm here, you won't be losing me tonight” they state bravely. 

 Skywarp did his best to calm his systems. "Try to rest if you are able." His systems begin shutting down into recharge. The sound of heavy rain echo's into the cave. 

when they wake up they are wrapped in multiple blankets held close to skywarps chassis, As the Seeker recharges. As memory of the cave ordeal was still fuzzy, confusion gave way to relief as warmth and safety registered. Beneath the layers of thermal blankets, nestled securely against Skywarp's recharging chest plates. His steady spark pulse and low internal hum soothed any remaining unease.  

Reaching out tentatively, they trailed gentle fingers across his armoured plating, Drawing nearer to his spark's glow, they let out a sigh of contentment and relief as they snuggled closer to him. 

Thundercracker 

 the small human wanders around his form checking for any damage from the Scraplet which had gotten into his vent. Small hands slowly weld the damage closed so that his systems could finish the job of mending.

 “Thank you for your assistance, Starscream has me on tight patrols lately, as you've noticed."  He waits patiently for them to finish, not wanting to jostle them as they work. "They don't know I'm here do they?" They asked softly, they knew Thundercracker had a soft spot for them, but they also hoped the con wasn't going against orders just for their company.

Thundercracker pauses  "No, they don't know. I try to visit when I can get away without them noticing." 

"Starscream has been keeping me flying patrol nearly nonstop lately, so it's been harder to slip away. But I couldn't leave without checking on you." He starts "Just a few more checks, don't want you trying to take off if you're still hurt or if there's another scraplet in your vents " they state while moving towards the large jet vents. Peeking inside. "It looks like you got more than you bargained for" they remark as they try to reach for the piece of shrapnel inside the vent. They grumble before climbing up into the vent, to try and remove the metal.

Thundercracker lets out a soft chuckle as the human climbs into his vents to remove the small chuckles of what was left of the dead creature. He remains as still as possible so as not to endanger them.  

"Indeed, that scraplet got the drop on me during my last patrol. Barely managed to get it out of my vent before it did any critical damage to my fans and engine. Thank you for your help removing it, my servos are far too large to fit in there. Just please be careful, I'd never forgive myself if you got hurt."

 

A laugh echoes from them inside the vent, "fuck they did a number on you" they call out as the dislodging more metal and throw the peices out of the vent. Thundercracker lets out a soft chuckle at the human's crass language, not bothered in the slightest.  "Indeed they did, the fragging scraplets really know how to leave a mess behind."

 They turn their torch on checking the rest of the vent. Crawling through it into a small gap before through into the other side. "What would you do without me?" They tease while making sure there isn't any other damage or scraplets hiding waiting to cause more damage. "As for what I'd do without you, I'd likely be running far less efficiently with pieces of shrapnel still lodged in my vents."  

He says in a gently teasing tone.  "Between you and my self-repair systems, I'll be as good as new before long. Almost feels like getting a tune up from my old mechanic back on Cybertron. Thank you for your help" 

"Anytime Thunder, I've got to keep my favourite jet in working order " they hum while climbing their way back out of the vent. They lean up and press a soft kiss to the side of metal.

 "Perhaps someday, I could return the favour and aid you in your repairs."

 Thundercracker hums softly in response, feeling a warmth in his spark at the gesture of affection from them. “oh Thundercracker you sweetheart but I'd leave medical stuff to the medics” the tease which makes him chuckle as he transforms. 

 They slowly begin wiping their hands off as they watch the Seeker. "You best get going before the others come looking and find that you have been keeping pets" they tease. Thundercracker smiles softly in amusement at the human's teasing words.  "Indeed, it would not do for Megatron or Starscream to discover I've been keeping a human 'pet'. Primus only knows what those two would do." He leans down and presses a soft kiss to their forehead. “Stay out of trouble my little mechanic” he mumbles to them. 

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[homelanderbutbig]

Sympathy For The Dead (G/T Homelander x Reader)

2145 words. Angst, and a bit of hurt/comfort. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You are forced to come to terms with Homelander's violent tendencies when he murders someone for flirting with you. Inspired by an ask from @adryrivera.

It's early in the morning on the set of 'In Depth With Maria Menounos'. Homelander has an interview scheduled today, and you are accompanying him as his personal assistant. This is the first time you've had this opportunity to come along to one of his functions outside of the Tower, and you're pretty excited. Being on a television production is an entirely different world compared to the mundane office work at Vought, and you're enjoying it even if you're just watching on the sidelines.

When it's time for Homelander to go on-air, you're standing back by the rest of the crew so you can witness your favourite supe work his magic. You smile as he switches on that acting charm when the cameras start rolling, so easily bringing all eyes on him with the suave nature he's perfected over the years. He's such a sight to behold when he's in the spotlight, showcasing that electrifying personality that's as big as he is.

"Don't remember seeing you around here before," a voice suddenly says from behind you. It happens to be one of the cameramen, grinning as he checks you out.

"Oh, yes, I'm Homelander's assistant. Nice to meet you," you politely respond, tucking your clipboard under one arm to shake his hand.

"A supe's assistant huh? That must be an interesting job," he comments, still smirking.

"It's never a dull moment," you laugh, thinking to yourself that he doesn't know the half of it.

"So… you uh, you doing anything later?" he asks, resting his elbow on top of the camera. You're taken aback by his words. Is he… is he asking you out?

"I-I'm sorry, I'm seeing someone," you disclose, perhaps a bit more curtly than you hoped. But all you can think of when hearing that is how pissed Homelander would be at this poor guy.

"Oh, sorry! I didn't realize," he blushes, quickly getting embarrassed by how spectacularly he's struck out.

"Don't worry about it, it's not a problem," you giggle. You can't fault a guy for trying. "Let's just get back to our jobs and forget this happened?"

You're glad he doesn't seem to have taken offense as he nods, letting out a flustered laugh. He returns to operating the camera, and you back to focusing on your clipboard full of the day's scheduling. At least you successfully brushed this situation off, with no harm done.

However, you don't notice Homelander's reaction as he observes this from the midst of his interview.

~~~

After the talk show is done filming, you get caught up talking to Ashley and lose track of time. She's yapping on about Homelander's points and how well this interview went, just more work talk that you could care less about. When you eventually manage to break free, you notice that Homelander is nowhere to be found, having already left the set. But you doubt that he'd leave the building without you so you start your search, happy to tell him how proud you are of his interview.

But you weren't expecting what you find in the downstairs hallway.

You figured he just made a quick getaway because he's always mentioned how much he loathes these mind-numbing talk shows. But instead, you discover his true intentions.

He was following the cameraman.

He kept his pace fast but light, allowing him to go undetected to the man's pathetic human ears. And when he had him isolated in the hallway, he wasted no time letting this worthless, primitive vermin pay for daring to make an advance on you. He lasered a hole straight through his crotch, causing the man to collapse on the ground in agony. He reveled in the look of absolute terror as this worm realized his fate was sealed. He then painstakingly applied pressure to his head, savouring the satisfying crunch of his bones until it was crushed under the supe's boot, leaving nothing but an indistinguishable mess of blood and gore.

You are rooted to the floor, petrified at the sight of what he's done. His head snaps towards you, face twisted with rage and eyes still shining a bright crimson as they stare directly into your soul.

"Come here," you growls at you, raising his hand to signal for you to approach him. He knows you are afraid; he can hear your heart's pace quickening and smell the cortisol levels in your blood spiking. In his mind, he believes you will come to your senses and realize this decision was for the best. You will understand he did this to save you. You are his. You will listen to him. You will obey.

But you don't listen. You only freeze for a second before you turn around and flee. The last thing you hear as you run out of the building is Homelander roaring your name.

~~~

You spend the rest of the day aimlessly traversing the city, paying no attention to where you are going. You needed time alone before you return back to the Tower, before you face Homelander.

It still feels so fresh in your mind. One moment you were chatting with this man, and the next his life is over. In a flash, a human life is snuffed out. Someone with a family, with hopes and dreams. All for what, because he made the fatal error of asking you out on a date?

And the worst sight of all, was the expression on Homelander's face. There was no remorse, no tinge of regret for seeing how you reacted. It was just pure hatred for this man, an absolute stranger. You can't help but wonder how many people he's killed without you knowing.

Finally, the sun begins to set along the city skyline. Night is approaching, and you know you can't simmer on this any longer. You need to confront him, you need answers. Gathering yourself, you catch a taxi back to Vought Tower, and begin your ascent to the penthouse.

With a shaky breath, you step off the elevator once it reaches the top floor and walk briskly inside. However, not in a million years were you expecting what you see in the penthouse. Your lengthy absence clearly took a stronger toll on him than you ever anticipated… he's destroyed the living room. The large American flag tapestry is torn to shreds, adorned with scorch marks from a now extinguished fire. Every single marble statue is cut clean from his laser eyes and smashed to pieces, the gray rubble scattered across the floor. Not even his immaculate leather couch was spared, having been ripped in half by two inhumanly strong hands.

And lastly, in the middle of the chaos, silently sits Homelander on the floor. He's leaning up against the wall, his arms wrapped around his bent-up knees. His face is flushed, eyes bloodshot and puffy from what you can only imagine was a waterfall of tears. Right now he looks like a child trying to huddle himself into a ball because he knows he's in trouble. Yet, you can't help but notice the bloody viscera of the cameraman still coating his boot.

"Why are you here?" he utters abruptly, snapping you back to reality after being overcome by the state of the penthouse. Despite his sad demeanor, his words are blunt and laced with deflection. When you don't answer him, he exhales loudly through his nose. "Why did you come back if you hate me?"

"I don't hate you Homelander," you retort, not taking his bait. You're not sure if that was the answer he was expecting as you watch him tense his jaw.

"Are you mad at me?" he questions you further. You aren't certain if he's fishing for a reason for you to comfort him, or so he can kill you too.

"No. I'm not angry at you," you reply. "But I am disappointed and upset at what you did."

He swallows hard at that, feeling the tears once again well up in his eyes. Disappointed.

"H-he was dangerous… I d-did it to protect you," he mumbles hoarsely. Your unimpressed glower signals to him that you aren't buying his excuses. He knows you aren't going to forgive him, and that's enough to make him hyperventilate. He lowers his head down into his arms, unable to stop himself from crying again. Unable to stop his thoughts from convincing himself that this is how your relationship is going to end.

With a deep sigh, you cross your arms and shake your head at his behaviour. These tears aren't out of sympathy for the dead. You know for a fact that he has no guilt over murdering the cameraman, he's only regretful because he's displeased you.

But the longer you stare at him sobbing so pathetically, the more you start to realize something. You're not looking at the same supe that killed the cameraman; this is Homelander's inner child. This is the boy who was tortured and withheld from love, that had this violence forcibly bred into him. His power over humans was all he had, and now it's so ingrained into his psyche that he cannot stop it from rearing its ugly head.

When he killed the cameraman, he was no longer a man but a dog. He presented his carcass to you as a present, to show you his love in a way you could never comprehend. His love is something feral, that scares everyone else away when it bares its fangs. Yet it has no bite, when deep down his love is never reciprocated, but feared when it becomes too much for the object of his affections to handle.

And as much as it pains you, you know you are going to have to accept this part of him. Because you are the only one who's tamed this dog, and seen the sweet puppy it becomes with just a little compassion.

Methodically, you walk over beside him and place a hand on his arm. Right now with him sitting on the ground you're standing about a foot higher, getting a vantage point you don't experience very often. Hesitantly, he tilts his head up at you. His blue eyes are teeming with apprehension, with the longing for your forgiveness of his actions… even if deep down he knows he doesn't deserve it.

"Hun, I would never let someone else come between us," you soothe him, lifting your hand up from his arm to lightly caress his cheek, saturated with his tears. The second he feels your soft fingers his tension begins to melt away, moving his head up and down to desperately facilitate a pet.

Slowly, Homelander opens up his posture, to allows you to come in between his legs and up to his face. He delicately rests his hands on your waist, waiting for permission to hug you. He can't just take what he wants, not now. He can't bear to make you this unhappy at him ever again.

"And you know what? If I saw somebody flirting with you, I'd get jealous too," you remark, your hands still cupping his face. "But I'm not going to stew on my jealousy until I feel the only solution is violence. I'm going to get those emotions out by talking to you. Because I love you, and I care about you more than anything else."

You steadily come closer to him, spreading your arms across his shoulders to finally give him the hug he's been longing for all day. He wastes no time enveloping you in his hold, burying you in his massive arms as he rests his head in the crook of your neck. Your fingers scratch at the back of his undercut, bringing this dog down to your heels in an instant. Any semblance of rage he may have had earlier in the day has now evaporated into the ether, leaving nothing but the desire for obedience.

"The next time you start to feel yourself getting worked up… wherever you are, can you come find me? Can that be something we work on together?" you ask. His brief nod against your shoulder is enough of an answer, you know he would never lie. And besides, the two of you don't need to say anything else right now. All that's left for today is to let this moment fade into sleep, and let tomorrow be the time to clean up the mess.

While sinking into your embrace, Homelander has his own realization. The way he feels about you is different than his past relationships. You are not his 'property' that he is envious of others ogling. You are his treasure, one that sees the good in him despite all of his own horrible faults. One that he feels he must guard with his entire being.

He is going to be better, if not for himself than just for you.

[in1-nutshell]

Susan and Ironhide get discovered

SFW, Platonic, Mention of injuries, Slight Angst, Human reader

TFP

I wrote this before the request for continuation of Susan and Ironhide began. I sort of forgot I had it written, until I found it. Welp, better late than never!

If someone had told Susan 2 weeks ago that she would not only end up making her grandpa proud but also make a new friend, she might have taken you to the nurse’s office.

Ever since she had found Ironhide, things in life seemed a lot more colorful.

She was thrusted into the world of Cybertron and its war. Her new friend, Ironhide, had been held prisoner for a while on a Decepticon spaceship before managing to snag an escape pod and arriving to Earth.

Sadly, due to his rough landing, his com link and long-range scanners were busted. Meaning even if he did find someone, it would be a while until he actually knew there was anyone nearby.

“What are ya doin’ kid?”

Ironhide questioned once he saw Susan try and lift a side to an old communicator. He gently shut it back into place.

“I’m going fix it.” She said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Kid, ya don’t even know our technology. Compared to yer’s, and I mean this with no offense, pretty primitive in comparison.”

Susan nodded.

“I’m still gonna to try. If me trying means any step closer to finding our teammates then I’m all in for it!”

Ironhide’s spark felt a bit warmer.

“Kid, yer’ already doing a lot for me.”

“Its not enough though.” Susan muttered just loud enough for Ironhide to hear.

Ironhide smiled a bit at the human before patting her head a bit.

Susan blinked a bit before smiling at the older mech.

The young girl swore to help him on his journey to find anyone on his team or side of the war. Susan was well aware of people like herself looking for any sign of alien life form, sadly not all of them had peaceful intentions like she did. She eventually made the hard decision to take down her alien sighting blog. If this page meant hurting Ironhide, she rather not have it at all.

Ironhide found out about her ultimate decision after finding her crying a bit at the deleted page. He felt a bit guilty for making her lose something that meant a lot to her. A bit more salt to the wound once Susan opened about her grandfather and the reason why she actively sought out for other life amongst the stars. The older mech made it up to her by bringing her along to get his new alt mode to blend in with the rest of Earth’s vehicles.

Susan was bouncing all over the place the moment Ironhide managed to scan a big red pickup truck.

As weeks stretched on into months, the two ended up falling into a routine.

Ironhide, after reading up on Earth traffic laws, would drop Susan off at school, then he would either work on his com line or he would go around town looking over some of the vehicles and seeing if any were his comrades. So far, none of his trips have been successful.

After school was over, Ironhide would go and pick Susan up and then they would go to Susan’s grandfather’s old, abandoned workshop. This was where she would try and work on Ironhide’s communication equipment while telling each other their day and stories.

The old workshop was the one thing Susan’s grandfather had left her and her parents either were kind enough to let her have it, or still didn’t realize it was part of their property. Either way, it was their place. It was a place where inventions were made, and things were fixed.

Though the last invention Susan tried to make was a spark detection device for Ironhide. They had driven into one of the smaller canyons, far from the town. Susan gave him specific instructions to hide, and she would use the device to find him. From Ironhide’s little hiding place the device looked like it was working… until it suddenly exploded.

Susan screamed in pain and surprise as she quickly let go of the device.

Ironhide quickly ran to her side, kneeling and servos hovered over her crouched body. He was only getting to know some bits about human patch work, but he hadn’t gotten to the lesson on ‘What to do when a machine explodes in your face’.

“Kid! Kid! Suzzy you, okay?”

He gently helped her sit up.

The girl’s hands slowly left her face as she grabbed onto one of Ironhide’s digits.

She had some cuts on her face as well as some slight burns and soot.

“I’m fine ‘Hide. Not the first time this has happened to me.”

The bot face dropped at this.

“What do you mean ‘not the first time’?”

Was it strange that the girl reminded him a bit of Wheeljack and Perceptor?

Susan tried to stand up straight but was carefully cupped into the red mechs servos. He looked grim.

“I think tha’ enough for today.”

“But—”

“Suzzy, the machine practically exploded on yerself and you still want to do something?”

Susan yawned a bit.

“Maybe a nap will do.”

The mech raised an optic.

“After you clean up.”

“After I clean up.”

It was nice to have a friend that looked out for the other. Susan felt complete knowing she had at least one friend in this world that didn’t mind all of her.

Which brings up the trio.

Jack, Raf, and Miko.

Susan did her best to keep all conversation with them to a minimum or if absolutely necessary. They never gave her a reason why they didn’t show up to her watch party. As much as she wanted an answer to it, the girl ended up shelfing it as another trick and she didn’t want to hold a grudge for that long anyways.

It was for the best.

She did notice Jack and Raf try to have a conversation with her sometimes, but it never stuck and usually ended up with them both leaving. The thought was appreciated, but it still didn’t cover up what they did and the fact they never acknowledge that they didn’t go to the party as well.

Miko didn’t even attempt to talk to her.

But no matter, Susa still had Ironhide.

Not even her parents’ absence and words could bring her down as soon as she remembered the Cybertronian.

…

Ironhide was late.

Not when it came to picking her up. He was a very punctual mech arriving at the same time every day like clockwork. So, when Ironhide didn’t arrive after an hour of waiting, Susan was understandably worried about what could have happened to her friend.

But she wasn’t the only one waiting for her ride, apparently so where Jack, Raf and Miko. Which was strange to Susan too. Their rides were almost as punctual as Ironhide, though on occasion she’d see them carpool or at the even rare chance see them pile into an ambulance. The girl figured that because Jack’s mom was a nurse that she had a friend at the hospital that could give them a ride.

“Nice weather we’re having.”

The sound of the young boy’s voice made Susan jump a bit.

Raf had sat down next to her while his two other friends were either watching the road or watching him.

Susan smiled a bit.

“Yeah, I guess it’s nice.”

They fell into silence.

“So… where’s your ride?”

Susan shrugged trying to play off her anxiousness.

“Don’t know. He said he’d come pick me up, but this is the latest he’s ever been. What about your ride? You three are almost as punctual as mine… something happen?”

Raf scratched the back of his head.

“Something like that.”

Susan hummed and looked back at the road.

For a second a flash of red drove past the corner, she thought it was Ironhide.

It was just some shiny red sports car.

Doc Austen if she was correct.

Susan suddenly felt a hand on her pulling her forward.

She turned to see Raf pulling. He looked worried, what was he so worried about? The boy started walking them both to Jack and Miko who looked almost as worried as Raf. Now something was up. It was one thing for Raf to be nervous about something, the kid was nervous about a lot of things. But if Jack and MIKO were nervous about something, then there was something to be worried about.

“Susan, you need to follow us.” Raf said as the group started moving away from the street.

“Follow you? Follow you guys where? And why?”

Miko gave her a slight glare.

“Susan for once, stop asking questions and just follow us!”

Susan glared at Miko and stopped in her place.

“I’m not going anywhere until I know where you guys are going and why? Why did you guys freak out when you saw the sports car?”

Jack gave her an apologetic look.

“As much as I want to explain Susan, we really need to go. Our lives and now yours are endangered. You just need to trust us.”

Susan pursed her lips while giving him a glare as well.

“Trust isn’t exactly given Jack, its earned.”

Miko sighed loudly.

“Well, we’re about to earn it but we need to move now!”

Susan wanted to say something else, but she caught something in the trio’s eyes.

Desperation.

…If it was that bad…

Susan gulped a bit and followed the trio into some of the back alleys in the town. The group continued to weave in and around the buildings until they reached the town’s limits.

Miko reached for her phone and began to call someone.

It rang two times before a smile came onto her face.

“Bulk! We’re at the drop point. But we got another passenger with us.”

…

“No, it not them… its Susan.”

Susan felt a bit offended by how the other girl said her name.

“Yeah, I know, but we saw Knockout—”

“Don’t wear it out.”

All four humans jumped at the new voice behind them.

It was the red sports car.

It was now that Susan was closer to the car that she noticed something off about the car.

It had an insignia.

An insignia that Ironhide told her to stay away from at all cost.

“Decepticon…” Susan muttered as she watched the car transform.

Her mind immediately went to the others. She looked at them.

They all had worried looks on their faces, but none of fear… almost as if they had already—

They KNEW.

The trio knew about the bots and Cons!

Susan was too busy thinking of her realization that she barely registers the sound of something else transforming when her body was suddenly snatched up.

Her vision was blurred as she was tossed inside someone’s interior. The seatbelt was wrapped around her waist and arms tightly, defiantly was going to be a mark there when she woke up. The red sports car, Knockout, immediately slammed the accelerator and went speeding down the road leading out of the town. Susan tried squirming with the seatbelt, but it just got tighter. Her ribs started feeling more of the pressure.

“Sit still! You’re lucky that I didn’t put you in the trunk like I did to your other human friends.”

Susan’s hand carefully went into one of her pockets where the prototype S.O.S button was. She originally made it as a way to get the others attention on something important. This happened after she found out Ironhide had come in contact with a family of skunks and didn’t know how to properly approach them. She remembered the questionable looks she got at the shop after buying almost all the tomato juice in the store. Her wallet was crying that day.

Hopefully it would work this time and not blow up on her… though that could help her out of here… but it could also cause more problems.

“Can you tell me where we’re going?”

The seat tightened a bit.

The bot didn’t respond.

“Please?”

“Don’t play coy human.”

Susan winced at the harsh tone. They were driving farther and farther from the town, the sun slowly setting. Where was Ironhide?

“…What’s your name?”

“What?”

“Oh, sorry I, I mean designation. What’s your designation?”

Susan could feel the raised optic through the rear mirror.

“…Knockout. Didn’t your little Autobot friends tell you about some of our names?”

“I’m not friends with the Autobots.”

“Sure, you aren’t.”

Susan huffed a bit.

“I’m not. Since when have you seen me with any bot besides today?”

There was a silence. Susan couldn’t help but smile a bit at the sudden realization hitting the Decepticon. He grabbed the wrong human.

“Well, I still can’t just let you go. Lord Megatron will have my helm!”

This was a problem.

Megatron was a name that Susan was familiar with. Ironhide made sure to explain who the evil warlord was and what he had done. The old mech tried to keep it kid friendly at first, but after some coaxing and talking, Ironhide started telling her some of the stories with detail. That was one Decepticon that she did not want to meet.

Susan shifted a bit.

“Do you really need to take me?”

“Yes. Sorry Fleshy but there’s no talking your way out of this.”

A soft vibration came from the button. The girl smiled a bit.

“What are you smiling about?”

“You should really let me go.” Susan replied.

“Why?”

Susan just smiled a bit.

“I have a friend who on the way to beat your tailpipe.”

Before the Con would answer, a loud honking sounded out. From the rear mirror Susan could see the rusty red pickup truck speeding down the road. Ironhide was coming.

Knockout scoffed. “Did you really get more of your human friends to come and get you?”

Susan just smirked.

“Who said he was human?”

It was at that moment that Knockout looked closer at the trucks frame. The shiny Autobot badge glisten in the last of the sunrays. Suddenly Bulkhead appeared behind the new bot. And he was alone…

Oh great…

And he just got his finish done today!

No! He rather face Megatron’s wrath than ruin this finish! It took Knockout MONTHS to find this type of wax. This was supposed to last for another week!

Susan belt was suddenly let loose and was suddenly tumbling across the small dune of sand.

She was thankful enough that Knockout had the decency to slow down before throwing her out of the car. The girl half expected the Con to turn around, but he never did. If anything, he drove faster.

Susan spat out sand and tried to stand up, only to stumble back to the ground. Her legs felt like jelly, suddenly feeling lightheaded and feeling something dribbling down the side of her head. She winced a bit seeing the familiar shade of dark red liquid sticking in her fingertips. It was going to take a bit more than a couple of band aids to fix this one.

“Suzzy!”

Susan’s head started seeing some dots with how quickly she turned her head. She saw Ironhide and the green car transform. Ironhide immediately knelt next to her, gently sitting her up almost afraid that touching her more would hurt her. Susan tried to use his servo to stand, but her knees still felt like jelly. Luckily Ironhide caught her in his servos and held her up to his chassis.

He turned around and faced the green bot with the trio following closely.

Susan waved a bit at the green bot with a weak smile still clutching her head.

The bot looked at her a bit curiously before looking at Ironhide.

“You said Ratchet’s still round. Figure he can fix ‘er? She’s never had something like this before.”

Susan zoned out for a bit, but it was enough to notice Ironhide transform around her, safely buckled in the front seat and following the green car.

Silence.

“…You okay there Suzzy?”

“’m okay. Just a bit of blood.”

“That’s not wha’ I mean Susan.”

Susan. Full first name. He was serious.

“… I’m not really sure right now ‘Hide. A lot of this is… well a lot. But if this helps you—”

“Susan.”

“I mean they’re your teammates. You actually found them!”

“Susan.”

“And I get it if you go—”

“Susan!”

The girl clapped her mouth.

“Suzzy. I’m not leaving ya. I’d be a mad mech if I leave ya by yer’ lonesome. Especially after everything. I ain’t never been a bot to leave another in the scrapheap and I ain’t gonna start now.”

Susan couldn’t help but shed a tear at what Ironhide had said. She gently traced circles on the steering wheel.

Whatever was going to happen, Susan wasn’t going to be left alone. Ironhide was going to make sure that never happened.

…As well as find out why in the world Bulkhead, of all bots, gave him a face when he mentioned about saving Susan from Knockout. He was going to have a few words with Prime and Ratchet if he was going to get to the bottom of this.

Please tell me this is what TFP Ironhide would look like. This is Ironhide right?

[bookshelf-in-progress]

From the Other Side of the End of the World

A time travel story for @inklings-challenge.

Thanks to @awesomebutunpractical, @thatscarletflycatcher, and @rogerhamleys for beta help that made it possible to finish this.

I. Josephine Forester to Rachel Forester

Agril 19, 551 T.E.

Grimsfell, North Arza

Dear Rachel,

At last! The war is over! I know my history as well as anybody, but it still took me by surprise. I sobbed with relief when news of the treaty came. We haven’t heard any shelling for three days. No more wounded have arrived. It seems like a miracle.

But the work is far from done. Grimsby Hall is still filled with wounded soldiers, and we hard-working nurses are kept busy from morning til night. It will be weeks before some of these boys are well enough to travel, and years until they are completely healed, if they ever are at all.

The suffering I’ve seen! There is little even modern medical knowledge can do to ease their pain. Their war machines are primitive—cannons, tanks, machine guns—but they've wrought destruction on the land unlike anything we could imagine in our time. If I hadn’t seen our future, I’m not sure I could believe this land could be healed, that the world could ever find peace. But I have seen it, and the hope it inspires is the greatest gift I can give to these people.

Now, more than ever, I know that I've been called here. My research will be invaluable to history, but more than that, I feel a connection to these people, this place, this time. This is where I'm meant to serve.

I have a connection to you, too, of course. Your letters always make me feel I'm right there with you. Write back soon. I want to know about everything.

Love,

Josephine

P.S. I’ve shared a couple of the stories you wrote me with some of my patients. I hope you don’t mind—they need cheering up, and there's nothing in your stories that requires knowledge of the future. They very much enjoy them.

II. Rachel Forester to Josephine Forester

Agril 32, 771 T.E

Variby University

Dear Josie,

I know it’s taken me ages to write back, but the life of a college girl is a whirlwind. I made a list of all the things I’ve done this week, so you can see that I barely had time to breathe.

Two papers, three exams, and a presentation about the life cycle of the Aribanian tree frog.

Airball playoffs and championship. (I scored twenty-eight points!)

Trip to Grimsby. Twelve of us in one car. Visited the war museum. No pictures of you. Try to pose for any cameras if you see them.

Climbed the bell tower after Ferdie dared me to. Am now the hero of the school.

It sounds terribly shallow compared to what you're going through, but if I didn’t do all these things, where would I get the charming anecdotes that fill my letters and raise your poor, war-weary spirits? Even though the war is over, it still sounds dreadful. I don’t know how you manage it. At least you'll be home soon—it's a little over a month, right?

If I ever had hopes of becoming a time traveler, your letters would burn that dream right out of me. I'm perfectly happy in the safe and cozy modern day. I'll stay here in comfort and leave the do-gooding to you.

I’m glad you could make some use out of my stories. I’ve half a mind to tell that worthless university magazine editor that they’ve proven to be truly timeless. I’ll send another one along with this letter. Let your soldiers read it to their hearts’ content.

I could tell you loads more, but I’ve got play practice in an hour. I’ve been cast as Elsie in Less Boring, and I’ve got to learn my lines. (I've been laughing my head off. Darrin Royston is a genius).

I promise I’ll write more promptly next time.

Your sister,

Rachel

III. Josephine Forester to Rachel Forester

Maj 3, 551 T.E.

Grimsfell, North Arza

Dear Rachel,

It's always good to know things are going well for you. You're right—my term is over in less than a month. I had almost forgotten. It seems impossible. There's so much I still have to do.

I don't have time to give a proper response, except to tell you that I gave your story to the most voracious reader among my patients, and he's already finished it. It's exactly the type of story that he likes best, so he's asked to write a note of appreciation to the authoress. I’ve allowed it—my letter-link isn’t all that different to the ones they have in this time period. Maybe this will make up for the magazine’s lack of appreciation for your work.

Your sister,

Josephine

IV. Darrin Royston to Rachel Forester

Maj 3, 551 T.E.

Miss Rachel Forrester,

Your sister Josephine has informed me that you are the authoress of a little tale that has brought light and joy to my sickbed. Your comic fantasy is one of the most enjoyable works of fiction I have read in recent memory. It isn’t often one finds just such a blend of the beautiful and the silly. Too often, the comic fairy tales neglect their world, while the more grounded fantasy works take themselves too seriously. Yours struck just the right note.

There's little enough cheer in the world these days, and I'm glad to find that someone still remembers its secret. I pray—if it's not too presumptuous—that you have many more such works for your sister to pass on for our amusement.

Gratefully,

Darrin Royston

V. Rachel Forester to Josephine Forrester

Maj 3, 701 T.E.

Josephine!

You let Darrin Royston read my stupid little stories?

“They’re just the kind of thing he likes to read,” she says.

Because they’re based on the kind of thing he writes! Or did write. Or will write.

How old is he?

Have we broken history?

What if, having read my stories, he doesn’t write one of his great works? How would I know if he didn’t write it? Maybe you’ve already erased a dozen masterpieces from history, and I’ll never know they were never written!

Couldn’t you have given me some kind of warning before showing my fiction to one of the great literary minds of the post-war era? I want to curl up and die at the thought of his eyes looking at my inane scribbles. I might have done it already if his letter hadn’t suggested that he, for some reason, enjoyed it.

Maybe the war shattered his sanity. Maybe he has some kind of infection. You should check.

Rachel

VI. Josephine Forester to Rachel Forester

Maj 5, 551 T.E.

Grimsfell, North Arza

Rachel,

Who is Darrin Royston? You’re the one who knows about authors. To me, Darrin Royston is a dark-haired, undersized private recovering from a broken leg, who has every right to read your stories if he wants to.

You don’t have to worry about changing history. I’ve told you before—it can’t be done. History is chronological—everything that happens as a result of time travel has always happened that way. I’m here because I was always meant to be here.

It’s possible your story inspired whatever it is that Royston wrote, but it won’t erase anything.

His words were genuine. He really did enjoy your story. Take it as a compliment. It sounds like a good one.

And maybe send another story? The boy’s going stir-crazy and he’s driving me up the wall.

Yours,

Josephine

VII. Rachel Forester to Josephine Forester

Maj 6, 701 T.E.

Josephine,

Who is Darrin Royston?

Time travel is wasted on you.

He's only one of the most brilliant writers of the last century! Poems, plays, essays, novels—you name it, he's written it. He has wit, wisdom, genius. He's a little bit niche, but you've lived with me. You should at least have known his name! I just told you I'm acting in one of his plays!

There are a million things I'd love to ask him about, but he probably hasn't done any of them yet.

What does he look like? What's he like? I need details!

Yours,

Rachel

P.S. I've sent along a nice, long story. I hope it won't destroy his opinion of my literary talents.

VIII. Josephine Forester to Rachel Forester

Maj 8, 551 T.E.

Dear Rachel,

That Darrin Royston? Now that you mention it, the name sounds familiar. You have to admit this whole situation is mildly hilarious. I never expected to accidentally introduce you to a celebrity.

I'm not sure what you want to hear about him. He's dark-haired. Slender. Not over-tall. Has a melancholy streak. Rather too quiet—except when he's demanding reading material. Your story is keeping him nicely pacified. I leave my letter-link next to his bed (with all the personal letters hidden, of course—though I can't say I wasn't tempted to let him read that last one).

He's not what I would have expected the author of Less Boring to be like. (I guess I have seen that play. I remember laughing.) But he's young, and this isn't exactly a cheerful setting. Broken bodies, broken minds—blood, bones and suffering, dust and dirt and smoke. Even with the shadow of the war gone, it left plenty of darkness behind.

You're going to think this is crazy, but I've written to ask the university for an extension of my time here. The people here have become my friends and allies. There is so much work to be done. I can't leave them to deal with it alone.

It's only another six months, and after all, what's time to a time traveler? I'm going to miss you, but you have plenty to keep you busy. Before you know it, we'll be back together again.

I hope you understand. Pray for me.

Always your loving sister,

Josephine

IX. Rachel Forester to Josephine Forester

Maj 11, 701 T.E.

Josephine,

Are you crazy? Is the university crazy? The fact that you want to spend more time in that horrible time and place should be proof that time travel has messed with your mind.

I get it. Now that you're hob-nobbing with celebrities, ordinary modern life just can't compare. I should never have told you who Darrin Royston was. He can't be that interesting. He won't even write anything for another ten years. Can he really compare to your charming, adorable sister?

But seriously, Josie, what are you thinking? Time travel is cool and all, and I'm sure you're doing good things, but you belong here. In a safe, civilized century. There are plenty of people in this time period who need you—I'm at the top of the list.

You're going to miss my birthday now, you know that?

Disgruntled,

Rachel

X. Rachel Forester to Josephine Forester

Maj 15, 701 T.E.

Josephine,

Are you mad at me? I'm sorry if I got snarky. I'm upset you're not coming home, but you're a big girl and we both have our own lives and you can make your own decisions. I can respect your choice to stay.

I know that you're busy, but can you spare ten seconds to send me a line so I know I haven't destroyed our relationship forever?

Rachel

XI. Rachel Forester to Josephine Forester

Maj 20, 701 T.E.

Josie,

Are the people of that century so much more important that you can't even send a line to your little sister? I know I'm not one to talk about prompt letter-writing, but under the circumstances, this is worrying. And kind of hurtful.

Rachel

XII. Rachel Forester to Josephine Forester

Maj 20, 701 T.E.

Josie,

I'm sorry.

Please write back.

Rachel

XIII. Darrin Royston to Rachel Forester

Maj 20, 551 T.E.

Miss Rachel Forester:

I am writing with a heavy heart to inform you of the death of your sister, Nurse Josephine Forester. She went missing several days ago, and her body was found yesterday. She seems to have been killed in an accident with a stray shell near the hospital grounds. Millions of such unused artillery shells litter the countryside, and I'm afraid your sister was unfortunate enough to stumble upon one and become a casualty of war even in this time of peace.

No doubt you will receive notification through official channels, but I am aware she often contacted you via this letter-link, and I thought you might prefer to receive the news through a more personal route.

Your sister was a credit to her profession. She was a diligent, cheerful, kind, and invariably patient nurse. I am forever indebted to her for her personal kindnesses that brought light to hellish days.

Know that you and your family have my sympathy and my deepest condolences. You will remain in my prayers.

Yours,

Darrin Royston

XIV. Rachel Forester to Darrin Royston

What do you mean, dead?

She can't be dead. She won't be born for a hundred and fifty years.

Time travel's not supposed to work like that. She was supposed to do her research and come home.

It can't happen like that. I refuse to believe it. God wouldn't do that to us.

I haven't heard anything from her, but that's because you stole her letter-link. That must be it. Give it back, you thief, and think again before you go terrifying me with wild stories.

XV. Rachel Forester to Darrin Royston

Mr. Royston,

Don't read my last response. It wasn't supposed to send. Please ignore it. Give Josephine her letter-link back.

Thank you,

Rachel Forester

XVI. Darrin Royston to Rachel Forester

Maj 21, 551 T.E.

Miss Forester,

I'm afraid I read both your of your letters, and they greatly puzzle me. Is this a fragment of one of your fantastical tales? That would be the most sensible assumption, except that the unopened letters you sent to your sister seem to confirm an impossible truth. Your sister came to us from a different time, you exist far in the future, and I am writing to a woman who has not yet been born.

I apologize for reading words that I was not meant to see, but the confusion they've caused has more than punished me for my curiosity. The implications of what you suggest are dizzying.

You are not writing in Valorian, which suggests that the peace holds, and you seem to write from a far more peaceful time. No wonder your stories held such hope. I can barely imagine a world beyond this battlefield hospital.

If I am reading the story correctly, your sister left a place of safety and peace and came to serve the suffering in a time of war. It makes her actions even more heroic and her death even more of a tragedy.

I don't pretend to understand how this is possible, but you have my gratitude and my sympathy.

Yours,

Darrin Royston

XVII. Rachel Forester to Darrin Royston

Maj 22, 701 T.E.

Darrin,

Yes, my sister is from the future. Yes, she came to help out during your war. And yes, you people killed her.

She could have been an aloof researcher, gathering information about the Western War, but she decided to help because she couldn't stand by while people were suffering. And she died for it.

What does it matter if you know the truth? Josephine always said that history can't be changed. I can't even wish that she hadn't gone on the trip, because apparently, the fact that she died in the past means she always died in the past. She was dead before she was born.

But how is that any different from the rest of us? Where I come from, you're long dead. To people in the future, I'm long dead. There's nothing we can do to change that, even with time travel, so what does anything matter?

If our every action is part of an unchangeable history, we're just cogs in a cosmic machine. It doesn't do any good to cry over it.

Rachel

XVIII. Darrin Royston to Rachel Forester

Maj 23, 551 T.E.

Rachel,

I can't pretend to understand how time travel occurs, and the philosophical questions you pose seem far beyond my ken. But it is clear that you are grieving, and I can try to offer what comfort I can.

I'm no philosopher, but I know that the things we do, whenever we do them, matter. From where I lay in this hospital, your sister's actions were far from meaningless. She did not control her fate, but she had free will within it. Her choices made a world of difference to the men she helped.

We have a God who is outside of time. He incorporates our choices into His divine plan. Even if He, the author, knows the end of our story, our actions are what make the story what it is. We can choose to care or be callous, to create or destroy, and those choices ripple across time, for good and for ill.

This war will have effects far into the future, but there is also goodness that transcends time. God sent your sister to help from far in the future. I pray for you from far in the past. Your sister, outside of time, is now better able than ever to pray for us both.

I can't pretend that your sister's death was good. I can't pretend that this war is good. But if there is goodness beyond the end of the war--as your letters suggest--perhaps one day you will find some good that exists beyond the bounds of grief.

Yours,

Darrin Royston

XIX. Rachel Forester to Darrin Royston

Maj 24, 701 T.E.

Darrin,

I wish I could believe in what you say, but right now, hope seems impossible. Thank you for trying.

Rachel

XX. Darrin Royston to Rachel Forester

Maj 25, 701 T.E.

Rachel,

That did get rather abstract, didn't it? I wish I could express myself in a way that makes the truth felt.

Maybe someday I'll have wisdom enough to do so.

Yours,

Darrin Royston

XXI. Rachel Forester to Josephine Forester

Maj 27, 771 T.E.

Josie,

The university sent me your personal belongings today, your letter-link among them. My last connection to the past—and, it feels like, to you—is gone. But Darrin says you're outside of time now, so maybe writing in here can reach you. I'm pretty sure that goes against science and philosophy and theology and probably lots of -ologies, but those were your kind of thing. I can never understand anything but stories.

I'm afraid I've loused things up. I freaked out and revealed time travel to Darrin Royston. It doesn't seem to have broken anything yet, but I feel terrible. You went into the past to help these people through suffering I can't even imagine. Meanwhile, I'm living in comfort and asked the poor boy to deal with my problems on top of his own. I've been selfish from beginning to end, and it's giving me a lot of guilt.

All the time travel in the world can't change that. All I can do is move forward. But I can't believe I can do that, not without you. Whatever stupid things I did, I knew I could count on you to have my back. To understand. To pull me back from the edge of the cliff or pick me up if I jumped off it. Now it's just me and I feel frozen. I'm cut off from the past and the future's a blank. How am I supposed to go on?

Pray for me, I guess. It's supposed to work across time and outside of time. It's the best we've got now. But it's nothing like getting a letter from you.

Love,

Rachel

XXII. Josephine Forester to Rachel Forester

Maj 11, 551 T.E.

Rachel,

Happy birthday!

Anyway, it'll be your birthday when you read this. I'm sorry I'm not there to celebrate with you, but maybe a good present will make up for it.

I can't send objects through time, but I sent a message to Harriet on the research team, and she's come through. This will arrive on your birthday, even if I can't come with it.

What you hold in your hands is a first edition of Darrin Royston's first collection of stories. Given recent events, it seemed only fitting. Here's proof your letters haven't stunted his career.

You're amazing, Rachel, and you've got a great future ahead of you.

Love,

Josephine

XXIII. Dedication in New Beginnings by Darrin Royston

For Rachel

May hope reach you at the proper time

Octon 12, 561 T.E.

XXIV. Rachel Forester to Harriet Zima

Maj 33, 771 T.E.

Harriet,

Thanks for the help with the birthday present. It means more to me than you can know.

Could you do me one more favor? For Josie's sake?

I have another thank you to send.

Rachel

XXV. Rachel Forester to Darrin Royston

Maj 33, 771 T.E.

Darrin,

I read your book. Actually, I reread it. I've read every one of those stories before in anthologies, in collections, as standalone stories. I had some of them practically memorized. But this was my first time reading the original collection. So it's the first time I read the dedication. And it's the first time I've known they were written for me.

I can't begin to explain what that feels like. Imagine a whole lot of tears—joy and guilt and just sheer overwhelmed—and you'll have a general idea.

The stories are fantastic, of course—they're classics! They're funny, profound, sweet, witty, thoughtful.

But the thing that means the most to me is the writing of them. I know something of what your life was like there at the end of the war—Josie sent me plenty of letters. You had so many problems of your own. You didn't need pampered little me throwing more problems on you. But you cared. You built a life after the end of the world and you sent out a light to brighten mine.

That's all we can do, isn't it? Every moment in time. Care about each other. That's what gets us through when it seems like the world has ended. It transcends time. You told me about it back then, but your book showed it to me. I can't imagine what I could have done to deserve such consideration ten years after our few letters, but I can't thank you enough.

Your future and forever friend,

Rachel Forester

XXVI. Harriet Zima to Rachel Forester

Rachel,

I'm letting one last letter through. Only because this is awesome. But I don't have the budget to justify any more favors.

Harriet

XXVII. Darrin Royston to Rachel Forester

Novrum 23, 561 T.E.

Rachel,

Your stories brought me comfort and hope at a time when I felt that I had none. The least I could do was return the favor.

These years since the war have brought grief and suffering, but also more joy and healing than I ever could have imagined. Time is a great healer--and I needed time to see the truth of that for myself, before I could begin to make others believe in it.

My little book, even now, is gaining attention. It is gratifying to know it will last. I can only pray my other words will last long enough to reach you. If ten years of experience can teach me this much, I am curious to see what I can learn with a little more time.

May we meet again on the bookshelves.

Your friend,

Darrin Royston

P.S. I've visited your sister's grave three times since the war. Knowing I will be her only visitor for more than a hundred years makes it a solemn duty, but it is also an honor to visit one who proved so good a friend. Each time, I ask her prayers for both of us. I know they are answered.

XXVIII. Rachel Forester to Josephine Forester

Maj 12, 702 T.E.

Josie,

I visited your grave today. The war-torn country you described in your letters is a lovely springtime meadow. Grimsby Hall is torn down, but there are plaques where the hospital stood, and the little graveyard stands in a peaceful grove of trees. The world has healed, and, slowly, so am I.

Your grave is marked by a clean white stone that's been kept free of moss and dirt. Darrin's family cared for it well. It only has the date of your death, but its existence proves that there are times in the past where you're alive. Outside of time where you are now, you're even more alive.

One day, we'll meet again, but until then, I've got work to do. I tried to avoid suffering in the past, leaving the painful work to you. But pain finds us no matter where we are. I can't stay focused on my own and ignore everyone else's. There are plenty of people, even in our own time, who need help. I've added some volunteer work to my rampant social schedule, trying to find out exactly where I can do the most good.

My experience with your work makes me a good candidate for the time travel program. I'll admit that I'm considering it. There's plenty of work to be done in the post-war world, and I've got connections there.

Love,

Rachel

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Never put a human in a zoo

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)    

The sudden extinction of the Dre people was as sudden as it was unexpected to the galactic community. They were one of the oldest and most technologically advanced races in the universe. Heavily isolationist by nature, coupled with their inherent self-sense of superiority they viewed much of the other space faring species as little more than savages by comparison as none of them presented a credible challenge their rule. Yet within a month they had lost nearly 99% of their population across multiple worlds.

The worst hit was their homeworld of Belnuck situated at the heart of their empire which became an empty husk of a world seemingly overnight. Ancient and powerful cities of technological wonder now were little more than ghost towns to be picked clean by scavengers.

There were no signs of civil strife or unrest, no exterior threat from military forces, not even a record of natural disaster on their homeworld. Nothing was found that could give a clue as to what could have erased such a prominent power as the Dre, and so it was written off as a deadly unsolved mystery and the galactic community went on.

At least, that was what the public report stated.

It wasn’t until a group of Kreen scavengers came upon a set of personal journals that the shroud of uncertainty was lifted. Only to be then shortly locked away and sealed under the highest security restrictions to ensure the truth never saw the light of day.

These are those journal entries: ------------------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-757931 Head curator Migu

The benefactors are requesting we add new exhibits to the zoo again.

I thought they would have been content with the Draxic specimens we captured last month but it seems the general public no longer find giant lizards fascinating to observe. One of them suggested we allow the Draxic to mingle with other exhibits for inter species interactions for potential science research; but I could tell right away that what they really wanted from this was to have guests pay to see those lizard savages rip apart our other attractions like a Frong in a Skitch field.

I wish they could at least try to hide their greediness behind some semblance of rationality. At least then it would be easier to stomach.

I’ve scheduled a discussion with our head capture specialists to go out and find new attractions for the people later today. I don’t have much hope they can find anything as fascinating to revive interest but one never knows. End Log Entry. ---------------------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-757935 Head curator Migu

Capture team theta appears to have acquired something of value.

The specimens were caught will transitioning into real space at the edge of a system and were removed from their vessel shortly after.

Their technology was primitive in nature, but from the recordings the capture team sent back their esthetic design choices appear to be unique for such a low species. Accessing their data banks was a trivial matter and provided a wealth of history to them.

They appear to call themselves “Humons”, and have only recently begun intergalactic travel.

From the data we have gathered these humons are a highly warlike society repeating cycles of great conflict to great resurgence throughout their history. During war time they have fought with everything from sharpened wood stakes to low grade thermo nuclear devices.

While lacking the physical exciting traits like armored skin or shape shifting qualities, I believe their nature as a self-destructive race will make them a comedic addition to the zoo.

Theta team is on their way back now with them and I’ve already given instructions to create the new paddock for them in the east wing. With any luck the benefactors will find them as amusing as I do and calm down. End Log Entry. ------------------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-757940 Head curator Migu It could not have gone any better. The public loves the new attractions and the benefactors love the increase in profits. Theta team captured roughly a dozen of these humons and when coupled with their historical data we were able to depict several invigorating habitats. We injected them with the standard nano machines to provide feedback on each of them for both the caretakers and the guests. I do have some concerns about handing the medical needs of these humons as none of our handlers know how to treat them, but I have tasked them with dissecting the gathered data for any relevant medical information. They seem very energetic and many of them have not stopped trying to escape their exhibit since they woke up. A few of them have already begun crafting crude weapons to defend themselves while forming mini factions. The largest group has created a primitive wooden fortress by sharpening sticks and creating walls with them. The smaller group has kept their distance from the larger groups while the remaining few have decided to remain in isolation from both groups. Guests love it when they start banging on the windows and try to talk with them. The children in particular I overheard already picking out their favorites and rooting for them to survive should they begin fighting. We’ve not had this kind of engagement since we brought in Bengols with their psionic abilities. ------------------------------

Personal Journal Entry J-758021 Head curator Migu

It’s been several cycles since my last entry and we’ve had a few snags. Our lack of medical knowledge regarding our latest exhibits has proven costly. Despite our best efforts to decrypt the remaining data from their ships it appears medical information was damaged beyond recovery during the capture process. This has left us unable to properly care for them during medical emergencies; which have happened far sooner than expected.

After several days of captivity several of the humons began showing signs of rapidly deteriorating mental stability. They’ve displayed signs of paranoia, societal breakdown, and an increase in aggression levels to the point they murdered other humons in the enclosure.

We’ve never had this problem before with our other exhibits, at least within such a short timeframe, and now the benefactors are calling for my head. They are upset that their most prized money generators are murdering each other risking their profit margin.

I’ve suggested applying mild sedatives to calm them but was denied. They insist that curbing their more primitive tendencies would cause customers to lose interest in them.

The suggestion of capturing more of these humons was strongly advocated for but it was my turn to deny that request. Deploying a capture team was an expensive endeavor and if the humons continued killing each other the costs would overturn any increase in profits.

I’m putting together alternatives now for my next meeting with them. Hopefully something will come along and save our hides. ---------------------------------

Personal Journal Entry J-758043 Head curator Migu

The problem for the time being has resolved itself via an unexpected avenue.

One of the capture humons was seen treating the few remaining humans; providing basic medical treatment and care.

Ordinarily we would have written off such behavior but because of our current medical situation we decided to bend regulations and reach out to the subject directly.

A translator unit was acquired and we were able to speak directly with the humon. It took several minutes to calibrate, thankfully much of their speech was unrecognizable. They would not stop trying to speak with us while it was being adjusted and went on and on about wanting to be set free and demanding answers. Honestly you think these humons would be grateful that we are lowering ourselves to speak with them.

When they finally calmed down we explained the situation to them. In exchange for their cooperation they would be given special privileges to treats and comforts for the duration of their stay. They wanted to be let out and freed from the exhibit but I quickly shut that down as a non-starter.

It eventually dawned on them that this was going to be their new existence for the remainder of their life and could live in comfort or watch as their friends died one by one; and they accepted the offer. -------------------------

Personal Journal Entry J-758117 Head curator Migu

While unusual the negotiating tactic with the humon has resolved the issue for us and the benefactors are happy once more.

With the medical humons help they were able to stabilize the injured humons while also negotiate a form of agreement between the humon factions in the exhibit. They could still maim and injure each other while guests were present but would not kill and then would be treated afterwards before the next day’s opening.

Interestingly enough the medical humon has proved very useful. They’ve been able to communicate with the rest of the humons and get them to fall in line. What’s more they’ve been minimalistic in requests with the biggest being to be taught some of the basics of our medical equipment so he can use it himself.

Ordinarily we don’t allow this but it would have freed up some of the medical wing so we allowed it with extensive supervision.

I must admit I am rather proud of myself for resolving the situation, and with such little expenditure. Things now are running smoothly once more and the profits are seeing ever increasing margins. Maybe now the benefactors will get off my back. Though honestly I think it’ll only last one or two months before the humons are worn out and they want something new.

---------------------- Personal Journal Entry J-758135 Head curator Migu

Oh gods it burns!

Everyone at the zoo is screaming and clawing their own skin!

Gods damnit make it stop! MaKE IT Stop!!!!!!!!!!!

-----------------------

Emergency Transmission January 2873 Chief Medical Officer Maxwill Clemons

This is Chief Medical officer Maxwill Clemons of the ship “Hades Rest” calling out to any terran ships requesting immediate rescue.

I am not sure what planet or system we’re in, but hone in on this signal and you will find us. I will be repeating this message every hour on the hour for as long as this place has power.

I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been in this god forsaken hellhole. The automated day/night cycles have made my attempts at record keeping near impossible.

Maybe a month? Two? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.

We were kidnapped from our ship after exiting a jump and woke up to find ourselves in some sort of alien zoo. The aliens refused to speak to us at first, instead watching us from windows and laughing at us while we struggled to find out what was going on.

They’re all dead now. The aliens that is.

I never knew what they called themselves and I don’t really care.

They treated my friends like animals, so I took their precious tech and turned it on them. Made the nano machines they injected us with register the alien DNA as a deadly virus in need of immediate eradication.

First one I got was the one who was so smug about our capture and display. They changed their tune after I spat in their eye and their face started melting as the nano tech spread. Two others came in after the screaming started and they got infected as well before fleeing the room.

I stood up and went to my comrades “habitat’ and let them out as every alien around us began screaming and melting away. That was at least three days ago now and I haven’t seen one of them yet. Their whole planet now is like one massive ghost town.

We’ve enough provisions to last us and the other freed captives for some time, but please do hurry. I want off this fraking shit hole as soon as possible. --------------- Message repeats:

Emergency Transmission January 2873 Chief Medical Officer Maxwill Clemons

This is Chief Medical officer Maxwill Clemons of the ship “Hades Rest” calling out to any terran ships requesting immediate rescue. ------

[opencommunion]

"We decided to come to this farm because we could not find any other place to go to," said Rafat Lukman, whose family of 32 includes newborns and small children. "We came here thinking that we can put up with it for a few days, but this war has taken much longer. I cannot believe that my own children are sleeping in cages where chickens slept. I look at them and my heart breaks for the childhood I am giving them. But what else could I do?" From inside the chicken cages, the children can easily spot the Egyptian-controlled Rafah border with its high walls covered with barbed wires. "My daughter took her teddy bear with her when we evacuated the first time. She'd kept it with her the whole time," Lukman said. "But the other day, it rained and the farm flooded. She was sleeping in the cage and her teddy fell into the rainwater and got lost. She cried so much about it the next day. And again, her mum and I felt so helpless. We can't even get her a new teddy bear." Lukman's children say they have become used to their new reality now and it is difficult to remember that one day they had a house and bedrooms. "We are still lucky that we are not dead and that our parents are alive," Rafat's 12-year-old daughter, Mais, said. "But to be honest, I still feel scared sleeping in the cages. They are very cold and dark at night. I have always hated insects, but they are everywhere here, and I cannot do anything about it." In central Gaza, meanwhile, displaced people have also been living in squalid conditions due to overcrowding in shelters - which include schools, hospitals and mosques - and lack of basic services, including clean water, sanitation and a working sewage system. Abu Ahmed Jaber, a father and grandfather, had been sheltering in a UN-run school and decided to go back to his house that was bombed one afternoon while the family was home having lunch.  "The situation in the schools is horrible. They are overcrowded. No toilets, no food, no water and no privacy whatsoever. So I decided to come back with my family to my bombed house and live in whatever space was left standing," Jaber told MEE. When Israel bombed his house, smoke engulfed the family, blackening the afternoon light. "We thought we were dead," Jaber said. The elderly man and his sons pulled out their pregnant sister and her one-year-old daughter from under the rubble with their bare hands. The family fled to a school for shelter, where his daughter bled for hours before an ambulance was able to make its way to them. Despite their traumatic experience, Jaber, who suffers from heart problems and diabetes, made the decision to return to their destroyed home in Bureij, in central Gaza, because he felt that all other alternatives lacked dignity. "This is my house. How can I let go of it? I literally built it with my hands stone by stone. I look at it 20 times a day and I struggle with the fact that I cannot even rebuild or fix anything," said Jaber, in a voice full of sorrow and anger. "I cry every night. I cannot even sleep anymore. If I fall asleep and wake up for any reason, I cannot fall back asleep. I am living a very primitive life amid the rubble, but I would rather do that than leave my house and evacuate from one place to another like chess pieces. And what for? What have I and my family done?" ... Palestinians in Gaza are living today what their grandparents lived over 70 years ago, and the fear of never being able to return is at the heart of their concern. "If the house is destroyed, the land is still there, and it is mine. I would rather die here than live another Nakba like my family did before me," Jaber said.

17 Feb 24

[daydreamsandafternoonteafics]

Crossroads- Chapter 13

banner by shesaidpoptarts

MASTERLIST

!Content Warning(s)!: Angst, arguing/fighting, several f-bombs dropped.

It was hardly 9 am but a torrid heat lingered in the bedroom. 

The ceiling fan whirled above, providing a gentle breeze of relief from the singe of Harry’s clammy skin against mine. The sheets, still fresh with lemon detergent, are wrapped around me like a chrysalis, my bump serving as a miniature table for the big, paperback maternity book I’ve opened.

His chest is firm and comfortable against my back, relieving the pressure of the now papaya-sized baby boy off of my uterus, and the light shadow of stubble on his chin tickles my shoulder as he peers at a page. 

Summer sun beams down on my skin and for the first time in a while, I feel …content.

With the merger complete and an olive branch between us, things seemed to be looking up for Harry and I. We'd cycled back to our inevitable post-fight honeymoon phase but things felt different this time.

Harry had actually spent more time at home this past week than he had in years. I'd grown so used to existing in our house alone that I was sure I'd go crazy but there was a part of me that craved his presence for so long that I couldn't help but indulge. 

We spent lazy mornings in bed together marveling at the growth of my belly, had sunset dinners on the patio tasting new recipes, and stayed up too late tangled in Egyptian cotton dreaming up baby names only to wake up and do it all over again. 

We were bonding and for the first time in forever, I felt truly connected to Harry. 

In addition to our newfound closeness, I was thriving in my second trimester. I had a new surge of energy, my hair was full and lustrous, my nails longer than ever and sex was incredible. 

My raging hormones made the physical aspect euphoric but it also felt great knowing that we were making love to please each other rather than the salacious thrill of an argument. It was safe to say that I'd tossed aside my life vest of skepticism and dove straight into Harry and I was drowning in the best way possible.  

I'd tried my hardest not to let my usual overthinking get the best of me. Deep down inside,  I knew this love fest wasn't bound to last but it was the little things like feeling the hair on his legs brush against mine first thing in the morning that made me realize just how much I'd longed for this intimacy.  

I needed this. We need this. I had no way of knowing if the arrival of our boy would bring us closer together or drift us further apart. 

It was best to just enjoy it while it lasted. 

“I can't believe he can already respond to light and sound,” I say, turning the page. “It feels like only yesterday when he was just that tiny little bean. He's really growing up,” 

I was slowly coming to accept that I was having a son. Ryan's talk and the peacefulness of the week had put the worry to rest for the moment. There was no changing the sex of the baby, all I could do was hope that Harry worked on changing his ways and setting a good example for our baby boy. 

Harry's lips ghost over the slope of my shoulder and I can feel the curve of his grin pressing into my skin.

“He can hear, yeah? Hope he didn't hear too much of what we were doin’ a while ago,” 

His deep drawl sends vibrations through my chest and I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment as I squint at the text on the page. 

“Oh, cut it out. It says here if we play certain music for him while he's in the womb he'll recognize it later. He can even recognize our voices,” 

I feel a sudden lump in my throat and dogear the page, tossing it on the far side of the bed. Understanding just exactly what was happening in my womb as my body continued to change made me realize just how powerful and existential pregnancy was. 

Our son was in the most primitive stages of life-working double overtime to grasp the mechanics of this new body that was transforming every day- while I hardly had to think about average functions like breathing and blinking. 

It was insane to think that my body was creating a new life that was both separate and a part of me. The idea of our baby was no longer abstract. I'd felt him growing and moving inside of me. 

He was very real. 

Harry shifts under me and pulls the sheets away from my body to expose my bump in all its glory. It is fuller and rounder lately and my once innie belly button had popped into an adorable outie. 

The way the honeyed sunlight hit the hardened bump made my taut skin glisten. 

He leans forward, his nose brushing against the curve of my belly just under my ribs as he places his large hands on either side of the bump. 

“Hey little lad, it's Daddy,” Harry beams, dimples denting his cheeks. “Mumma says you can hear now so I thought I'd say hello. I can't wait to meet you. We're gonna have so much fun together and be best friends. Mummy and I already love you so much,” 

I can't help but feel emotional seeing the way Harry's face lights up when speaking to the baby. It's been so long since he's been this happy about something and for the first time in a while, it was me who was fueling that happiness. I think back to his original reaction when I'd snidely blurted my pregnancy compared to the present of how enamored he'd grown with our baby. 

I know it's stupid of me to think so but maybe there was a small miracle of a chance that this baby would repair the tears in our marriage. 

I couldn't be pregnant forever and the maternal high would eventually wane, but maybe if we channeled all our love for our son into each other things would improve.

Maybe. 

I push a fallen curl away from his forehead as he presses the most gentle kiss to my bump and I don't think I ever loved him more than at this moment. 

“You're gonna be such a great dad, Harry,” I say, staring into his jade eyes as I cradle his sculpted face in my hands. “I just know it,” 

I’d hardly noticed the tear that rolled down my cheek until his thumb swiped it away. 

“Heeey, why are you cryin’, darling?” Harry asks with a frown. 

I want to say these are happy tears but I’m just not sure. 

I force a grin. 

“It’s nothing, just hormones,” 

My eyes fall to the alarm clock on the nightstand and I suddenly remember my Pilates session in half an hour. I sit up against the headboard and stretch my arms over my head, wincing slightly at the aching pain in my lower back. 

“Well, my lazy morning ends here. I’ve gotta get to Pilaties in a bit,” I announce, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth while pushing the covers further away from my body. 

The bed is warm and cozy and I wouldn't mind spending the rest of the day cuddled up with him but I have a strong need to be productive. Carefully, I swing my legs out of bed, stopping to catch my breath before my swollen feet hit the ground. 

“Don’t you think it’s time to give it a rest, Riv?” Harry asks as I grab my robe off the bedside chair. “It makes me nervous. You’re clearly in the advanced stages of pregnancy and doing exercise that requires too much time on your back can obstruct blood flow to our boy,” 

I bite my lip and reach for the belly butter on my vanity squirting a generous amount in my hand. As much as I usually hated his unsolicited advice, he might have a point. 

“Fine,” I reply, turning to the side to get a better view of my bump as I slather the thick butter into my skin. “I’ll take up something a little more low impact- like yoga,” 

In the mirror, I watch him roll his eyes, tugging on a pair of boxer briefs before sauntering over to me. 

“You’re so bloody-minded, River Dawn. In a week or two you’ll have three more months left before our little lad is here. You’ve been working this whole time. ‘S not gonna kill you to take a couple of months rest, yeah?”

His hands settle on my bump once more and the realization that the baby will be here in such a short time hits me. There was still so much to do. 

“I’ll have plenty of time to rest once the baby is here,” I retorted, taking in a deep breath. “ We don’t even have a registry or a plan for the nursery yet and I need to sign up for those Lamaze classes,” 

I try to pull away to continue to get dressed but Harry only holds me tighter. 

“Don’t stress about it, babe,” He assures me, pressing a kiss to the crook of my neck. “We’ll get it all sorted out. This afternoon, ‘M gonna submit my final report, then on Saturday, we’ll celebrate and we can start picking out furniture for the nursery. How’s that sound?”

My eyes flutter open, trying to resist the feral way my hormones react to his delicious lips on my neck. I’d completely forgotten about the gala celebrating the successful merger of the firms.

I always resented Harry’s job for the distance it had created between us and I didn't feel like I fit the mold of the type of wife men in his business were expected to have. Still, I knew this night was important to him and it would be nice to spend more time together.

“I haven't even got a dress, Harry,” I whine and he chuckles, pressing a kiss to my hair.

“I don't care what you wear. I know you'll look gorgeous,”

I glance at us in front of the mirror in our loved-up stance, his arms wrapped around my bump and chin resting on my shoulder. We look as if we will be the perfect little family once our baby arrives. 

A nuclear family was all I'd longed for since a child and now I had a chance to give my boy something I didn’t have.

I could only hope it was worth it. 

I'd managed to tear myself away from Harry and arrive at Pilates with a few minutes to spare. Hannah had already rolled out her mat and was stretching as I stepped out of my sandals that had grown a bit too small. 

“Hey, River!” She squeals, straightening up from her toe touches. “I thought for sure you’d take a break this week,”

“Not a chance,” I grin, rolling my mat out. “I've got so much energy this week. I feel really great,” 

Hannah's lips pull up into a knowing smirk. 

“22 weeks was a good week for me too. I hope you and Harry are having fun,” 

I bite my lip, my cheeks burning a sheepish tint as I stare down at my bump clad in one of Harry's faded Colombia t-shirts. 

“We are. Minus some back aches, I don't think I've felt this good since before the pregnancy. This little boy is gonna take my breath away, though. I feel like I'm doing a Marilyn Monroe impression every time I try to talk,” I chuckle breathlessly. 

She grins. 

“I reckon it was just yesterday when you were sobbing in the bathroom, sick as a tick, and look at you now. Told ya you’d be happy as a fat cat,” Hannah winks. 

“Yeah, I guess I am,”

The workout served to kick my ass.

Despite my energy, I found myself gasping for breath and dizzy. As much as I’d prided myself in staying in shape despite the changes my body was going through, it was a bit embarrassing to admit that I was no longer as fit as I was in the first trimester. 

I hated proving Harry right but it was safe to say he’d won this round. 

After class, I headed straight for a vending machine for a bottle of water. The exercise session had made the baby restless, assaulting my uterus with tiny kicks, and me very hungry. I sighed in satisfaction, the water felt so refreshing rushing through my veins. 

“I thought you'd gone already,” 

I turned around to face Hannah,  mat draped over her shoulder and face flushed from our workout. 

I drew in a deep breath before flashing a weak smile as I wiped away the water that dripped down my chin. 

“I just need water,” I replied breathlessly. “This might be my last workout before baby boy arrives. Harry thinks I should take a rest. Baby likes it though, he hasn't stopped moving since we finished, ” 

She smiles while dabbing the perspiration from her forehead. 

“He's gonna be a good daddy. He was so sweet with Bristol- so natural,” Hannah beams. 

As much as I was growing to enjoy my friendship with Hannah, it still felt awkward that she now knew so much about me. She'd gone from knowing virtually nothing about me to having met my husband and father of my son. 

I was so used to holding outsiders at a distance and curating the sides they got to see of me. If things don't last between Harry and me, I'd have an additional audience of judgment.  

“He's very excited,” I nod, suddenly feeling the urge to change the subject. “I'm going to a gala on Saturday and need to find a dress, plus I've got a major craving for a Chick-fil-A sandwich. Wanna come to the mall with me?” 

Harry had probably left for the office and I wasn't ready to go home. Despite the heat, I felt too good to stay cooped up in the house all day. 

She grins.

“I'd love to!” 

The outdoor mall was about fifteen minutes away from the Pilates studio and at least thirty from my home. I usually patronized small boutiques near the beach but the mall was the only place I could knock out shopping and satisfy my craving in one go. 

We headed straight for the tiny Chick-fil-A store that was beginning to crowd with early lunch hour customers and luckily secured a table in the cool air conditioning. The standard chicken sandwich I'd had so many times tasted as if it'd been blessed by the food gods thanks to my rekindled love affair with food.  

After such a physically and emotionally stressful first and second trimester, I was looking forward to the ease the next few months would hopefully bring. 

“I should have asked if you wanted to bring Bristol along ” I say, my eyes settling on a mother pushing a toddler in a stroller as Hannah and I passed a Hollister.

The beach hut roof, glossy posters of attractive teen models in denim, and the overwhelming smell of cologne seeping through its open door reminded me of teen years long passed when my biggest worry was picking out the most fashionable outfit. 

After lunch, we'd poked in and out of a few stores but nothing seemed to catch my interest and I was hoping a little walk would help the baby settle down after his active morning of kicking my bladder. 

“Oh nooo,” she chuckles, slurping up the last of her cookies and cream milkshake. “You don't have any idea how much fun I'm havin’.  Toddlers can be such a pain to shop with. Bristol gets real cranky whenever I try to get in a little shopping. And don't even get me started on the whinin’ and the beggin’. Anything she sees she's got to have, even if she doesn’t know what it is. Whenever I wanna do some real shopping, I either do it when she's at nursery or I make Nash watch her, ” 

I laugh in amusement and surprise. This was the first time I'd heard Hannah speak negatively about motherhood. 

“I wouldn't mind,”

Hannah shakes her head. 

“I would. If I were you, I'd enjoy every bit of time you've got to yourself before that little boy gets here. Is Harry treating you to a babymoon?” 

I gulp my large cup of lemonade with a pensive sigh. While Harry had promised me time off, we hadn't discussed any vacation. 

I only had about a month or two left to safely travel before I was too heavily pregnant to pass through TSA and it would be nice to go someplace exotic to unwind. I could hardly remember the last time Harry and I got out of town together and if my memory serves me correctly, it was a boring, obligatory visit to Anne and Des's. 

“I don't know,” I shrugged. “His firm just finished this huge merger and it's the first time he's had a break from work in a while. I'm just excited he gets to be at home,” 

She smiles.

“You should ask him. Nash surprised me with a week in Aruba when I hit the halfway mark. It was the sweetest thing. He'd been savin’ up for it since he found out I had a bun in the oven. It was the best week of my life. A girl's gotta have something to dream about when you're running on three hours of sleep and changing diapers at the crack of dawn,” Hannah speaks pointedly. 

I can't help but feel a little jealous hearing Hannah's story. Her husband had been supportive of her pregnancy from the very beginning. While Harry's excitement had blossomed lately, it would have made my first trimester a lot better if he'd shown he cared. 

Then there's also a nagging voice in my head that tells me if Harry wanted to give me a babymoon, we'd already be booked for a tropical vacation.  

A satin, turquoise gown in the display window of a boutique catches my eye, a nice and convenient distraction from our conversation. 

“I think I'm gonna pop in here,” I say, gesturing towards the dress. 

As soon as we stepped over the threshold, I could already project I'd be spending a couple hundred dollars minimum. The store had an upscale, vintage department store feel with velvet carpet the color of deep emerald, crystal chandeliers, and gold-trimmed mirrors. 

A pretty auburn-haired woman in a silk blouse and pencil skirt approached us. 

“Anything I can help ya'll ladies find today?” She asked in a syrupy sweet accent reminiscent of Hannah’s.

Her hazel eyes fall to my bump, a gentle grin sweeping across her lips. 

“I'm going to a gala with my husband this weekend and I need something formal that can accommodate my bump,” I reply, placing a hand against my belly. 

“Congratulations on the little one! How far along are you?” 

I was getting that question a lot more now that I was unmistakably showing. 

“I'll be six months in about a week,”

“It's a boy!” Hannah pipes up. 

I chuckle sheepishly as the woman's grin grows wider. 

“You're glowing! I know we can find something stunning for you. Follow me,” She chirps.

The associate leads us further into the store, and I take in the expensive-looking dresses and jewelry. 

I knew I needed to find something that would make me look like the glamorous, put-together wives I knew would be at the function. Women of good Southern breeding, debutantes, sorority pledges, and former pageant queens. My incidental upper-middle-class upbringing and pedestrian profession could not compete.

I was bound to stick out like a sore thumb. 

We stopped at a rack full of gowns of all different colors and fabrics. Hannah pushes ahead of me and plucks out a pale, buttercup yellow chiffon Grecian gown. Delicate rhinestones stitched into the bust glitter under the store lights. 

“This one would be just gorgeous on you, River!” She squeals, thrusting the garment in my direction. 

I run my fingers along the soft fabric with apprehension. 

“I don't know if yellow is my color, Hannah,” 

“You're warm-toned,” the associate smiles. “I think you could pull it off. Why don't you give it a try? I'll be right at the front counter if you need me. M’ name's Lisa by the way,”

Hannah cradles the dress in her arms.

“Thanks, Lisa,” She coos before turning to me. “Go on and give it a try, River. I promise it’ll look spectacular.”

I shrug, feeling defeated. 

“Why not?” I reply breathlessly. 

The dressing rooms were arguably more upscale than the store itself. A heavy, intricately embroidered drape served for privacy, a quilted velvet that matched the floors adorned the walls and I resisted the urge to get too comfy on the plush fainting couch. Feeling a spell of dizziness, I took my time changing into the garment. The chiffon material of the gown was soft against my skin and draped elegantly over my full breast and swollen bump. 

The soft shade of yellow was also surprisingly complimentary to my complexion. I was more than pleased with my appearance but also a bit weirded out at how intuitive Hannah was with even the smallest things. That woman does not miss. 

“How’s it going in there, River?” Hannah drawls from behind the curtain. 

I glance at my figure in the mirror, a small smile tugging at my lips as a tiny kick flutters in my belly.

“I think yellow is my color after all,”

***

“What a lovely color you've chosen,” 

Mom smiles, leaning over to get a better look at the deep burgundy polish drying on my nails.  

I glance at the shade with uncertainty,  wondering if I should have picked something a bit more demure. 

I'd been quietly freaking out about the merger gala during the week with Harry's company and very few food orders to distract me. Saturday had finally arrived and I was still checking last-minute treatments off my to-do list. I knew inviting my mom along for manis and pedis would somewhat soothe my nerves. 

“You don't think it's a little…trashy?” I ask, shifting in the plush chair. 

I stretch my slightly swollen fingers apart under the dryer lamp, inspecting each nail. 

Nail polish was a serious health violation in the food service world so I'd grown accustomed to sporting bare, trimmed nails over the years. It felt weird seeing color on my hands. 

Mom kinks a brow in confusion.  

“Trashy? Sweetie, you could never be trashy,” She replies, holding her hand up to the light to get a better look at her navy nails. 

“I'm just super nervous about tonight, Mom,” I admit, breathlessly. “I know there's gonna be so many important people there and I don't want to do anything that'll embarrass Harry,” 

It almost felt silly to care so much about some snotty gala I would never otherwise attend. I don’t even remember preparing this much for prom. 

She laughs. 

“There are far worse things you could do than pick the wrong nail polish color to embarrass him if that’s your mission,”

I sigh, failing to find the humor in her quip. 

“I’m serious, Mom. I’m gonna be in a room with all these powerful men and their gorgeous trophy wives. They’ve probably got an Ivy League education, country club memberships, and 3 ½ kids. And then there’s me. All I know how to do is cook,” I frown. 

It was the first time I'd said it out loud. Mom’s face softens. and she takes her hands from under the dryer to caress my face. 

“Oh, River. You’re just as gorgeous and capable as any other country club trophy wife or business executive,” She smiles. “ All you need to do is be yourself. You light up any room just by walking into it. And sure, Harry’s very successful in his own right, but you’re the woman who’s stood by and supported him throughout the years. If he’s as smart as I think he is, he knows that and would be happy to have you by his side, no matter what color of nail polish you choose,” 

My hormones get the better of me, and I feel a wave of tears stinging my eyes. Her words make me emotional, not just because of their saccharine sentiment but also the realization that I can hardly remember Harry saying anything like that to me. 

“Thanks, Mom,” I sniff. 

She smiles. 

“So, how’s my little grand dude doin’? Have you and Harry decided on a name?”

I grin, placing a hand on my bump, hardly bothered if my nails have dried. 

“He’s getting super active and taking my breath away. We haven’t settled on anything definite buuut, I’m gravitating towards the name Beckett,”

I bite my lip, waiting for my mom’s candid reaction, the hum of electric nail files and spa foot baths filling the silence between us. 

“Beckett,” Mom whispers. “I like it! It’s solid, classy,”

Proud of myself, I can hardly contain my smile. I’d looked at hundreds of boy names in the past week or so but it was the name I kept coming back to. It didn't have this deep meaning or family history but I liked it. 

“I figured it’ll grow with him. It’ll be cute when he’s little but still have a boyish, mature vibe when he’s older,” I announce. 

She covers her mouth in excitement. 

“Beckett Styles. Oh my gosh, he’s got a name! This is so exciting. I'm so happy for you, sweetie,” 

I giggle, reaching out to squeeze her arm. 

“Just pump the brakes before you go spreading it all over town, Mom. Please,” 

“I'll try my very best,” Mom grins.

After leaving the salon, we grabbed lunch to celebrate my baby name choice, and I was already feeling more relaxed about tonight's festivities. 

Harry was still running errands when I arrived home . I took the opportunity to get in a nap before I had to start dolling up. What was intended to be an energizing cat nap ended up stretching into the afternoon, and I woke to warm kisses on my skin. 

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” The deep familiar voice drawls. 

I blink the sleep from my eyes, adjusting my vision to the sight of Harry's dimpled grin, his elbow anchored firmly into the mattress as he hovers over me. The sun still shines brightly through the curtains, a dry cleaning bag with Harry's tux drapes over the chair and a wave of panic rushes over me. 

“Shit, we're late!” I gasp. 

I move to sit up on my elbows, and a dull aching pain in my lower back greets me and I wince. He reaches out to push my hair from my face, flashing his dimpled grin.  

“No darling,  we're fine,” Harry replied calmly. “We've still got at least another two hours,” 

I exhale in relief, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips as his emerald eyes meet mine. A wayward curl falls loosely against his forehead, and the sleeves of his button-up have been rolled up to the crook of his elbow, exposing the taut, well-sculpted masculine structure of his arms.

He wasn't doing anything but existing but somehow that was enough to get my blood pumping.

“I didn't mean to sleep so long,” I yawn. 

“It's okay, Riv. You and our little lad need all the rest you can get. Besides- in the least creepy way possible- I like watching you sleep. You're so beautiful,” 

His knuckles gently brush against my cheekbone before he takes my whole face in his hand. Harry dips down, planting a slow yet fervent kiss on my lips that sends a libidinous shiver shooting down my spine. I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and part our mouths, tugging him closer for better access.

If Heaven had a distinct taste, I was sure it was the honey-sweet flavor of his mouth. It didn’t matter if I was hardly awake. At that moment, I craved him so badly. 

His large hands disappear under my sundress, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against my hip bones as he sucks my bottom lip.  

I could have come undone right then and there.  

“I want you,” I whine breathlessly, my fists clasping around his hair. 

Harry redirects his kisses to my neck, his tongue grazing languidly against my skin. 

“We've got plenty of time for that tonight, babe- after the gala,” He speaks teasingly. “Might not even be able to make it home. Jus’ might have to take you in the back seat in your pretty gown,” 

His salacious words do nothing to quench my desire and I grasp at his shirt in frustration. 

“Oh no, you started this, you're gonna finish it. Give me thirty minutes in the shower and we'll still have lots of time to get ready,” 

Harry's jade eyes twinkle mischievously as he smirks down at me.

“I do my best work under pressure,”

“Prove it,” I grin. 

All worries about the night were kissed and caressed away under the steam of the shower, toeing the fine line between sin and salvation. I felt relaxed and rejuvenated. 

Maybe it was the lingering high of post-orgasmic bliss but something about tonight felt different and magical. Getting ready together was like old times back in New York when we'd first moved in together. We'd get all dressed up to go clubbing, go to museums, or try a new restaurant. 

We spent most of that time making out, finding the right songs to get ready to, and changing outfits at the last minute but we always seemed to have a blast before and after we left the house. 

Things felt so good between us lately and I was holding out hope they'd stay this way. Maybe the birth of our baby boy would also mark the rebirth of our relationship. 

“Your bowtie is crooked, honey,”  I announce as I swipe on a final coat of rosy nude lipstick.

From the corner of my eye, I watch him attempt to straighten it with little success in front of the full-length mirror, a persistent pout on his lips.  I can't help but giggle. The Harry I once knew would never be caught dead wearing a bowtie.

“C'mere and let me help,” 

I wouldn't be able to get up from my vanity chair without needing help so he'd just have to meet me halfway. 

“Blast that bloody thing,” He grumbles before shuffling over. 

I grin as he crouches down to a level I can reach. My fingers fasten around the satin fabric to soothe the knots and tangles until I've made a presentable bow. 

“Better,” I hum, running a hand over his clean-shaven cheek. 

Harry turns to the mirror for proof of my success, his eyebrows raising in surprise.  

“Where'd you learn to do that, darling?” He asks, smoothing down his collar. 

I shrug.

“I've helped Ryan out a couple of times. Help me up?” 

I spread my legs like a crab and squeeze both his hands, taking a deep breath as I rise to my feet. Harry bites his lip in an attempt to suppress his laugh but I catch him in the act. 

“You've got to stop laughing at me, Harry,” I chide breathlessly.

He flashes a dimpled smirk. 

“I can't help it. I think 's cute,”  He pushes my curled hair away from my shoulder before tracing his fingers down my arm. “You look incredible tonight,” 

The yellow gown Hannah had chosen looked even more amazing with my hair loosely curled and a natural smokey eye and was a nice but subtle pop of color next to Harry's standard black and white tux. 

We look like quite the perfect couple but I find myself unbothered with appearances. It was time to be naked and vulnerable-to finally remove the mask we'd been hiding behind for so long. 

I feel a sudden lump forming in my throat and quickly swallow it, not wanting to ruin my makeup. 

“Harry, there's something I think I should say,” I start slowly. 

His eyebrows furrow softly as he pulls me closer. 

“What is it, babe?” 

I take a deep breath, staring into his mesmerizing eyes as I fiddle with my engagement ring. 

“Maybe I've been a bit hard on you lately about your job but I want you to know that I'm proud of you and all the things you've accomplished.  I don't wanna keep holding grudges for all the stupid stuff we've said to each other or all the time we've wasted arguing. Maybe things won't be the same as they were before but that's okay. We'll find a new normal. I just- I want a clean slate- for you and me and our baby boy,” 

There's a pregnant pause between us that makes my heart sink. I don't know what I'll do if he doesn't want to start over. 

“Darling, of course,” He speaks softly, a faint flash of dimple in his cheeks as his lips curve into a grin. “I love you,” 

It's probably the closest I'll get to a formal apology but it really doesn't matter if we can put all this behind us. 

“I love you too,”  I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I love you too,” 

We seal the deal with a chaste kiss and head out the door and for the first time in forever, I don't feel like the other shoe is going to drop.

The venue of the gala was an old Colonial mansion with a questionable history deep in the boonies that many locals rented out for weddings and graduation parties. I felt exhausted just looking at the slate steps that lead to the entrance of the house, Harry taking my hand as the valet rolled away with the Rover. 

“Can you make it, darling?” He asked softly, his deep voice slightly drowned out by the loud jazz music drifting from the house. 

I take a deep breath, anchoring a hand on my belly. 

“ It might take a while, but I'll manage,” 

The balmy summer evening air was thick with the perfume of the Magnolia trees that blossomed above us, mosquitoes nipping at my ankles as I made the trek up to the house with Harry's assistance. I could feel the baby begin to squirm when we finally made it to the top and I felt dizzy. 

The foyer had a soft, mustard yellow carpet that had been meticulously vacuumed for the occasion, a big crystal chandelier hung above and a cherry wood staircase took up half the room. 

Beyond the plain-looking foyer is a grand ballroom- shiny marble floors the color of clotted cream and large bay windows with velvet drapes.

It was like something out of a fairytale. 

Guests were already dancing and mingling on the floor while waiters buzzed around them with glasses of champagne. I grab hold of Harry's arm to steady myself. 

“Riv, are you alright?” He asks, his green eyes narrowing with worry. 

“I need to sit down and catch my breath, Harry,” I huff. 

He nodded slowly, hand resting on top of mine as he led me into the room. There are round tables with pristinely starched tablecloths on the outskirts of the floor and Harry pulls out a chair from the nearest one we can reach. 

I sigh in relief as I settle into the padded chair, hoping that the baby's activity will soon settle down in my belly. 

“I'll go get you some water,” Harry announces, giving me a quick peck before he disappears into the crowd. 

My nervousness suddenly returns and I focus on the band on stage, praying that no one will try to talk to me while Harry is gone. 

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,”

I guess I didn't pray hard enough. 

I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I turn to get a better look at the person who's approached me. I'm met with the sight of a tall blonde man in a khaki suit that seems too casual for the occasion. His golden hair contrasts harshly with his overly tanned skin and his blue eyes were glossy from too many spirits. 

I lean a little further back in my seat to give him a better view of my bump, the smug, flirtatious smirk on his face quickly fading. 

“How do you do?” I speak,  flashing a faux smile. 

“F-Fine,” He swallows sheepishly.  “Who are you here with?” 

My eyes quickly darted around the room in search of Harry. I find him over by the bar, a champagne glass in hand while he chats lively with a woman. Her manicured hand sits firmly on his arm.  She's got long brown ringlets that cascade down her back, and glowing toffee-colored skin. The black silk dress she's wearing hugs her hourglass figure perfectly.  

She was stunning. 

Suddenly I don't like how close she's standing to him or how gregariously they're conversing and I feel absolutely inferior to this goddess that's got my husband's attention.  

“Harry Styles,” I replied slowly, keeping my eye on them  “I'm his wife, River,”

The man shakes his scotch glass at me, his eyes falling to my belly once more. 

“I know Styles. Brilliant kid. A little high-strung but brilliant. He can kiss that IPO project goodbye for sure- you’ve got yourself a bun in the oven. I always say it- family life’s career suicide,”

The tipsy man was more so rambling to himself rather than talking to me.  I'd managed to tune him out myself but my ears perked up at the word project. 

My brows furrow perplexedly.

“I’m sorry, what project?”

He stuffs his free hand in his pocket, a short chuckle escaping him. 

“Nothin’ for you to worry your pretty little head about, sweetie. Good to see Styles slowing down a bit. Leaves more room in the competition pool,” He smirks. 

His patronizing tone makes my blood boil and for a moment I forget about Harry and the mystery woman. This is exactly what I didn’t need- a bunch of cocky, arrogant, intellectually-bigoted bankers thinking they can talk down to me. 

He’s gone before I can retort, waltzing over to an equally prickish-looking man and leaning into his ear. Their eyes sweep across the room, falling on me with a blatant leer. I look away,  feeling exhibitionized. 

“Feelin’ better, darling?” Harry’s voice snaps me out of my trance. 

I force a smile as he places the champagne flute of water in front of me, holding the stem of another with the real deal between his fingers. 

“I’m fine. Our boy’s got the wiggles,” I chuckle before taking a sip of water. “Maybe he likes the music,” 

With Harry now at my side, the men have stopped their leering and moved on to mingle with other people. I wonder if I should mention the woman from earlier but I’d rather just let it go and not get any further annoyed than I already am.

He grins, dimples on display and eyes sparking as he takes a sip of champagne. I can’t help but notice how undoubtedly handsome he is. 

“He’s got refined taste already. There’s some people I want you to meet,”

I try not to frown as he sets down his glass and helps me out of my chair. I can only hope that whomever I’ll be introduced to won’t be as awful as the sleazy guy who stopped by my table. We push past a few couples and single, suited guys and I can’t help but feel as if everyone’s eyes are on me. As overanalyzing as I was, I knew the difference between thinking everyone was staring at me and actual staring. 

There was actual staring. Mainly at my baby bump. 

I wondered if most bankers were so overworked and cooped up in their offices that they’d never seen a pregnant woman before. Their glances were a strange mix of curiosity and pity- as if we’d left the house wearing our underwear outside of our clothes. 

I was a spectacle and I didn’t even know why. 

We approach a late-middle-aged couple, a man in a grey suit with a thick head of silver hair and a woman in an elegant, navy blue glow with white evening gloves. The man smiles at us both, raising his scotch glass to Harry. 

“Styles, good to see you out enjoying the night,” He speaks in a gravely, thick Southern accent. 

“It’s a pleasure, Sir,” Harry replies with a firm handshake before pulling me closer to his side. “Bergen, I’d like you to meet my wife, River. River, this is our Managing Director Brick Bergen and his wife Sarabeth,”

I give my best smile and extend my hand. 

“Lovely to meet you both,” I speak softly. 

Sarabeth gives my hand a motherly squeeze. 

“She’s gorgeous, Harry,” She smiles. 

His boss’s eyes fall to my bump, his grey eyes lighting up. 

“Well, look at that! She’s with child!  Do you mind, darlin’?” 

Bergen’s large, withered hand is already reaching for the swell of my bump before I can even get out a word. I was very selective of those that got the privilege of touching my belly. I wasn’t a very spiritual person but I found myself believing more and more in transferable energies. 

Anyone who got near my son would have to have good intentions. I just couldn’t risk that on strangers. 

“Sorry, I’m all patted out today,” I laugh. 

I can feel Harry tense at my side, afraid I’ve said the wrong thing to his superior but he relaxes once Bergen laughs too. 

“You carry so well, dear,” Sarabeth starts. “When are you due?” 

After all the weird stares, It’s actually nice for someone to take an interest in my pregnancy. 

“November,” I smile, placing a hand on my bump. 

“That’ll be here before ya know it,” Bergen replies. “Wish you’d told me about your family planning sooner, Styles. We could have used you on the IPO project,”

This is the second time I’ve heard of this damned project in one night and I’m beginning to grow suspicious. 

The cordial grin on Harry’s face falls. 

“I still have all intentions of getting on that project, sir,” He replies. 

My heart sinks as Bergen shakes his head. I was slowly beginning to piece the puzzle together. 

“You won’t have the time, son. Too many long hours. You should be at home with your wife and baby,” 

Harry's green eyes have grown wide with desperation, his grip on my waist falling. 

“I promise, I can make it work.” 

I feel the rush of tears sting my eyes when the realization hits me. 

I'd been cruelly duped into thinking Harry had finally made time for me and our baby but here he was standing right by my side openly choosing his job over us yet again. 

All the time we'd spent together in the past week was just a hold-over distraction until he could find a way to dive back into work. The promises of nursery planning and pre-baby getaways were just a load of bullshit. 

To make matters worse, I wasn't the only one he'd deceived. He didn't have the courage or decency to tell his boss or his colleagues that his wife was expecting a baby, too scared of being passed up for some stupid project.  

I never felt more foolish and he never looked more pathetic. 

My hands grow clammy and I feel like I'll faint if I don't get out of the room. 

“I feel sick,” I hiccup. “Excuse me,” 

My vision is a blur of tears and mascara as I push through the crowd, drowning out the music and Harry's calls behind me. I don't want any of his colleagues to get the satisfaction of seeing me cry so I hold back the flood of tears until I am completely out of the venue. 

I weakly plop down on the porch swing, covering my mouth as sobs of anguish rack my body. I want to scream but I feel like I can't breathe- like my head is being held underwater, and there's no hope of coming up for air. 

“River!” 

I glower at him under the porch light, a glimmer of guilt in his eyes as he cautiously approaches me. 

“Y'okay?” 

I brush away the hot tears with my fingers, a bitter laugh passing my lips. 

“You've got some fucking nerve asking me that question, Harry! I spent all this money on a dress and did everything I could to make sure I’d measure up to the type of woman your big-shot coworkers would approve of. Did everything to make sure I wouldn't embarrass you and I'm the one that ends up looking stupid!” 

Harry runs a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh. 

“Babe-” 

“You lied to me, Harry,” I sniff, resting a hand on my belly. “You got my hopes up, making me think you were gonna take time away from work to be there for me during the most vulnerable time of my life- to take time to bond and prepare for the birth of our first child. But you had no intention of doing that at all. You dangled a fucking carrot in front of my face and were just gonna snatch it away,” 

He groans in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you, River Dawn,” Harry sneers. “Every time I try to advance in my career you complain about how much time I spend at work. I'm trying to build a bloody future for us. For you and our kid! That project could bring in good money for us. I'd be stupid not to take it!” 

I stare at the redwood floors of the patio, exhausted with anger and simultaneously numb.

He'll never get it. Every time I try to express how this makes me feel, he always rationalizes his coldness. 

He'll never admit that he pushes me away. 

“Am I not enough?” 

The words come out soft and broken. I can't look at him. 

“Am I not enough? What's the appeal about your job that you just can't stay away? Is it the money? Is it her? Are you fucking her?” 

I promised myself I wouldn't even mention that woman but I can't help it now. Pandora's box is finally open and there's no going back. I might as well get it all out.

If Harry could get so wrapped up in his work lies then certainly he wasn’t above hiding an affair. Maybe those late nights in the office and impromptu business trips were a cover-up for his unfaithfulness. 

A beat of silence passes between us, a night chorus of crickets echoing in the distance.

Harry groans. 

“You sound so insane right now, River,” He scoffs,  tugging at his bottom lip. “I speak to a woman I work with and you think I'm having an affair? I don't have time to fuck anyone but you because I'm always working! Why won’t you just let me be a man and do what I’m supposed to for our family without always complaining?!” 

I want to believe him but he's broken my trust far too many times. I meet his gaze, his green eyes are glossy and pink, Adam's apple bobbing as he takes a deep breath. 

“I meant everything I said at home, Harry,” I sniff, the tears flowing once more. “I really want us to start over but we can't do that if you keep lying to me! I can't keep doing this. I'm- I'm done,” 

A stark look of terror settles on his face and I think it's the most expressive I've seen him in years. 

“No. No. You don't mean that, darling,” 

My heart breaks knowing the words have left my mouth and maybe I'll regret them later but it's the only thing that makes sense right now. I can't keep clinging to him, begging for his attention and affection only to get walked over like a doormat. 

“Just go, Harry. Go back to your precious job.  I hope it keeps you warm at night,” 

I can't even bear to watch him walk away because I just know I'll fall apart if I do. 

Harry was the love of my life. I’d built my whole world around him.  Every molecule of my being wanted nothing more than to just be with him but I couldn’t keep living this way. I had to protect my sanity for the health of my child and if that means going our separate ways for a bit, I'll have to take that chance. 

It wasn't wrong to ask for my husband's time and affection and if it was I didn't give a damn about being right. 

***

My palm had grown red slapping against the cool steel of Ryan’s apartment door. 

It was a little after ten when my Uber arrived at his complex and I really had to pee. The distance from the gala venue to his apartment was far and the ride ended up costing me forty-five dollars but it was worth every penny if I could have some peace of mind tonight. 

To say I was devastated about what happened between me and Harry was an understatement.

I’d spent most of the ride crying my eyes out and wondering if I made the right decision. I should have known things felt too good to be true lately. They felt just the way they had all those years ago when we were still practically kids. But we weren’t those same people.

We'd grown older, grown apart. 

We’d been together for so long and had never broken up before. Things would never be the same again.

I can’t believe I was stupid enough to think for even a second that the birth of our son would right the wrongs between us and change Harry’s attitude. A baby would only complicate things.

I knew I didn’t want a divorce but I didn’t know if or how we could bounce back from this. 

“Ryan, open up! It’s me, River,” I shout. 

The door soon swings open and instead of my best friend’s handsome face, I’m met with the sight of a woman.

She has a pretty heart-shaped face and big brown eyes, dark hair pulled into a bun. Her eyes fall to my yellow gown and trail up to my face. I was sure I looked like a raccoon the way my eyeliner had run from all my crying. 

I suddenly feel guilty and embarrassed. I didn’t want to go to Mom’s in my state of distress. It would rattle her too much and I’d have to confess to everything wrong between me and Harry. Ryan at least had a backstory on his flaws so it made more sense to rant to him. 

I guess I never considered that Ryan might have plans of his own on a Saturday night.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I’ll come back at another time,”

“Jen, who is it?” 

Ryan’s voice grows closer and his blue eyes widen behind his female companion when he notices me. 

“Jesus, Audley,” He winces. “You’re a mess. What happened?” 

I stare down at the concrete on his small patio, blinking back my tears as I fiddle with my clutch. 

“It’s nothing, Ry. I see you’ve got company. I’ll just call later,” 

The woman named Jen stares between the two of us, a tinge of annoyance settling on her features. Ryan had never mentioned this woman before so I assumed it was a first date. I can only imagine how her opinion has changed now that a deranged pregnant woman has shown up at his doorstep. 

“I know you didn’t come all the way out here for nothing, Angel. Come inside,”

Jen pivots back into the apartment as Ryan opens the door for me and I know she must hate me. The smell of spaghetti and meat sauce fills my nose. It was the only recipe of his mom’s that Ryan had learned to make. 

I notice the tall white candles and wine glasses on the kitchen table and I feel like the biggest cockblocker. 

“I know this must look bad,” I turn to Jen with a smile. “But Ryan and I are just friends. We’ve known each other since we were four years old and I’m married. I’m River by the way,” 

Jen doesn’t return my smile and instead grabs her purse off the coffee table. 

“I should go,” She says, glaring at me.  

Ryan frowns. 

“I’ll walk you out,” He offers. 

“Don’t bother. You’ve got bigger problems,”

Jen waltzes out the door without so much of a goodbye, slamming it soundly. Ryan runs a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh and I plop down on the sectional, burying my head in my hands. 

“I’m sorry,” I choke out. 

I thought I’d cried all my tears on the Uber over but knowing I’ve ruined Ryan’s date makes me even more emotional. I sob so hard, I begin gasping for air. Ryan panics and rushes to my side. 

“River, what the hell happened?”

“It’s over. I think It’s over,” 

I wipe the tears away from my eyes, wanting to see his reaction. 

“You and Harry, huh?” He asks, his gaze softening. 

I know Ryan is my best friend and would never wish anything bad for me but somehow I expected him to be more jovial if I ever announced my separation from Harry. 

“He lied to me, Ryan,” I sniffed. “ I feel so stupid. I-” 

Before I can complete my sentence, my phone rings loudly from my clutch. My heart sinks and I fear it might be Harry but with a glance at the caller I.D., Mom’s photo pops up. I don’t have the energy to talk right now but I know if I don’t answer the phone she’ll be highly skeptical and only continue to call. 

“Hi Mom,” I greet, trying to sound as normal as possible as I press the phone to my ear.

From the corner of my eye, I notice Ryan staring at me intently.

“Is everything okay with you and Harry?”  She replies, not even bothering with pleasantries. “He keeps blowing up my phone asking where you are. Didn’t you two go to the gala tonight?”

I roll my eyes. I’d ignored all of Harry’s calls on the ride over and I knew he was smart enough to get the hint. There was nothing he could say or do to change my mind.

He’d made his bed and now it was time to lie in it.

“Yeah, I got sick and had to go home early,” I lied. “I should have told him I was leaving,”

Mom gasped.

“Is everything okay with Beckett?”

I manage to smile at the use of my chosen name. 

“He’s fine, Mom. Just tell Harry I’m at home. And if he calls back again, don’t answer. He’s such a worry-wart,” 

“Okay,” She chuckles. “Get some rest and take care of yourself. I love you,” 

“I love you too, Mom,”

With a sigh of exasperation, I toss my phone on the sectional. I can’t take any more calls tonight. 

Ryan strokes his beard in deep thought as I turn back to him. 

“He’s not having an affair, is he? He asks. “I’ll have no qualms about killing him, I swear,”

I take one of the throw pillows and position it behind my back to ease the aching sensation I hadn’t even noticed till now. 

“He says he’s not,” I sigh. “I kind of believe him. It’s just his stupid fucking job. It’s always his job. He’s so wrapped up in it, the sky could be falling and he wouldn’t even notice. We used to be so close- like you and me,” 

Ryan leans back on the sofa. 

“What happened?” 

I shrug.

“We got married and moved down here, Harry started working at the firm. He started growing distant, shutting me out. I’d get all dressed up and make these elaborate dinners and he wouldn't even talk to me- we’d just sit in silence- and when I tried to talk, he'd snap at me. I thought maybe he was unhappy here and considered going back to New York but he was already establishing himself at the firm. I just accepted that that's the way things were gonna be but it hurt so much. I felt- I feel so lonely sometimes,” 

I blink away the fresh batch of tears that want to fall, waiting for Ryan to reply. 

“Getting pregnant's the most attention I've gotten from him in years,” I continued, staring up at the ceiling. “But even then he accused me of doing it on purpose.”

He sighs. 

“I'm sorry,  Audley,” 

I chuckle even though nothing is funny and my eyelids feel massive with exhaustion and too many tears. 

“I've been trying to get him to be more present- for our baby's sake. He missed my twenty-week appointment to go on a last-minute business trip. I was so angry with him. But then he said he'd take some time off and I was so happy, thinking we'd be nesting at home together or going on vacation before the baby arrived. Then I go to this stupid gala for his job tonight. Everyone’s looking at me weirdly -his boss didn't even know I was pregnant. He was lying to me this whole time, he was never gonna take time off,” 

“That's… a lot,” Ryan says. “I knew there was something about Harry I didn't like but … wow.”

A heavy weight feels like it's been lifted off my shoulders. It's the first time I've told anyone about Harry's transgressions in detail. I'd been carrying that heavy load around in silence for years. 

It doesn't take the pain away but for the first time in a while, I feel truly heard. 

“This is the first time I've ever told anyone this,” I whisper, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I couldn't stand the idea of someone thinking badly of Harry because I love him so much. I can’t keep doing this though,” 

My best friend nods, sighing heavily. 

“It makes sense now. All the excuses you’ve made for him throughout the years. I just feel so awful that you felt you couldn’t come to anyone,” 

I think back to the sleepovers and camping trips Ryan and I used to have as kids. We’d stay up well past our bedtime, revealing our deepest, darkest secrets and sharing childish confessions. No matter how stupid it was, I felt like I could tell him anything. 

This moment between us has the same energy, only we’re adults with bigger problems.

“Don’t feel bad for me, Ry,” I say, staring into his blue eyes. “I hate it when people feel bad for me. I’m sick of feeling bad for myself,"

Ryan reaches for my hand and I manage to genuinely smile for the first time in hours. 

“You don’t have to have it all figured out you know,” He says softly. 

The words should help me feel better, but my heart only sinks. There would be no easy way to straighten this out. I was so used to protecting Harry, too busy deifying the idea of this perfect two-parent household I so desperately wanted for my baby. 

Just maybe, it was time to look out for myself for a change. 

Taglist: @sassamanda77 , @fangirl509east

[hotnbloodied]

I know you will probably ignore this but can you try doing Yan farmer x hero reader? (I guess an iskei trip or whatever idk I just wanna know if you could try and build with this idea)

I would never ignore a request, if I couldn't do it I'd let you know! But thank you so much for your request it was very fun to do! I hope that you enjoy~ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚HB˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Yan!Farmer X Isekai'd Reader

!Warning! This post contains yandere themes and topics that may be uncomfortable to people who are sensitive to the topic, read at your own discretion.

TW: implied non-con, obsessive personality, controlling behavior, toxic relationships.

!!READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION!! MINORS DNI!!

It’s been a month since you found yourself in a world very much like the mmorpg game you used to play back when you were on earth. The first week was extremely rough, in the first three days you were in a frenzy trying to get your wearabouts about you. A couple of knights found you and were actually pretty helpful in guiding you to the church where the nuns made sure you were fed and taken care of. On your calmer day you decided you wanted to try something and called out the menu aloud. You almost jumped when the all too familiar screen popped up in front of you, the only thing missing was the option to ‘quit game’. The next chance that you got you asked one of the nuns how you could go about being an adventurer.

Here you were getting the hang of your class, who knew that combat in real life would be harder than it would be in a game. Monsters were actually terrifying and being in the wild sucked but at least you weren’t relying on other people to get by now.

You might have been getting too comfortable though because while taking on a quest to get rid of some monsters terrorizing some local fields you all but reached your limit, you were tired and wounded but the request was done and you just needed to report back to the guild now but you passed out.

You woke with a jolt. You thought the knights found you and took you to the church again but after looking at your surroundings that didn’t seem to be the case since it looked like a quaint cabin. You also noticed you were bandaged up really well. The door creaked open and in came a person you never saw before. “Oh you’re awake! That’s good.” “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to intrude,” you told them. He shook his head, “It’s the least I can do after you helped clear our fields of monsters.” “Ah, I need to report back to the adventurer’s guild.” “You’re not in any condition to move! You need rest.” “I’m okay, I need to collect my money after all.” “Then, let me come with you.” Seeing no harm in that you allowed him to come with you. “I’m Mikha by the way!” The two of you exchange greetings and names. “Wow so you’ve only been an adventurer for a month? What made you want to be one?” “Change of pace I guess.”

After finishing the business at the adventurer's guild you were about to say your goodbyes with Mikha but he invited you to dinner and you couldn’t pass up free food. Back at his home you helped however you could in the kitchen but since everything was so primitive compared to your original world you were slow in learning. Over dinner you two talked about life, his parents died when he was young and he had to learn to take care of the farm from a young age in order to survive. He talked about how nice it was to have dinner with someone after being alone for so long. “Have you never thought about finding a spouse?” You asked. “I have, it’s just so hard when you have to tend the farm all the time.” The night ended with Mikha insisting that you spend the night there, which you agreed to since it’s better than camping out or spending money at an inn again.

A couple more months went by and you basically made yourself at home with Mikha. Even though he insisted that you paid with your company you still gave him money for his hospitality. All seemed to be going well until you informed Mikha that you were leaving this part of the continent to broaden your horizons of the world. “Mikha, are you okay? You dropped your food.” “I- I’m fine, when are you leaving?” “It’s going to take me a month to prepare so I’m not going any time soon.” “I’m going to miss you…” “I’ll miss you too! I’ll definitely try to write to you when I can.” Mikha lost his appetite, he thought everything was going good between the two of you, he thought he could convince you to stop adventuring someday and the two of you would settle down and start a family together. Was this really how it was going to end? No, he won’t allow it.

Your preparations were coming along and you were getting more and more excited about your journey. You couldn’t help but notice that Mikha seemed to have gotten quieter and just overall seemed to be more on edge. When you asked him what was wrong he’d vehemently tell you nothing was wrong.

Finally, the night before your journey arrived and Mihka had prepared more food than usual as a celebratory feast. You two ate and drank to your heart's content and Mihka even seemed like he was back to his cheerful self. After cleaning up, you went to go get a good night's rest but in the middle of the night you felt something burning in your core. You were extremely turned on and it was to a point where it was near uncomfortable. You squeezed your legs together, you tried to breathe it out and you even tried to relieve yourself but nothing was working. You didn’t even notice the knocking on your door until Mikha walked in to ask what was wrong. “Stay away from me!” You warned him, “I’m not in my right mind!” Mikha didn’t listen and because of that you jumped him and used him to your heart's content.

The next morning you were ashamed of yourself, you saw the marks and bruises you gave him from the night before. You were on your knees, crying and sobbing for forgiveness. He seemed like an angel when he pulled you in for a hug and told you everything is going to be okay but you’d need to take responsibility. You kissed your future dreams goodbye and eventually the two of you married and took care of the farm together. Mikha was just glad that you agreed to take responsibility so easily, but in case you ever tried to leave him, he would tell you about the succubus mark that was implanted on the two of you that night meant that no matter who else you decided to be with your lust wouldn’t have been satisfied by anyone except him.

[genuinelyshallow]

Mariam Mansour, a Palestinian woman, tells her story of going through childbirth in Gaza during this genocide,

"I never imagined that my child's birth will be in tents, displaced as we are, helpless, humiliated, and desperate. After more than 100 days of displacement, tiredness, and hard days along with the hardship of pregnancy, i can only say that our souls dissipated. On the 15th of January 2024 and in the Emirati Hospital in Rafah, which treats about two-thirds of the bank with indescribable difficulty, I was among dozens of women going through labor. I had to wait in a chair like many others waiting for an empty bed. After two hours, they finally found a bed for me to go and suffer through my labor without help or care. Not even a cover. I cried a lot because of the cold and my helplessness and the helplessness of those around me. You can't even find the communications to call a keen and tell them what you need or where you are.

But child birth is a miracle by Allah's care and bless.

After my child was born, there was no place for me to wait for postpartum care or even a cover to help me against the stabbing cold. I had to take some painkillers and leave at 12 midnight in a cab to go an even colder tent. The cab wasn't allowed to go into the refugees area. It was a long distance and I couldn't walk or even stand.

I found an injured young man in a wheelchair. He felt sorry for me and gave me his chair.

I went back to the far, far away cold tent in the long night to face another challenge with my newborn girl, trying to forget our primitive rights of water, food, and clothes"