#SAP Security Testing

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

I know you've probably gotten a lot of requests for PRESSURE, but hear me out? Reader X Anglers (platonic), where reader was sent to work in the Hadal Blacksite. Urbanshade was Reader's only chance at a job due to circumstance and they were desperate; they weren't aware what they were getting into UNTIL Urbanshade had signed them up. Now a "handler" of these mutant fish, the least they can do is lessen their misery... Until the Saboteur let's everything aggressive loose.

YAY! Angler request thank you. As annoying as those fish(?) are I think they're very underrated

(in case this needs to be reiterated, this is all PLATONIC)

......

Being desperate for a job and willing to pretty much do whatever it took to get hired anywhere, Urbanshade was the only one willing to offer you an immediate position.

However, you had to be sworn to secrecy and go through an extensive background check and other trials....just for them to transport you to the Hadal Blacksite, where they said you'll be informed of your duties.

Given the extensive security measures already in place, you assumed you were dealing with endangered sea life--or even extinct species Urbanshade revived or rediscovered.

Then you were sent to the heavy containment sector and saw what they were actually hiding down here:

A mutant angler fish--one pink and one grey--a viperfish, a frog with razor sharp teeth, and a dead(?) green blobfish. They were all huge and unlike anything you've seen before.

They were all designated as Z-283, although there were nicknames given to four of them: Pinkie, Blitz, Froger, and Chainsmoker.

The Angler was just, well, Angler.

You didn't know what kind of aquatic rehabilitation facility this was, but they didn't even look like fish that belonged in one, especially as their tanks didn't contain any water, although according to documents, that wasn't even necessary.

Smoke clouded every part of their bodies except their faces, so you couldn't get a good read on how their fins and tails are holding up (assuming they have those at all).

Least to say...it took some time getting used to seeing their frightening looks every shift.

Especially as sometimes Angler, Blitz, and Pinkie liked to scare the hell out of you by shrieking, ramming into the window barriers of their cells, and causing brief power surges.

Your main tasks were to monitor them and keep them fed and happy, although you weren't allowed to make physical contact with them.

Apparently their touch can kill...so you can understand why they needed somebody to watch them at all times and keep their behaviors in check.

But the more you interact with them, the more you start to realize that these anglers (and viperfish, frog, and blobfish) were probably just animals who were simply trying to live within the Let-Vand Zone, only to be taken and shoved into a distressing environment.

Urbanshade claims they aren't "alive", but all you see are scared animals who only knew misery.

You especially didn't like overhearing that they've used prisoners as test subjects. And they're not even food.

Out of water, they can all recognize you by scent and are seemingly aware of how good you've been to them compared to most operatives.

Because when Sebastian/The Saboteur sets them loose and causes the lockdown, and you nearly get killed by one of the many Wall Dwellers...Angler comes to your defense, eating its flesh whole.

At first you think you've finally tamed it--until the fish creature gives you that same murderous and hungry look as it gave those test subjects.

Luckily it gives you a head start and you manage to find a crawlspace out of its line of sight, watching it cause chaos and kill whatever poor sap happened to run into that same room.

Yeah...your job definitely didn't quite prepare you for this kind of scenario..

When the Expendable Protocol is initiated, Sebastian found you and only allowed you live because you could keep the anglers off his back while he's trying to find supplies and figure out how to escape.

They'll listen to you sometimes, although you learn Pinkie and Blitz are very brash and like to do their own things sometimes--while Froger and Chainsmoker are more willing to obey.

But if Pandemonium ever caught sight of you?

May god help you because none of them will.

[winchesterwild78]

Broken pt 2

Master List

Characters: Jensen x Reader (wife)

Warnings: fluff, angst, infertility, Endometriosis, death

A/N:  Idea given to me by @cheekygirl2309. This one is a little different than what I usually write. It has angst, lots of angst to start, and infertility issues. It's going to be a short series.

Minors DNI 18+

The next morning I woke up with a text and email from Jensen with flight information. I quickly packed and headed to the airport. My flight was scheduled to leave in a few hours, but I had to get through security and check in. 

I sent Jensen a text to let him know I was at the airport.

Me: I’m at the airport, waiting to board the plane. I can’t wait to see you. I love you baby.

Jensen: I can’t wait either. Y/N, I really am sorry for leaving you alone. I promise I’ll never do it again. 

Me: I know baby. We both had fault in this, it’s not all on you. We will make it right. I love you, I’m about to board. I’ll see you at the airport.

Jensen: I love you too, baby. I’ll be there with bells on.

I smiled as I looked at my phone. The emotional rollercoaster of the last 24 hours has been a true test of mine and Jensen’s relationship. One we almost failed. 

I sat on the plane and listened to music as we flew towards our destination. As the minutes ticked on I grew more anxious. This was the first time since our fight we would see each other. 

The plane landed and I started walking towards the exit. I scanned the airport and the people standing around waiting for their loved ones, and I saw him. Jensen, my Jensen  standing with a smile on his face and emerald eyes that glittered like morning dew. 

My heart fluttered. In that moment, seeing him standing there waiting for me with so much love in his eyes reminded me why I fell in love with him. He was and always will be my home, the love of my life. 

I smiled and ran through the crowd to his open arms. Our bodies collided as he scooped me up and held me tight. Our lips smashed onto each other and the kiss deep and needy, like it was the only thing giving us life at the moment. 

Every person, every noise in the airport melted away. His arms wrapped securely around me and his lips breathing life into me, into our love. 

All the pain and sorrow from the last few hours seemed to melt away. Sure, it was still there, but in that moment what really mattered was willingness to fight for us, for our marriage. 

Leaving the airport hand in hand Jensen couldn’t take his eyes off of me, or me off of him. We had work to do, but at least we were together to work on it. 

The next few days we settled into a routine. I would get up with Jensen, we would make breakfast together, he’d head to set and I’d either go with him or stay home, and when he got home we worked on us, on our marriage. The first night we made love after our fight we both cried. All the emotions, the pain, the hurt melted away and we fell in love all over again. 

A renewed commitment to each other. We talked about having a baby, and we both agreed to let things happen naturally. Jensen also suggested while I was there we both visit a doctor to see if there’s any reason I couldn’t get pregnant. 

I saw him trying, trying to fix what he, what we broke, and trying to make our dream of a family come true. 

I went with Jensen to set today. Everyone was happy to see me. They said Jensen isn’t himself when I’m not around. I looked over at him and he smiled but blushed too. 

“Alright guys, stop laying it on so thick. She doesn’t need to know what a sap she married.” 

I giggled and touched his arm, “Oh Jensen, I already knew.” I smiled and kissed him. 

Karl walked over and pulled me into a bear hug. “Glad to see ya, love. Hope you didn’t let him off the hook that easily.” I smirked, “You know I can’t resist his green eyes.” 

“I know love. Glad you two are working it out. You two are good for each other and that man is head over heels in love with you.” 

I smiled softly and looked over at Jensen bantering with the other cast members. I knew Karl was right. I’ve just been so wrapped up in not giving Jensen a child I lost sight of what we had. A home filled with love and joy and I have a husband who would move mountains to see me happy. 

I smiled at Karl, “Thanks Karl. For everything.” He nodded, “I’ve got you love.” 

I sat in a chair off to the side and watched Jensen in the scene. He was amazing in anything he did, but the way he played Soldier Boy was something profound. It’s like the character was made for him. 

By the time the director called for a wrap for the day it was well past 1am and I was exhausted. 

Everyone was talking about heading out to blow off some steam but Jensen was hesitant. 

I touched his arm, “Jens, if I wasn’t here what would you do?” He looked at me and I could tell he was nervous. 

“Babe, remember we need to talk about things. If you want to go then go. I’ll head back to the apartment and go to sleep. Please don’t stop living your life because I’m here. Baby, go. Go have fun. You deserve it.” 

Jensen smiled and placed a soft kiss on my lips, “Are you sure you don’t want to come too. You know they’d love to have you.” I touched his chest, “Maybe next time.” I kissed him again. 

We walked to his trailer so he could change and I grabbed my stuff. Jensen was riding with Karl and Antony, so Clif was driving me home. 

I arrived at the apartment, showered, changed and crawled into bed. Sleep taking hold almost instantly. 

Jensen came stumbling in about 4am. He was wasted. Karl was slightly drunk. They were trying to be quiet but they were so loud they woke me up. 

“Hey Karl, I’m gonna have a baby with her.” I heard Jensen slur out as I walked down the hallway. 

“That’s great mate. She’s gonna make some beautiful babies for you.” 

“Yeah. I’m lucky. I thought we were gonna break up, man. I can’t get her pregnant and we got into a huge fight.” 

I stepped into the living room just as Jensen was about to spill more about our recent fight. 

“Alright boys, time for bed. Karl, you take the guest room, and you Mr Ackles go get in my bed.” 

Jensen smirked, “Yes ma’am. Night Karl. I’m going to sleep with my wife. Maybe put a baby in her.” 

I shot him a look as Karl erupted in laughter. “Good luck, mate.” 

“Jensen, bed, now, and you too Karl. It’s too early in the morning to deal with this crap.” 

Jensen stumbled to our room and passed out on the bed halfway through taking off his shoes. I chuckled when I saw him. 

I removed his shoes, and jeans. Helped him get under the blankets and went to grab him some water and medicine to put by his bed. 

As I passed the guest room Karl was sitting on the side of the bed. “Hey love. Sorry he’s so drunk. He got really upset at the bar. Said he was a failure because he couldn’t give you the one thing you wanted, a baby. Just thought you should know he’s torturing himself over this.” “I had no idea. I’m going to make it right. Thank you for letting me know.” “Of course. He loves you deeper than I’ve ever seen him love anyone. You’re it for him and he’d move mountains to make you happy.” “I know, Karl. I am incredibly lucky to have him and I’m so proud to be his wife. Night Karl.” “Night Y/N.” 

I went back to our room and Jensen was asleep. Soft snores leaving his slightly parted lips. 

Crawling into bed I snuggled close to him. He woke slightly and pulled me close. “I love you Y/N. I can’t wait to give you a baby. You deserve everything.” 

“Shhh baby. Just sleep. We can talk about that later. I love you Jensen.” 

I placed a soft kiss on his cheek and heard soft snores again. I chuckled softly and drifted back to sleep. 

The next few weeks Jensen and I worked on our relationship. We both went to the doctor and he was given a clean bill of health. The doctor said I had endometriosis which caused scar tissue and would make it difficult, but not impossible to get pregnant. She said it would just take more time. 

Leaving the doctor I felt so defeated. I stared out the window as a tear slipped out. Jensen looked over and saw my body language. He took my hand, “Hey. It’s okay. She didn’t say we couldn’t get pregnant, she said it would just take more time.” 

“I know, Jensen. I just never thought it would be so difficult to have a baby. I’m so sorry, Jensen.” Tears fell fast and heavy. Jensen pulled the car over. He took my hand in his, and cupped my face with the other, “Shhh, baby don’t cry, please. We will figure this out. I promise baby. I’ll move mountains to make you happy.” “I know Jens.”

We drove the rest of the way home in silence. The doctor’s words replayed in my head. Once home I crawled in bed and just cried. Jensen came into the room and laid down beside me, pulling me close to him and holding me. 

No words were spoken between us for the rest of the night, Jensen just held me. I felt so broken.

The next few days I tried to do research on endometriosis and pregnancy. Depending on the amount of scar tissue can affect the ability to get pregnant. There are numerous treatment options that include surgery and IVF. 

Jensen was on set so I sent him a text.

Me: Hey baby just wanted to check in and tell you I’ve been doing some research. We have options and I can’t wait to talk to you about it. I’m sorry I’ve taken this so hard. I just wasn’t expecting to be told my body couldn’t do the one thing it was designed to do. I love you.

Jensen: Hey baby. Can’t chat long, back on set in a few. I understand why you’re upset. We will figure this out together. Whatever you need we will tackle it together. I love you sweetheart.

Me: I love you too Jens. I’ll talk to you tonight. I’m baking you a pie. 

Jensen: I can’t wait. 

A few hours later I had baked the pie, it was cooling on the stove and I had started cooking dinner. Jensen was due home in about an hour and I wanted dinner ready for him. He’d been putting in long hours on set, and helping me deal with the aftermath of the doctor appointment. He was definitely my rock. 

I had just turned on the stove when the phone rang. Looking at the caller ID I saw my sister’s name. 

“Hey sis. How are you?” I asked as I answered the phone. At first the line was silent. Then I heard her sob. “Hey, Abby, what’s wrong?” 

“Y/N, it’s…dad…he’s gone.” The world around me went dark, every sound sounded like I was underwater. “What?” I stuttered out.

Abby took a shaky breath, “Dad, he died. He got into a car accident and died on impact.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My dad, the first man I ever loved. The man who taught me how to dance, change a tire, how a husband and father should treat his family was gone. 

I couldn’t breathe. My legs gave out and I collapsed to the floor. My body was shaking with the primal sobs that left my mouth. The sounds leaving my body were full of pain and anguish. 

My body wouldn’t move from the floor. My phone was long forgotten, I didn’t know if Abby was still on the phone or not. 

The only thing I could make out between the tears that left my shattered body was Jensen coming through the front door. 

He took one look at me on the floor and bolted to my side. Grabbing me and pulling me into his arms, “Y/N, baby, what’s wrong? What happened?” I sobbed harder. 

I couldn’t talk. He held me tighter. Jensen knew something terrible had happened. The only thing I could muster out was “daddy”. Jensen knew instantly something happened to my father. 

Taking out his phone he called my mother. There was no answer, so he called Abby. “Abby, this is Jensen. I just got home and found Y/N on the floor, saying “daddy”, what happened, is your dad okay?” 

Abby told him what happened and Jensen’s heart broke. He knew how close my father and I were. When we started dating my dad sat Jensen down and had a long talk with him. Before Jensen asked me to marry him, he got my dad’s permission, and daddy gave it to him after another long talk about what it meant to be a husband. 

“Baby, I’ve got you. I know, sweetheart. I’m so sorry baby.” He helped me up, and carried me to our bed. Laying me down he pulled a blanket over me and curled beside me. “Shhh baby. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.” 

I snuggled closer to him, my tears soaking his shirt, but being in his arms I felt safe. This loss hurt deeper than anything I’d ever experienced. Part of my soul was gone. One of the people responsible for my existence was now gone.

I was glad I had Jensen because I had no idea how to live my life, how to go on without my dad. Jensen softly kissed the top of my head as my crying started to subside. 

“I love you, Y/N. I’m so sorry baby.” He pulled me closer. I looked up at him, my eyes puffy and swollen from crying, “I love you too, Jensen.”

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[dynamites-ao3]

An Exigency

Sub-Zero (Bi-Han) x f! Reader

explicit ; 7k words ; post-MK1 ending, aphrodisiac-addled pwp

Tasked to investigate Shang Tsung’s laboratory for his whereabouts, you find you are not alone in the endeavour. You should have known better.

Or, a mission goes awry.

read here on ao3! or read under the cut.

(a/n: forewarning for nonconsensual elements.)

You had not spoken aloud since you left the city gates.

It was silence borne out of practicality for the most part - not only were you traveling alone but the persisting heat had willed you to preserve your breath. Though it had gotten better once you passed the stretch of desert, the forest’s humidity was no less a pain. 

Should this be all a test of your flesh and spirit, it is certainly an arduous one. Every so often, sweat trickles into your stinging eyes. You check and re-check your pack every hour, even if you hadn’t touched it since. Your blinks are slower, or maybe it just feels that way. 

At any rate by the time you reach the laboratory, a dark mar in the idle forest, your mind is far away, dreaming of chalices of ice-cold water; and fully, entirely unable to appreciate the vast land you’ve trekked under the order of Lord Liu Kang.

Only now does it strike you: you should have asked him to create a portal. It would have been so aggravatingly easy. 

And you’re only half-lucid when you finish securing its perimeters. It’s more of a tedious affair than you anticipated but for what it was worth, you’re content in doing it by yourself. You all but rush in once you were confident there hadn’t been any indication that a certain sorcerer had come back for his supplies.

Shang Tsung’s laboratory, entirely deserted, exists like a picture: it possessed still the facade of a living machine, but the absence of its quasi-scientist owner kept it frozen in time. Had you not known any better, you could easily imagine in your mind’s eye someone returning for their scribbled notes at any given second. You had to concede that Shang Tsung maintained the upper floors with impressive care, no matter its artificiality. 

And for all that you endured out in the elements - best yet, the room feels like paradise on your skin. Cool, dry air, if a bit dusty. If you just ignored the sharp chemical odor that also pervaded the room, the sensation was almost entirely pleasant.

Where the smell originated, you were unsure: there were innumerable flasks on the wall shelves that contained liquid behind its amber glass.

Curious, you lean over the desk and flick absentmindedly at a plugged flask with a half-gaseous, half-liquid residue in it, watching the dark particles convect up the neck. Lord Liu Kang ought to have sent a scholar, you think: they’d know how to separate the valuable information from the drivel. 

Even an imperial mage would be familiar with some of this writing scattered across the table. Still, with the discord done unto the Shirai Ryu and disappearance of Shang Tsung’s allies, having to outsource in other measures was a fair choice to make - just not one you would have made. 

With your head lowered, you take stock of the papers, taking any that looked of import and folding them away into your pack on the ground. This carries on until goosebumps crop up on your arms, a particularly chilling wind sailing up your skin. The room had sapped all warmth from your body.

You almost don’t even realise the atmosphere has changed, the air growing heavier: only when you pull back far enough to witness your visible breath wisp into the air.

Not merely sheltered from the blistering heat outside any longer - 

You’re cold.  

In a matter of milliseconds, you turn your cheek and something sings through the air right over the bridge of your nose, freezing your eyelashes. It drives right through the window, leaving a splintered hole in the glass pane in the wake.

Your body moves on instinct, rolling to the side. You keep from flinching even as a shard of glass - or was it ice? - scrapes your cheekbone.

You hold a gasp back in your mouth, willing the stinging to subside. By the stairs, an approaching silhouette sharpens against the cloud of pale frost. You’re slowed down by shock, disbelieving in your sight.

He shouldn’t be here, not in Outerrealm. Well, you think miserably. Lord Liu Kang isn’t going to like hearing about this encounter. That is, if you survive it. 

“Stand down,” Sub-Zero barks, a guttural demand cutting through the air. In his palm he draws together another stake. It comes together with a splintering crunch, like the collapse of hard plastic. 

It doesn’t make sense - you’re unsure what sorcery, what technology he’s equipped to sneak into this realm without alerting the empire. Though you don’t have time to hypothesise on this as he draws his arm back and jets the projectile your way. You push away from the desks and onto your knees, tucking in your shoulder just in time for the frozen stake to pierce through wood to your left, embedding in a drawer.

Your breath is bedraggled, the frozen air hard on your lungs. Still, you ask, “Where is Shang Tsung? Earthrealm?” 

Sub-Zero’s eyebrows come together; you can easily imagine a snarl under his mask. “Like I’d tell you even if I knew.” 

If he knew?

He hadn’t seemed concerned with divulging this, which demanded further questions. If he knew not of Shang Tsung’s location and spoke truthfully, then it was clear he had the same objective as you here. Before you could act on this understanding, his gaze slides away, focused on something on the ground. You follow its trajectory, dread burrowing in your stomach when you realise he’s looking towards your pack where you’ve tucked away the majority of Shang Tsung’s discarded notes. Half-open, loose corners of scrolls peek out the top. 

Under no circumstances were the Lin Kuei to possess those. Should there be something important, you couldn’t even fathom how Sub-Zero might exploit it for his own ambitions. 

Forcing yourself to your feet, you manage to utter, “Fine. But there is nothing here for you. Leave!”

He doesn’t turn his head but his dark gaze flits back to you. You refuse to let yourself be intimidated by his vitriol - you are better than that. Although you’ve once before met Sub-Zero and his brother in the capital, you doubt any familiarity would give you a boon to this encounter. It was better that he did not recognise you, even, as it would make subduing him all the more professional. 

You can only hope you are choosing correctly to not kill him outright, for that ought to be the choice of the Shirai Ryu. He doesn’t seem to be so self-limiting however, what with the way his hands twitch. It was clear now if it hadn’t been before: he was not to let you leave alive and with your stolen intel.

“You dare tell me what to do?” he says, rounding on you. 

You warn, “They will stop at nothing to capture you.”

“They? Of whom do you speak - the empress or Liu Kang? Both?” He makes a condescending noise, a wisp of pale breath seeping out his mask. “You’re a lackey of theirs. Of course.”

You exhale low. You need only to grab your pack and make it down the stairs past him. You were positive you could shake him in the forest, even if he had stationed more of his assassins around the building. 

“You’re a fool,” he is saying but you are only half-listening, mind racing in a multitude of directions. You could afford a fight, one that would only impede him but it would not be feasible in this space given your arsenal.

Leaving without one would, of course, be ideal but it seemed almost exponentially worse to be later ambushed in the scorching outdoors. 

Perhaps you should not have come alone, after all. It’s too late now. Over the course of your perusals, you’ve familiarised yourself with your surroundings, which were really full of unidentifiable baubles. Any real weapon was out of reach from where you stood, and you’d do anything to avoid touching the various scalpels on the desk - gods know where they’ve been. 

Your options were whittled down to pure martial arts - which was fine, really. But you could appreciate an advantage. So you don’t think too hard at what exactly you’re grabbing as you lean back, fingers in search of something sizeable.

They clutch around a smooth glass bottle neck that feels somewhat heavy, as though partially filled with something, and the choice is made for you.

The bottle is an amber blur in the air once it leaves your hand. With a narrow arch, you swing a rogue bottle aimed at his head, in dire hopes it would combust grand enough for you to flee. 

As it turns out, nothing of the sort happens. Of course not.

With an unnatural deftness, Sub-Zero crosses his forearms, steeling them in ice just as the bottle makes impact. Though the glass explodes, it is hardly to the extent you would have liked. They merely drop in shards to the ground by his feet, nary a cut made. A viscous and inky liquid concurrently splatters his gauntlets and across his face, not even enough to blind him. He grunts. 

Gasoline? It didn’t seem likely, as you would have smelt its pungency if it was. Unfortunate, of course. Lighting him on fire would certainly be a fast solution to this problem.

For a moment, Sub-Zero stills. He wipes a droplet from above his brow and inspects the dark stain between his fingertips; when nothing happens, he growls, snapping back to you.

“Pathetic,” he spits out, seething. 

Sub-Zero launches himself at you. On the defensive, you slip out the way, narrowly missing the sheet of ice that would have trapped you in place behind you. You prowl one another in a circle. You’ve angered him and you could only hope this would make him sloppy. 

As you soon discover, he is terribly ferocious. A performance befitting a clan grandmaster. You spend most of the engagement on the defensive, narrowly avoiding being split in half by axes and maces. Every time an ice-formed weapon swipes by your head, needles of ice spray you, buffeting your skin painfully. 

No longer than a few minutes in, you think you should just go ahead and kill him after all. Jumping around like this only serves to tire you out. The blade you carry burns where you’ve hidden it in your jacket uniform. You surge forward, not yet unsheathing it as to surprise him, but your boots skid. 

What - ?

When had he frozen the ground…?

You miss your mark by what must have been a finger’s width, your energy spent on balancing yourself instead. As you grapple for that stability, he closes the distance. 

With one large hand on the base of your throat, you are brought hard to the ground, pretty much thrown. You wince when the back of your skull taps the rug below you but that is hardly a concern with the weight on your entire body, Sub-Zero boxing you in from above.

He is everywhere and all that you can see, his large body hovering yours and his sash dropping onto your torso.

The metal of his gauntlets are streaked with the unidentifiable dark liquid and it smears you below the chin, cold and wet like blood.

Out of sight, one of his knees dig painfully into your thigh but you do not allow him a single cry of pain. Spots dance in your vision and although the pressure on the sides of your throat grows, fogging your brain, he isn’t putting in nearly enough to end you. When you wheeze, you barely feel it pass through your lips.

It is a despicable move. You thought him merciless, indeed, but you hadn’t thought him cruel. You grab at his wrist, staunchly attempting to pull him off but with gravity on his side, it was a near futile effort. He watches with acuteness as your chest lifts and drops unevenly. “Get off,” you grit out.

He leans so close you could see his blown-out pupils quivering. Then, he speaks.

“I know you.”

For a flash, you tense. “No,” you say. “But I know you.”

“Liar.”

Unblinking and unfazed, he lifts his free hand and in one rough motion, rips off your mask. He throws it to the side, not bothering to look at where it lands and immediately you scowl. 

His eyes thin - you realise he’s strangely humoured and sneering. 

“How dare you,” you say.

Though he doesn’t seem to hear you, his gaze is concentrated on your mouth. “I knew it. One of Liu Kang’s lapdogs from the academy. How honoured you must feel, to be sent on a suicide mission by him.”

There is nothing to be gained in entertaining his goading. Still, something inflates inside you. “He’s done nothing of the sort. His rule is just.”

“You must mean restrictive.”

“You will not blame your greed for power on him!”

He blinks at your anger, his visage relaxing ever so slightly though no less blazing. “Your fealty is commendable,” he says. “How did he train you?”

“Fuck you.” Like a dance, you lift forward and he shoves your shoulder back against the floor harshly. 

“What do you anticipate as a reward, should you return successfully?” he asks, ignoring you. “Acknowledgement, praise? That he’ll tell you ‘good work’ and bend you over the nearest table?”

The image is so violently crass, you shudder. His eyes glitter, delighting in your discomfort. The mouth on this man - if you could move, you had half the mind to sock him in the jaw as hard as you could.

It’s hard to believe that someone this provoking was once a close confidante to Lord Liu Kang. And having only ever met Sub-Zero during conferences with Lord Liu Kang present, you felt appalled just hearing this vulgarity uttered with little fanfare. Unexpected was an understatement.

Mind games! Mind games, of which you never thought him capable. 

You grimace, glaring up at him through your eyelashes. “I suggest you keep your fantasies to yourself, unless you speak from experience.” 

A dark scoff leaves him before it is cut out abruptly. All of sudden, Sub-Zero blinks and breaks eye contact, dipping his head to the side and although you’re unsure what he is looking at exactly, you don’t care to enquire. 

At a glacially-slow pace, you try to wiggle free the fabric of your pants from where he kneeled. As soon as you could bring your own knee up, you would have leverage for a number of things that could put distance between you and him. To distract him from your legs, you continue to claw at his arm. “What is this wait, Sub-Zero? Are you going to kill me or what?” 

A deep crease forms between his eyebrows as he regains his focus. “You,” he mutters accusatively. “You did something to me.”

You frown. “What?”

He makes another low noise that you vaguely register as a chuckle. “You monks are all the same, convinced your training gives you supreme dominion over the body. Wrong, of course. The Lin Kuei will still best you in that respect, as with all.”

“Your pride will be your clan’s downfall.” 

“Wrong, again. And your little distractions are child’s play.”

Then, Sub-Zero looks down. As best you could, you follow the trajectory to your own fidgeting legs. He knows. The window to react and wiggle free shrinks into nothing but before you can plan contingently, he moves. 

Without warning, the knee that was on your thigh lifts - and nestles hard instead right in the apex of your legs. 

It’s like all the air leaves your chest in one fell swoop.

This time, you do groan aloud, noises vibrating under his palm. And, worst of all, it is a shameful sound, mortifyingly loud in the spacious room and ringing in your own ears. Oh, gods. Your eyes snap open, the unexpected pressure not excruciating but stimulating, enough to have you jolting out of your skin. 

It must be an accident, because there is no way, no reason why Sub-Zero should be threatening you like this. It must be - isn’t it?

Dumbfounded beyond belief, you go slack; it no longer figured a good idea to knee him in the crotch. For the first time, you look at him directly and see beyond his feverish eyes and the streaks of black residue flecked across his skin from the liquid you threw. In fact, you find his ears are flushed pink, and have been pink for some time now. 

Something inside you awakens. “What - what the hell do you think you’re doing?” you snap, now scrambling on the floor with a renewed determination. Arching your back to put some distance between his legs and yours comes at a terrible price: your chest lifts up to his. Sub-Zero, fully cognisant of the motion, says nothing. “Unhand me!”

“Had you been smarter and stood down when I ordered it, none of this would be necessary,” he tells you.

You found yourself baring your teeth. “I will not be humiliated by you.”

This captures his attention in particular, his gaze morphing and settling into something indescribable. For a beat, you could almost consider it something as gentle as curiosity - then, it disappears as quickly as it came.

In a cool voice, he says, “Look at me.”

When you ignore him, the pressure on your throat disappears, replaced by a new force on your jaw. His hand from under your chin yanks your head straight. The hand holding your wrists down tightens its grasp.

“Look at me,” he repeats. He grinds his knee between your legs again, this time with malicious purpose. 

Be it distress or arousal mounting in your flesh, a soft gasp escapes your mouth. You’re desperate for relief and with him getting you this far but then stopping, you had to take measures into your own hands. Your hips roll against him and you’re only vaguely aware of your body moving, as if you aren’t even in control anymore. You drag yourself on his leg once more and for what it’s worth, you appreciate him staying so still.

There’s a pause, before -

“Humiliate?” he echoes you, intonation unbearably slow. “I could not humiliate you any more than you have already done to yourself.”

You can say nothing in protest. Your insides thrum, wanting to come so badly they ache. You should feel terrible, having debased yourself with an enemy but your brain is too hazy to think ethically. What a descent you watched yourself fall into. 

You were not in control of yourself, that much you could deduce for yourself. It ought to take much more than this to distract you and yet -

When his hands relaxed, affording you space, you still had not shoved him square in the chest even though it would have been so easy. Something was terribly wrong with you. You should gut him alive for what he’s done to you. 

Nonplussed, Sub-Zero rearranges himself on top of you, pulling his knees in and sitting straddle on your leg. He rests on one forearm parallel to the floor as the other arm trails down your abdomen. 

The cold leather and metal of his gauntlets slip under your hem and you are much too aware of how his fingers dig into your flesh, groping and demanding. What should feel brutalising and repugnant is instead entrancing. There is nothing else to think about from below him, because if it wasn’t his touch you concentrated on it would have been his equally penetrative gaze that which never leaves your face. 

Every soft shift in your expression is noticed, internalised, and responded to accordingly. When his rough fingertips find the swell of your breasts, your diaphragm unsteadies and there is no way he does not feel the tightening of your stomach under the skin. He rolls your nipple under a callused thumb until it hardens, your bra shoved aside. Nothing you do is unseen.

For once, he says nothing grating but that is hardly a relief - you can feel his domination over your flesh and spirit through physical means alone. 

It was impossible to avert your eyes from the truth: you were letting him take control of you. 

Your weakness was worthy of condemnation. The odes you chanted at the academy - limiting yourself from carnal pleasures in the pursuit of the ethereal - were as solid as steam slipping through your fingers. As Sub-Zero touched you, the heat of his palm skimming up and down your navel, you could not cohesively pull any dictum of asceticism into the forefront of your mind. You need not absolute chastity, but even a modicum of self-preservation for your own pride was adequate enough to absolve your acts, present or those soon to come. 

As it were, you possessed neither. Something else entirely was unfurling inside you, ravenous and anxious, encouraging you devilishly to deplete yourself. 

As though somehow able to hear your internal conflict, Sub-Zero speaks. “It is a fool’s errand to deny one’s truths,” he calmly says. 

Truths? What truths? His affliction had spread to you and he was blaming you for it. Mindless carnality was not in your nature, and if it wasn’t his, then you had… then you had unwittingly poisoned yourself. And him.

You grimace, thinking he is trying to assuage you in your position, console you through your own guilty arousal. “There must be another way,” you say, but then he sighs through his nose and his palm grows ice-cold in a flash. Pushing under your waistband, he cups your mound and you gasp, the frigid sensation sparking up your spine. 

“Fuck!” you hiss, splaying a hand on his chest and pushing but there is no force. Your other hand comes around his wrist; he doesn’t budge. Rather, his fingertips press in-between your folds, testing your limits. 

“What were you saying,” he says although the edge in his voice indicates it is rhetorical.

Your face scrunches as he continues to pet you. You begin to throb painfully, anticipating being properly filled. “Stop that. You’re going to - ”

“Give you frostbite? No. There would be no point in that,” he says, flatly and hardly convincing, “I still want you to feel me.”

He didn’t seem to care about breaking you off necessarily but rather in pursuing his own pleasure, he liked making you squirm in obscene desperation. 

His solid metal gauntlets press against your front as his exploratory hand slips further between your thighs. Though you’ve clamped your knees together, his own movements don’t seem impeded; you gasp for the second time, grasping the air, as he enters two cold fingers into you and pushes against your walls. 

It is a strange sensation. You loathe it and yet you’re so wet, so much so that he takes off his gauntlets intermittently before returning. When he cupped you again, your hips rolled for him, lifting off the floor. It’s so lowly of you, to be done in by an erotic touch.

As with yours, his patience seemed to be thinning.

You blink and his fingers are hooked at your waistband, pulling your pants and underwear to your knees; you blink again and his weight disappears. On his haunches before you, you watch in silence - voyeuristically - as he pries loose his sash, his own pleated pants sliding halfway down to his solid thighs. Although the front of his outer jacket fell long enough that it covered his front, even the slightest sight of his exposed body made you shiver. 

By now, the drug had dried on your skin; it came off in flecks as you rubbed your chin. “What the hell?” you mutter drunkenly, only half able to focus. The other half went into spectation, making certain he didn’t make any sudden moves. For this reason, you could not be sure whether the tingling you felt was real or not. 

You try to vocalise this to Sub-Zero, who was splashed much more heavily than you, but he wasn’t listening. “The bottle… I think - ”

“Shut up. Move.”

Although he’s the one who put forth the command, he decidedly manipulates your body himself. Without so much another word, he puts you on your stomach, your bare thighs against the rough floor rug. You don’t fight back because… well, why don’t you fight back, actually? Cognisant of your own compliancy, this question stumps you. 

Astride your legs, you feel the heaviness of his cock prod your skin. With one hand, Sub-Zero spreads your cheeks apart and guides himself into the cleft with his other. There are no warnings besides a husky sigh when he broaches you, the head of his cock stretching you out so luxuriantly. Mercilessly, he drives into you half-way and the speedy intrusion rips a filthy moan from your mouth. 

Pragmatically, you know you should feel some discomfort by nature of anatomy at least - but none of that is a reality for now. He slides the rest of the way in snug, hips flush against your backside, arms straight supporting himself on either side of you. You are so wet that all you feel is full. 

You almost wished it was painful, especially when he begins to move, inching his pelvis away from your rear and coming close to pulling out entirely but it really never does. It’s a disquieting revelation.

If it were painful, you would have reason to rue this entire encounter as a nightmare. Worse, you’ve never felt so comfortable in your life, with your forearms on the hard ground and being taken by a man who has half the mind to kill you after this. 

“Fuck,” he says, dragging out the syllable. You had to agree with the sentiment. 

He gives a few perfunctory thrusts before finding a sustainable rhythm. The carefulness he exhibits dissipates into thin air once he does, his first real thrust almost pushing your body forward by sheer force alone. It knocks the air out of you and you wiggle to establish yourself against the rug.

Apparently frustrated by your sliding forward, you feel large hands shove your shoulders down, smushing your cheek against the rug. You breathe hard through your nose, eyes rolling back in your skull. 

Distantly, you hear a clatter of something hitting the ground in a haphazard fashion. Before you toss a look to the side, cold fingers find themselves back on the developing bruises on your neck, twisting your head back to look up at Sub-Zero instead. You only have a second to register that he has removed his mask before he compels you to his mouth. 

As per his disposition, his kiss is equally as vicious; he does not let up until you’re dizzy and spent. It’s an awkward angle too, given his large stature, making you feel you’re about to drool out the corner of your mouth. You expected no less. 

And he must have done something especially delirious to you because as he draws away, you find yourself already wanting him back, to violate you in every which way he could. He smells of incense and his stubble ghosts you. It is not enough to just feel Sub-Zero pulse inside you, you need to hear his faint huffs by your ear, to feel his tongue against yours - 

“This is your doing,” he says, ticklish breath against your nape. He inhales deeply, his cold nose against your sensitive skin. “What was in that fluid?”

“I don’t know,” you cry out. So he was already aware. Then why did it feel like you were the only one objecting to its lures? 

“More lies. You wanted this. For me to take you like a bitch in heat.”

“I didn’t know. I don’t know. If I did, this would never - I would never have… it’s affecting me, too - ”

He pulls off your backside, dragging his cock out. It slides onto your back thigh, leaving a wet glaze. “Turn over,” he demands, putting a hand on your hip and squeezing hard. 

You do so because there is no alternative. Carefully and inspite of your lightheadedness, you roll onto your back, knees bent and shoes flat against the ground. He pragmatically removes one of your pant legs entirely off you, leaving the other still hanging, and it’s such a desperate, heated scrabble to get you further out of your clothes that at once, your heart quivers in your chest. 

Unexpectedly, you find then that he doesn’t crawl on top to take you vis-a-vis this time, but rather he yanks you forward into his lap, your centre of balance going utterly wayside. You take his collar in fistfuls to counter the inertia. You see your reflection in the shine of his eyes and it is almost too intimate for you to handle.

“You wanted this,” he repeats. “So take it.”

In his lap and resting against your stomach is his erection, wet and shiny and flushed. It does not take a scholar to know what he wants - what you want. You swallow, and draw in. 

His breathing is all you can hear as your hands spread out on his broad chest, sliding down. Two fingers hook at the junction point of his jacket and shakily, you pull it open. When he doesn’t move to stop you - or do anything for that matter - you undo the knots to his inner jackets as well. The jacket sides fall naturally to the sides, exposing his firm chest. He’s warm - you don’t know why that surprises you - and clean-shaven; and as you pass down his abdomen, feeling the jump of hard muscle under your palms, you remember yourself. 

It feels almost embarrassing to appreciate his body, especially so since you were still covered up fully from the waist-up. Now, with him more exposed as well below you, odd emotions were in order, none of which you cared to examine. 

You tear your hands away, missing the heat all the same. His heavy gaze on you doesn’t fetter. Still, at this point you were existing on borrowed time. You lift yourself on your knees and with a breath tampered in your lungs, you guide yourself down on him. 

You watch him as he watches his cock disappear into you, his expression tight. There is a muscle visibly twitching in his jaw and though his palms are flat against the floor for support, his fingers are ever-roving and flexed, a moment away from grabbing your waist and taking lead. You settle onto him, the blunt head of his cock easing into you with a satisfying pressure. 

“Go ahead,” he says - or rather, commands, with a razor-like edge of competition. “Get yourself off.”

The remark is so unnatural you inadvertently shoot him a bewildered look. It was difficult to take it face value, after all: you had no capacity to believe he meant it charitably. But when he counters your bewilderment with a subtle lift of an eyebrow, inciting you to question him aloud, you end up backing off. 

You don’t need to be asked twice. An orgasm to rebalance your hormones that were thrown off by that drug seemed logical in any case, but before you even get to moving, he hums, his head tilted to the side, the expanse of his throat appearing particularly inviting. 

“What?” you have to ask, bracing yourself in suspicion.

“You listen so well.” He purses his lips, clearly in mock-thought of what to say next, before, “Liu Kang wastes your talents.”

Your whole face flushes at the insulting implication that doing this was your talent. But what should take you right out of the mood, has you instead clenching down around him, agitation channeled elsewhere. The sudden pressure makes him grunt, a hand pulling forward to clutch your waist. 

“I am no more in control than you are,” you say and you lift yourself on your knees. His cock drags slipperily against your walls.

Even so, riding him is no easy feat. 

The angle forces you to take his full length every time you lower and though his thick legs cushion you, you have an inkling that he presses right up to your cervix. It doesn’t hurt thankfully but it feels a lot, certainly much more than before. You think he’s probably getting more out of this than you given the flashes of unsteadiness that cross his face when you least expect it, until you roll your hips at a different angle and it makes your calves tremble, to the extent your hands whip out and land on his shoulders for support. 

You take one hand off and slide it down your front, resting at the crux of your legs. You’re close now, and you’re convinced that a little attention towards your clit will get you the rest of the way there. Abruptly then, he smacks the back of your hand away, the lasting prickles of pain on your knuckles startling you. 

“No,” Sub-Zero says. “Don’t you fucking touch yourself.” You glare at him, having no interest in complying. But, almost like consolation, he raises his hips and claps against you in perfect tandem as you’re coming down. You pull your hand away, albeit begrudgingly. 

His energetic thrusts back… it helps round off the ache, a little, you must admit. You possess a perfect view of his core muscles flexing every time your pelvises connect; it is impossible to not be in awe of his stamina. 

You fear that it is this notion, the recognition of his pure strength and endurance, that eventually turns erotic for you. A tension builds in your lower stomach, all endeavours pointed to quelling the heat. You’re pawing him, entranced and stupefied, when you exert the last of your might to will his hips to a standstill.

Resting your full weight on his lap and rocking back-and-forth gently, you come powerfully. Your toes curl at the full-body sensation that tickles every nerve; even he cannot deny himself a ragged groan upon feeling your convulsions wrap around him, contracting and vibrating on his cock. 

He shifts under you, and you let him remove the rest of your uniform, tossing it somewhere to the side. He wraps a thick arm around your waist, dragging you flush against him. You wriggle, grimacing, his cock still rigid inside you. Without much effort at all, he tucks his legs under himself, forcing you to anchor yourself with hands linked behind his neck lest risk falling backwards. It brings your faces closer together than anticipated and as you try again to find your footing and weasel out, his arm tightens.

His opposite hand grips your ass, rooting you to him as deeply as possible. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growls by your temple.  “I didn’t say we were done.” 

You don’t get an opportunity to bemoan, still twitching in his lap. It should be both impressive and frightening, how quickly he pins you down exactly where he wants you, but you’re too dazed to appreciate it. You loosely hang off him as he crushes you, chest to chest, your soft breasts against his pecs, your hands on his nape and neck. Where you and him are still connected is a complete and utter wet mess, fluids running down the cleft of your ass and onto the damp rug beneath. Every slap of skin has a sticky noise following in its immediate wake. 

His head ducks into the corner between your shoulder and neck. With your chin beside his hair, you inhale the scent of warm, clean incense. You get the debilitating thought that this isn’t so bad. It’s not great either, given the circumstances, but after a while, his barraging into you was a pleasant sting. 

You found you did want him to orgasm, with haste - genuinely. Just as you were beginning to think he was being predictable, Sub-Zero skates his teeth on your shoulder and bites, earning himself a cry. You don’t think much of it until he laves his tongue on the bite mark, and it actually stings - he must have drawn blood. 

You lose it a little more this time. 

“Oh, gods,” you begin to plead, your voice so strangled and wimpish it’s hard to believe it’s coming from you, “I can’t…”

His scoff is warm against your collarbone. Sub-Zero lifts his head: his hair is messy, his bun coming undone; several long locks of stray hair now spill over his eyes. “Yes, you can,” he says. “Open your mouth.” He draws away and your lips part, unthinkingly but so very obediently. 

Stilling ever so briefly, he spits into your mouth and your eyes widen, unable to process the sheer depravity of what he’d done. It lands squarely on your tongue and under his heavy-lidded anticipation, you swallow. It reminds you that this - the pain, the domineering, the humiliation - is all for him now; you already got your orgasm.

It gets him closer, you can tell from the way his hips speed up, deep strokes reduced to pumps, though with still enough force to ripple the flesh of your thighs. In a way, it does help - if you could handle something as vile as that, why, what couldn’t you handle? 

But toleration and voluntariness were two different functional spheres entirely. Part of you thinks you would have preferred an outright fight, because then the victor and the loser would be clearly defined. Being orgasm-wrung and panting on the floor, you could constitute yourself as neither. 

Thoroughly robbed of any remaining decorum, you chase after his mouth hotly, groaning into him. Sub-Zero adapts to your strain of desperation, hands planted on the sides of your face to keep you from ever wriggling away before he allows it. And yet his kiss is a respite, ridiculously enough, from how he is making you ache below. 

Your hands run along his bulging triceps, stroking him almost affectionately. Your core was growing tight again and the feeling grew no matter how you tried to suppress it. “I need to… I need…” So muddled, you don’t think your words are even coherent. 

Unable to restrain yourself any longer, you convulse around him for the second time. Pleasure buzzes in your chest, spreading in every direction. 

“Coming again?” he huffs. “I thought your type - ngh - valued self-discipline.” The gait of his taunt is erratic, clearly moved by your sudden tightness. 

“It’s the drug,” you counter, but you don’t believe that at all. No, this must be all you now. 

He does not deign to reply, because right then he tenses - and you felt a liquid heat begin to pool inside you. It registers too belatedly that you should have said something earlier to stop him from ejaculating inside. It rests heavy in you, real evidence of what you’ve done if the scatter of bruises up and down your body wasn’t a sign enough. He pumps in small oscillating movements until you’ve milked him completely and you lay there, stunned and in resignation.  

He sighs again, deep and low, more of a rumble than anything else. Sub-Zero blinks languidly, his eyes downcast and for the first time, you see the exertion in his expression. The loose hair that sweeps across his forehead begs to be tucked away but knowing better, you keep your hands to yourself. 

Sub-Zero pulls off you unceremoniously, dick soft enough to tuck away into his pants. With every passing second, you drop from your high. In silence you drag yourself into a sitting position, eyes trailing him lazily as he stalks off and without warning rips a hanging red cloth off a stand, so violently it leaves the metal stand wobbling. It’s as large as a body towel. He wipes himself first before rolling it up and tossing it to you, its large golden tassels smacking you in the outer leg. 

It is, again, a funny gesture that feels out of place with the rest of his conduct. As you clean yourself with the dry velvet - Shang Tsung’s cloak, seemingly, a fact which you drove yourself to ignore - you had to face the reality of Sub-Zero’s come dripping out of you. Even without contorting yourself, your sopping and battered cunt was obviously the culprit of the dark stain spreading across the rug.

There was, of course, no point in protesting now. And had you said something, you figured without resentment that there was no guarantee he would have listened anyway. Nevertheless, you’ll need to remedy this as soon as possible lest there be undue surprises…

You gather yourself on legs like a newborn faun, teetering until you grasp the edge of the desk, toppling a miniature astrolabe. You shove the stained cloak to the side. Your libido has wicked into almost nothingness for which you had to be relieved, but that did not quell the perceptible imbalance in your energy.

Perhaps the true purpose of that poison was to affect your chi, not your… sexual appetite, after all. It merited further research but too bad the liquid off the floor already evaporated and the bottle itself was unlabeled.

Leaning for support, you redress yourself whilst thinking about your filled womb; it makes you just cringe. Shit. It’s a major inconvenience to now have this on the forefront of your personal concerns and though you hardly had the mind to tell Sub-Zero, the mere thought of him made you faintly aware of how deathly quiet he had become.

You look up. Immediately your adrenaline spikes because he’s not there, not in your line of sight. His mask was no longer where it once was tossed either. 

This, in hindsight, is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. You had no intention to rest in any afterglow, but it appeared even a moment to catch your breath was overly-indulgent. 

Movement flicks on your left. And you have to blame your fatigue because otherwise you’d beat yourself up about this, because before you know it you hear that familiar crunch of ice coming together and the entire room drops several degrees.

You duck but it is the wrong direction and within a millisecond both your shoes are encased in ice. You lurch, unsteady in the trap.

You exhale. You suppose it was always going to converge back to a tussle, one way or another. But then you spot him kneeling by your pack, invasively filing through what you’ve uncovered, and you’re incensed again. Already having wasted enough time, you snap, “You won’t get away with this, Sub-Zero.”

He lifts the pack by one handle and sends a provoking look your way. “I already have,” he says and you bristle. You’re so stupid for letting your guard down, letting him leave your sight for even a second. The muffle of his mask is not enough to conceal the smarmy condescension oozing out. 

Of course, you weren’t expecting him to be romantic, beaming in post-coital bliss, but going back to wanting each other dead so promptly after being drugged up feels dramatically unhinged.

“We need to figure out what that stimulant was,” you say. “You felt what it did to you - what it did to us. This place is dangerous and I have contacts with the Edenians to help us sort through it. I just need… you to hand that bag over.”

You think it’s convincing enough because it’s true. Like hell you’d ever want to be caught up in a position like that, being splashed by liquid that had the ability to strip you of your chi and basic self-control. 

“Come on,” you insist, more aggrieved than ever before, “you were just induced into having sex with a complete stranger. Shouldn’t you be more worried?”

Sub-Zero pauses, smoothing his hair back with the heel of his palm. Somehow in that short span of time, he’d managed to equip all his gear back sublimely. This fact only aggravates you further. “Hm. I didn’t expect you to think so lowly of yourself.”

“You cannot be serious - ”

Then, like a gut punch to cap-end the entire affair, he interrupts, “Should you want this back, you know where to find me.”

No. No, no, no.

It’s the last thing he bothers saying. None of your angry shouts purportedly get to him, even as he vanishes down the stairs and although your backup knife is miserably tiny, it’s the only one you have on-hand. At a loss, you bend your knees and start chipping away the ice.

The upside, you find, is that the ice is very hard: it provides for you an exercise in releasing your stress by hacking into it without holding back. The downside, equally, was that it was very hard, so hard it would seemingly take you ages to free yourself.

Shards of brittle ice spit up from where you stab. Your body trembles; your face is so flushed that you’re surprised the ice hadn’t already melted under the spotlight of your anger and embarrassment. 

You’ve scarcely a desire to enter Earthrealm, and certainly none in hurtling towards a viper’s den like a Lin Kuei stronghold, but - 

You also cannot go back to Sun Do empty-handed. 

What would you even say to Lord Liu Kang when he requests your report? Should you even mention Sub-Zero? You’re sick to the stomach at the mere thought of having let Lord Liu Kang down so gravely… your fretting was giving you a headache.

It did not help that you were already dehydrated the moment you stepped inside the building.

Pinched between your thumb and forefinger, you break off a small chunk of ice and place it on your tongue. It’s so brilliantly cold it practically burns. As you wait for it to melt into water by sucking gently, you try very, very hard to not think about how the cold felt on the rest of your body.

For what it’s worth, you almost do succeed.

[billyharringson]

Ship: Mungrove

Prompt: Character A (Either) hoarded marshmallow bags in the bed and Character B (Either) finds out. SFW c:

Not sure this is what you wanted but this is where my brain went.

"Baby?" Eddie called, unable to take his eyes off the bed. He'd been trying to look for his lighter, hoping that maybe it had fallen from his pocket and gotten lost amongst the covers. What he had found however, was not his kissing lighter and was instead something a lot stranger.

"Yeah?" Billy replied, returning from the bathroom.

Eddie turned to him, gesturing down at the three jumbo bags of marshmallows that had apparently appeared in his bed at some point during the day. "Why are there marshmallows in the bed?" He asked, keeping his tone light and as non-accusing as possible.

In their nearly a year of dating Eddie had learnt a lot about his boyfriend. One of the main things being that he dodnt do anything without a reason, even if that reason wasn't clear to anyone but Billy. The other being that because Billy found it very hard to voice his emotions he often showed them, sometimes in odd ways. A lot of the time it revolved around food as well.

It had started with Eddie finding snacks in his jacket pockets, almost always on a day where he'd forgotten to eat something. Then had evolved into Billy cooking for him whenever Eddie had had a hard day, surprising him with sweets when Eddie did well on a test. Those kinds of things.

He knew better than to bring it up head on, Billy was more likely to retract into himself or even lash out with a mean comment if Eddie tried to get him to explain why he was doing something. He knew that the feeding stemmed from Billy often not having a secure source of food himself growing up. That had changed since he'd moved into the trailer, Wayne always made sure there was food in the fridge and made a point of letting Billy know that he could eat as much if it as he wanted.

It had taken a little while but Billy seemed to finally be accepting that fact. Enough that he now had an adorable little pouch that sometimes peaked over the top of his sinfully tight jeans.

Billy shrugged, glancing down at the marshmallows. "You said they were your favourite."

Eddie tilted his head to the side, studying Billy more closely now. Because marshmallows were his favourite thing to eat, when he was sick. His eyes widened as he noted the flush on Billy's cheeks, the slightly feverish glaze to his eyes, the subtle sheen of sweat coating his tanned skin.

Billy was sick. And this was his way of asking Eddie to take care of him.

Eddie smiled and pulled his shirt over his head, kicking off his jeans so he was just stood in his boxers, know mimicking his boyfriend. "You wanna lay in bed and eat marshmallows with me, baby?" He asked, holding out his hand as he gathered up the bags.

Billy shrugged again, taking the hand anyway. "If you want." He muttered, letting Eddie tug him down under the covers and wrap him in his arms.

"I do want." Eddie replied, kissing briefly at Billy's cheek. Yeah he definitely had a fever. "Couldn't think of a better day even."

"You're a sap." Billy snorted, laying his head against Eddie's chest.

"Yeah." Eddie breathed in reply, a lovestruck smile on his face, because he knew what Billy was saying with that statement. "I love you too, baby."

[taruchinator]

🍁 General Audiences

🍁 1.6k Words

🍁 Day 3 | Favorite Scent of @flufftober!

Caelus was an unapologetic sweater snatcher.

Based on his distinct hobby of diving headfirst into trash cans within a five mile radius of him in hopes of searching for treasure, this shouldn't come up as a surprise.

Didn't make it any less embarrassing, though.

“There he is! Told you we'd find the little thief in here, Dan Heng!”

IT'S HONKAI STAR RAIL TIME BABYYYYY <3

Welcome to Day 3 of Flufftober, where I get to talk about one of my favorite poly ships in all of media—DanCaeMarch! Or the Astral Family, I guess? 🤔

I wanted this prompt to have something to do with clothing, so who better to have the spotlight then honorary trash panda himself—Caelus! 🐼 Enjoy!

Caelus was an unapologetic sweater snatcher.

Based on his distinct hobby of diving headfirst into trash cans within a five mile radius of him in hopes of searching for treasure, this shouldn't come up as a surprise.

In his defense, he didn't do it on purpose at first! If anyone was to blame, it would have to be Dan Heng for introducing him to the world of sharing clothes with your partner. After a particularly chilly sparring session with Yanqing—those icicle swords were no joke—, Dan Heng offered his coat to Caelus once he noticed the gray haired male was shivering.

“You can give it back to me once we're on the Express.” Those were the words uttered from his raven haired boyfriend, and so the trailblazer left it at that.

Except he never actually gave it back.

Dan Heng never said anything either, so that was more than enough for Caelus to keep that little secret to himself.

March 7th didn't make it easier on him, either.

The bubbly girl in their trio of a relationship rarely wore anything to cover herself—be it through sunny skies or stormy weathers, March always put her outfit as a number one priority. If she ever added something to her one-piece pastel/floral combo, it was only because it looked good.

Hence her being over the moon with a fuzzy sweater Natasha had given her during their next visit to Belobog.

“Check it out, you guys! No one can deny who's the cutest trailblazer on the Express now!” March was twirling and taking selfies left, right and center with her new fit, all the while bringing her boys to different places across Belobog for the entire day. It was incredibly exhausting, but neither of them had the heart to voice their protests aloud.

After their visit however, Caelus couldn't help but wonder how comfortable the sweater actually was. Stealing it was a strong word, so that wasn't it. He'd call it… borrowing.

Just like he'd borrowed Dan Heng's coat!

… and forgot to return it.

“It's not weird to want to snuggle with my partner's clothes after a long day of work, is it? Of course not, no way!” Caelus mused to himself while holding both pieces—one on each hand—above his head.

The Astral Express had just come back from a short visit to Herta's Space Station for more testing on the Simulated Universe, and the silver haired male wanted nothing more than to crash in his room with the two most important people in his life beside him.

But since Dan Heng was busy going through security checks with Arlan and March had a prior engagement with Himeko, he was all alone aboard the train. And so, their garments became his sole source of comfort while they weren't with him.

Caelus didn't have many things to call his own—a home planet, memories of a life before becoming a trailblazer, or even the answers to who, or what, he was—except for one constant truth: the Astral Express.

The people in it had become his family, and most importantly of all, his lifeline.

When there was ever any doubt, March and Dan Heng were the reason he kept going.

“God, I'm turning into such a sap…” With a long sigh, Caelus let his mind wander onto the softness of the fabrics between his fingers, relishing in the faint and subtle scents emanating from each of them as they corresponded to their owner.

Dan Heng always had a rich, earthy smell to him that Caelus could never really describe with anything other than pinecones and mirth. It was strange considering the young man barely spent time outside unless it was required for w mission, but it suited him somehow, especially now that he knew of his Vidyadhara heritage.

March was much less complicated. Sweet just like her, and with hints of peppermint that left his heart feeling warm and fuzzy despite what nature would make him think. It was a scent that reminded him of bright smiles and warm hugs and home. A content sigh escaped Caelus’ lips.

Great Akivili, he had it bad.

“There he is! Told you we'd find the little thief in here, Dan Heng!”

Caelus’ eyes flew open at the unmistakable voice of his girlfriend, calling from just outside his now wide open bedroom door. As he turned, he could see the girl pointing an accusing finger in his direction, a pout on her lips that he couldn't help but want to kiss away. Had to hold on to the intrusive thoughts for now, though.

Dan Heng stood beside her, looking as unimpressed as ever, but with a hint of amusement hidden somewhere in his dark forest eyes. He crossed his arms as he gave Caelus a look over. “Is there anything you'd like to share with the class?”

Caelus looked from one side to the other, eyes wide and most definitely looking like what others described as a ‘deer caught in headlights’. He shrugged with a sheepish smile. “Y-You guys came back early! I thought you had plans and stuff…”

March stomped from her position in the doorway, now entering Caelus’ room. After sitting down next to him on the bed, she jabbed a finger right at his chest with a look of annoyance across her face. “I was talking to Himeko about our next trip to Belobog, and then she brought up that she saw you sneaking out of my room with my favorite sweater!”

Oof. Outed by Himeko. The worst kind of betrayal.

The girl then proceeded to reach for the garment, holding her against her chest. “I've been looking everywhere for this! I was gonna show it off to Bronya the other day but couldn't find it anywhere! I figured Dan Heng or Mr. Yang must have put it in the dirty laundry by mistake, but then this guy told me he was missing one of his coats, too!”

Caelus’ gaze then shifted to Dan Heng, the slight pink in his cheeks almost impossible to subside any longer. “I, um… I-I didn't—”

“I didn't mind you keeping it. It's not like I don't have others.” The raven smiled at him slightly with an underlying fondness reserved for him and March. “I just thought that you'd give it back in your own time.”

“Wait, all this time you knew?” March's response came laced with confusion rather than annoyance. And Caelus couldn't help but feel the same. “W-Why didn't you say anything?”

Dan Heng merely shrugged. “Like I said, I thought you'd give it back in your own time. I too have fondness for the things you lend me from time to time… even if they're a little too worn for my liking.”

The trailblazer's eyebrows furrowed for a moment, only for images of him lending the Vidyadhara small things like his jacket, phone and other miscellaneous items started crossing his mind. He smiled sheepishly at the thought. It didn't happen often, but he liked sharing things with Dan Heng. Maybe this was the raven's way of saying he liked doing that too.

“Aww wait a minute! Does that mean you got to wear Caelus’ jacket?” March spoke once more, the pout returning to her lips once more as she crossed her arms in the cutest attempt at a tantrum the trailblazer had ever seen. “No fair, I wanna wear it too! Even if it is all stinky and sweaty like Caelus is…”

“Hey!” Caelus jokingly shoved against her, enveloping her entire frame in his arms with a goofy grin on his face. “I'll have you know I smell as delicate as roses! Argenti said so last time we spoke!”

March's giggles bounced across the room while she tried to escape his grasp with no avail. “Ew, he definitely did not! And if you heard that then you need to get your ears checked!”

As their giggles mixed together in the comfort of the dimly lit room, Dan Heng sneakily took a seat on the empty spot next to Caelus, wrapping an arm around the duo with another smile grazing his lips. “Himeko and Mr. Yang are still talking over some business with Asta. They might be a while. Mind if we join you?”

The gray haired male's pulse began to race as his cheeks tinted pink once more. The smile that followed after was completely unavoidable and almost felt like second nature. Everything felt like that when he was with these two. “I'd really like that… I was planning for a lonely evening anyways, hehe…”

“You dummy.” March spoke once more, still trapped within the confines of Caelus’ arms, but this time leaning upwards to give him a kiss on the tip of his nose. A pleasant chill ran across his spine. “If you wanted to cuddle, you just had to ask! No need to go around like some raccoon stealing our clothes. You're already a trash panda, anyways…”

“Hey!”

“What I'm trying to say is that we want to be here with you! We love you!” The statement was so clear and without hesitation, almost as if saying something as simple as ‘the sky is blue’. Yet March never ceased to amaze him with her bluntness.

And as Dan Heng nuzzled his chin against the top of his head, Caelus knew he felt the same.

Nothing else mattered—only them three as they eventually slept into the comfort of the night, knowing that no matter what the path of Akivili had in store for them, as long as they had each other, they could walk it without fear.

And if Himeko and Mr. Yang found them later and took a few pictures like the proud parents they were (despite Pom-Pom's insistence that ‘them being in the same room like this was inappropriate’), well, that was something they'd keep to themselves.

[no-thoughts-only-soup]

To Secure / Risk It All

Chapter 8

Aka Curt has another panic attack.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

———————————————

It was impossible. It had to be some sort of cruel prank. Because there was no way Chilly Panda was alive.

He wanted to believe she was. That despite all that happened, all evidence saying otherwise, that she had somehow escaped their clutches. Maybe she had somehow called upon her raptors. Maybe she had lived through it, and they hadn’t noticed. Maybe-

“Yeeeaaaaaaas!”

A chorus of cheers erupted throughout the room.

“We’re six now ya’ll!” Den cheered loudly, patting the monitor.

“There is SIX of us and 5 dozen of THEM.” Christian laughed.

Ivan rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t keep a straight face. “Damn, you couldn’t even stay dead?”

- Bitch. -

- 凸(⊙▂⊙✖ ) -

“They couldn’t even kill off Chilly.” Kristine pointed out with a giggle.

“Yeah why the hell did we go through all of that if you’re not even dead?” Christian joked, leaning in closer and tapping on the screen.

Ivan floated next up to him. “Bruh does that mean I died for fucking nothing?”

“Don’t forget Curt having an actual panic attack.” Den pointed over her shoulder at Curt.

At any other time, he would have joined in. Joined in with the laughter. Joined in with the jokes. But it felt like all energy had been sapped away from him, leaving him with just enough to keep standing.

She’s alright. They were still laughing and joking. She isn’t dead. They felt so far away. You didn’t fail her. Everything still felt so heavy.

Den shoved Christian aside. For whatever reason, the action snapped him out of his thoughts. Gathering whatever he still had left, he stepped closer. Kristine took a step aside to let him get closer, and he caught a glimpse of her face.

A smile on her face, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Was it a pang of guilt? Of remorse for ever helping the Foundation? Was it longing? For being more than a replacement for a lost friend? Was it a feeling of being an outsider? For not being able to understand some of the inside jokes? Or was it a mix of many things?

Curt didn’t know and he chided himself for trying to pry. Those weren’t his feelings to figure out.

“But where are you Chilly? From where are you typing this?”

“Yeah, how the hell do we get out?” Ivan asked.

That was a bit of silence. And finally typing.

- actually… -

Curt felt immense dread in his stomach.

- I’m really dead -

The air around them felt cold. Oppressive.

“Wh-“ Ivan began, but Chilly was already typing again.

- they ran a bunch of tests on me. dunno why and I don’t remember what exactly killed me, but I died. been haunting the facility since -

Curt swallow some spit into his dry throat. “Y-you… they tested you because you’re an SCP like us. To see if you could survive i-if you’re not in a scenario…”

- well clearly not :P -

He couldn’t laugh. He knew she was trying to lighten up the atmosphere, but he couldn’t bring himself to laugh.

He wasn’t alone in that. The closest was a slight, clearly forced smile on some of them.

“So,” Ivan interrupted the silence “are you a ghost like me now?”

- nah it’s different -

- it’s like -

Stop. Backspace.

- well -

Backspace.

- I’m kinda like a more cliché ghost? I can’t talk to u guys outside of this computer, I’m pretty much invisible, I dunno -

Heavy. It felt heavy. The air felt heavy.

A hand grabbed his wrist, grabbing Curt’s attention. He glanced over. Den still had her eyes on the screen, but the hand she had wrapped around his wrist said all that needed to be said. He choose not to address it, letting her keep him grounded.

It allowed him to focus. “Wait, maybe we can fix this. If you join us, maybe you’ll go back to life after we close the scenario.”

“Could work.” Ivan noted. “But we need her body too, right?”

“Chilly, you know what happened to your body?” Den asked her.

Pause.

- not really. I was drugged the fuck up for the whole thing -

No. He refused.

“Kristine,” he turned to her, “do you have any idea where it could be?”

She shifted around a bit, eyes looking in his direction but not really meeting his eyes. “No, I wasn’t allowed near the research stations…”

- curt, arent YOU the b-class? shouldn’t YOU know? -

“Do you think I would ask if I knew!?” He snapped at her, then leaned forward to type at another computer. “Come on, there’s gotta be a way to figure it out…”

The screens flicked from camera to camera, each adding to the growing pit of dread in Curt’s stomach. Every camera he checked, there were armed guards. There had to be something. Anything. They wouldn’t—

“Curt,” Den’s voice called out to him “they probably got rid of her body. I don’t wanna be a downer but—“

“They wouldn’t.” He cut her off. “Her body would be too valuable for that. T-They’d research it…”

“But that’s against the safety rules!” Kristine argued.

“Well clearly Snee doesn’t care about any damn rules!”

Come on, come on! It couldn’t be gone, it should still be there somewhere! He could still fix this, he could-

Christian grabbed his arm. “Dude, stop for a sec.”

Curt pulled his arm back.

“Oi, don’t fucking ignore me.” Christian said, grabbing Curt’s shoulder and forcefully turning him away from the computer. “Listen to me. I know you want to help Chilly, we all do! But we can’t help anyone if we get recaptured. We have to get the hell out!”

“AND LEAVE HER BEHIND!?” Curt roared at him.

Christian flinched from the sudden loud yell, and Curt took the chance to pull his arm away from his grasp. He glared at all of them.

“If we don’t get her out now we may never get that chance again! What the hell is wrong with you guys, am I the only one who fucking cares about her!?”

“Do you?” Christian snapped at him. “Or are you just trying to fix your ‘mistakes’ so you can stop feeling guilty?”

The silence was deafening. A knife wouldn’t be enough to cut through the tension. Everyone’s eyes were on Curt.

He wanted to reply. Make some snapping remark that of course he was doing this for Chilly. That of course he wasn’t doing this for some stupid sense of guilt. For making up to the fact it was his—

But the nasty part within him muted him before he could speak.

He has a point, doesn’t he?

So instead, he turned back to the computer. “…Both. And does it matter, the end result is still the sa—YEOUCH!”

An electric shock went through his hand, not strong enough to numb his arm, but still enough to sting. He shook out his hand. And then he saw Chilly typing.

- curt, leave it. it’s ok -

“Wha- No, its not ok!”

- no really. because, actually… -

There was a long pause.

- I’ve been thinking of taking a break from the group anyways -

He couldn’t breathe.

“Chilly…” Den whispered softly.

- it’s not because of you guys! I dunno how to best explain it, but it’s like, wanting to rediscover myself??? do some soulsearching??? trying to fuck around on my own and seeing what happens? if that makes sense??? -

Ivan raised an eyebrow. “You sure it’s not because of all the bullying?”

The computer vibrated with laughter.

- LMAOOOOO U COULDNT BULLY ME OUT IF YUO TRIED ಥ‿ಥ -

Den grinned and tried to nudge Ivan’s ghostly form. “We’d bully you out first.”

- absolutely (๑´• .̫ •ू`๑) -

- but fr don’t worry about me. ( ͒꒪̛ཅ꒪̛ ͒) if anything I can now go literally fucking anywhere I want and if I wanna be alive again we’ll just infiltrate this bitch -(๑☆‿ ☆#)ᕗ -

Den’s eyes sparkled. “Dude you can haunt a Starbucks.”

- KSNDBKSBSVKSJDBS SCRATCH ALL PLANS IM DOING THAT ⊹⋛⋋( ՞ਊ ՞)⋌⋚⊹ -

As Den, Ivan and Chilly laughed and teased, Curt felt like he was slipping. Everything felt like it was fading away. Their voices felt like they were melting together. The room felt like it was tilting.

No, no, no, he couldn’t fall into another attack now! They were on borrow time, at any moment the guards could barge in and—

But he was losing control. He was losing control. He was losing control. Losing control. Losing control. Control. Control. Control control control control control control control “Hey.” control control control control control control control control control control control control “hey!”

Christian moved into his vision. “Do you need to sit down for a moment?”

Curt stopped, his breath still uneven. His eyes flickered towards the others. They were still talking, but he caught the occasional glances they snuck at him. He stumbled back a little, getting some distance from the situation.

Almost without a single sound, Christian joined him, gently helping him breathe through it. Bit by bit, he pushed down the fear and panic once more.

He was definitely gonna throw up once they got out. If.

No. He steadied himself. We are going to get out. We will get out… or die trying.

And with a last deep breath, he locked eyes with Christian. The question went unspoken, but so did the answer. He stepped forward, interrupting the conversation between the others.

“It won’t be long before Snee finds us. We need a plan, stat.”

Ivan bit his lip. “We can’t get out through any of the exits. Maybe we could try a window.”

“We’d first need to get out of the panic room though.” Den pointed out. “Chilly, are there any guards heading in our direction?”

The computer was still for a moment.

- yeah, there’s a few getting close. doubt y’all are getting out without a fight -

Den crackled her knuckles upon hearing that, but Curt cut her off. “There is no way we can barge through so many. It’s too dangerous.”

“Do we have a choice though?” Ivan questioned.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Kristine suddenly shouted, raising her hand in the air like a desperate student. “If we can pretty much create whatever we want, why don’t we just make a teleporter?”

There was a silence of more than 10 seconds as everyone gaped at her.

Curt sunk to his knees, covering his face with his hands. “OH MY GOOOOOOOD!”

Everyone around him descended into hysterical laughter, Den and Christian even throwing in a “looooser!”, and even Chilly displaying a large L on the screen.

“WHY DIDNT I THINK OF THAT WHYYYYYYYYYY!”

“Ok, ok, I am holding this one against you dude.” Christian laughed.

Curt sighed deeply. “I am so fucking done y’all.

The laughter finally faded enough for Curt to stand up, sigh, and look at Kristine.

“Alright Kristine, how do you wanna do this?”

She thought, but only for a split second. “Can our teleporter be a 2004 Toyota Accord Sedan?”

It immediately prompted another round of giggles and chuckled, and even Curt felt the corners of his mouth move. “Sure, sure. Everyone, stand back a bit.”

Once everyone had made room, Curt spoke: “Alright, so Kristine summons her trusty teleporting 2004 Toyota Sedan…”

The car popped into existence, pushing all of them back even further.

“Shotgun!” Den immediately yelled, followed by Christian pouting over it. Kristine cheered and made her way over to the driver’s seat.

Curt was about to join, but then paused. No. He had to say it. He turned to Chilly instead.

“Chilly,” he began, his heart feeling as heavy as lead “I know I’m not directly responsible for what happened to you. But maybe if I had stepped up sooner, figured it out sooner, then maybe we could have escaped before your death. I’m…” his voice cracked “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t prevent this.”

There was a break in the storm of laughter. All eyes were focused on him and Chilly. Waiting for what she’d say.

And she finally typed.

- BITCH DO YOU NOT THINK I WOULDNT FUCKING HAUNT YOUR ASS IF I BLAMED YOU EVEN A LITTLE???? -

“Wh-“

- CURT FFS HOW LONG HAVE WE KNOWN EACH OTHER??? HOW LONG HAVE WE BEEN BULLYING EACH OTHER??? DO U SERIOUSLY NOT THINK I WOULDNT TAKE THIS EXCUSE???? -

“I…I…” he stuttered.

- curt, I don’t blame u for shit so stop being such a sad sack about it -

She didn’t blame him. She wasn’t mad. She could’ve been. She should have been.

But she wasn’t.

- not even I’m blaming you so stop blaming urself already dumbass -

“Chilly…”

He took a deep breath… and smiled. “Thank you.”

Curt suddenly felt something warm against his chest, wrapping itself around him. And even though he knew how stupid he’d look, he hugged back.

It was gone before he knew it, but Christian next to him shifted, grinning ear to ear as held up one crooked arm, akin to how he would sling his arm around his neck. “Girl I better hear on the news how you haunted the White House.”

“You gotta get on an episode of Ghost Hunters.” Den laughed, and then grinned as Chilly’s spirit hugged her next.

When she moved on to Ivan, Curt could finally get a glimpse of her.

She was happy.

Ivan ruffled her head, or at least that’s what he intended, complaining how he was gonna get the full buttmonkey treatment. “Now I don’t got you to divert some of it, they’re all gonna focus on me now.”

And finally, Kristine held up her hand, only a little awkwardly. From the way she beamed, Chilly gave her the high five.

“I’ll bully them in your place.” She proudly vowed.

There was a quick moment of warmth again as she quickly phased through all of them…

And she was gone.

Curt exhaled slowly. And jumped as a loud BANG sounded from the door.

“Ok we gotta get the fuck outta here.”

“Kristine take the wheel!” Den yelled as she jumped into the passenger’s seat, Christian still complaining as he got into the back.

Kristine got into the driver’s seat with a laugh, and Curt went to sit right behind her. Ivan of course couldn’t actually enter the car, but he hang onto the roof anyways.

The door broke down just as Kristine started the car. Curt flipped them off. And a second later, the car and all those inside vanished from the room, and from the facility.

——————————————————-

I was gonna end the chapter somewhere else originally, but I’ve tortured you guys with my absences enough.

Wil edit properly once I got time.

[thelostbaystudio]

Hey folks,

the pre-launch KS page of OUTER RIM: UPRISING is live! ORU is a bundle for the sci-fi survival horror RPG Mothership. The bundle is packed with 15+ 100% original entries from seasoned indie Mothership designers. All items are 1 Edition (which means the new one!) compatible. Below is some info on the bundle and pics of some entries.

OrU builds a huge setting, at the fringes of the galaxy, where corrupt corps fight rebel factions. Each item of the bundle can be used independently, but the items are also tied together by a common implied setting, sharing NPCs, story lines etc. A Campaign Handbook acts as the connective tissue of the bundle: adding factions, procedures, locations etc.

Half of the bundle items are written in a system neutral way, and can be used with any RPG.

We've just ignited the pre-launch page here https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/thelostbay/outer-rim-uprising, if you dig the project give it a follow, as indie publishers it means a hell of lot to receive the community support.

About this, if you are a blogger, streamer, podcaster and want to talk about this, see drafts or organize an actual play please reach out we'd be happy to help.

Below are some details on a couple of entries, they are sick!

The Hunger in Achernar, zine by D. Kenny (designer of Nirvana on fire)

Survive the void-haunted halls of a cursed derelict; solve the mystery of a missing ship, an experimental hyperdrive test, and a cultist plot; or save the galaxy from a taint leaking through a crack in the universe. Choose one in “The Hunger in Achernar”, a MOTHERSHIP RPG adventure.

BLINK, zine by David Blandy (designer of Eco MOFOS!)

In this short guide to faster-than-light travel, we’ll show you how to bring the mind-bending possibilities of instantaneous jumping between two distant points in space to your game.

Rusted to the Core, zine by Chris Airiau

The androids on Poe-V Station are on strike. Descend through the gas giant’s toxic clouds to uncover how the source of this disruption goes deeper than worker mistreatment. A faction-based adventure.

Surviving Machine parts, zine by Zach Hazard Vaupen

Out in the fringes of the system, a type of cybernetic implants called Machine Parts are popular with those who are savvy enough to find and afford them. Commonly made with recalled corpo tech and stolen military/alien technology, these implants are highly illegal and especially dangerous. This document covers 12 different Machine Parts and their consequences. Can you survive Machine Parts?

Sentience Assessment Procedure, player facing accessory, by Nyhur (Alien Armory) and IKO

SAP cutting-edge, neuro-semantic analysis technology allows management, officials, and security personnel to perform human/android triage effectively. SAP toolkit is portable, works in any-G environment, and can also be performed remotely.

Outer Rim: Uprising Campaign Handbook, zine by all the designers of the bundle

The connective tissue of the bundle

I'll stop here :) that's roughly one third of the items included in the bundle, I'll share more info in the next few weeks

Give it a follow here: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/thelostbay/outer-rim-uprising

[jessahmewren]

Trial

4.6k / Ezra x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni. Dystopian society, noncon/dubcon, rape, forced breeding, breeding kink, innocence kink, inexperienced reader, dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex, come play, oral (f receiving), pussy slapping, sexual slavery/bondage, brief mention of su*cidal thoughts, implied squirting, nicknames (darlin', pretty girl, sweet girl, sweetheart, etc), no use of y/n.

Summary: You are one of the last fertile women on a desolate world, subjected to an endless cycle of abuse in the name of the greater good. All of the men are nameless, faceless brutes. Until you meet Ezra.

Also on AO3

All thanks to @two-birds-alone-together for the excellent beta!

You crane your neck up to look toward the door. A tall, broad man in blue scrubs walks toward you. He is tan, his eyes a deep brown. There’s a curious white patch at the front of his hair, and it’s brushed downward, making him appear boyish. But he is no boy. He has strong shoulders and large hands…a well-defined nose. He approaches your head where you lay against the table and looks down at you.

-0-0-0-

You’re little more than breeding stock. You know that now. On this planet, to this endless parade of doctors and scientists, your entire worth has dwindled down to your fertility…what you can grow in your womb to repopulate a planet devastated by civil war.

You never thought you would long for the mining colony you’d been kidnapped from…for the hardships of your life before. You’d spent cycles in the mines without rest or food, scrabbling to make points from what you could unearth from the gas-ridden caves. But you were free. Your body was your own, until one day a routine blood test changed your life forever.

You’ve been in the same room for so many cycles you’ve lost count. You’re intimately familiar with the tiles on the ceiling, the harsh fluorescent lighting, the low couch by the window that looks comfortable, but that you’ve never been allowed to sit on. You’re strapped to a table, legs spread and cunt on display. It horrified you at first…the clinical exams, the blatant disregard for your comfort. Your cheeks burn with the memory of your first “trial.” You had kicked and screamed until they’d sedated you. You woke up sore with cum dripping out of you, no question as to what had happened.

Now they don’t bother with sedatives. You no longer fight. The punishing march of cycles has sapped your will. You’re never getting out, not unless you give them what they want. Unless your belly becomes round with new life, your life, as far as you can see, is over.

Tears are dried on your face from the last trial. It’s your fertile time, they’ve informed you, so the trials are daily now. The next man, one of the institute’s finest specimens of virility, no doubt, fucks you with a bored expression on his face. You look at the ceiling. You can feel his cock twitch after about a minute, feel his precious seed fill you to overflowing. He snarls as he comes, digging his blunt nails into your thigh.

The only mercy is that it never lasts long.

He backs up from where you are laid bare to him and puts himself away. “Did you come?” he asks perfunctorily. “The doctors say it’s more likely to take if you do.”

You say nothing. Of course you didn’t come. You never have. You were a virgin when they brought you here. You’ve never even touched yourself. Daily rape is not going to change that.

He shakes his head at your silence. You can feel his seed running out of you. A single tear tracks down your face, and you hear the door shut behind him.

A nurse comes in once a day to clean you up. It’s not enough. You have at least three trials a day, different men each time, and multiple blood tests. Your menses comes when you’re due, without fail. No pregnancy. No hope of ever escaping this hell you’re trapped in.

You’ve thought about killing yourself, but there’s no way to do it. Your arms are tied down away from your body. Your feet are secured and your legs forced apart. You’re never given sharp objects; your meals are liquid. Every cycle the sun rises and you wish again that you were dead.

It’s another early morning when you hear a soft knock at the door. That’s new, you think. No one ever knocks. They come in, use your body for tests or trials, and leave, usually without a word. If you don’t die from the abuse they are putting you through, then maybe you will die from loneliness. It would be a mercy.

Another knock on the door, and it piques your interest like nothing has in a long time. “Come in,” you say in a raspy voice. It’s been so many cycles since last you spoke, your lips can barely find the words. The door opens, and you brace yourself for what comes next.

You crane your neck up to look toward the door. A tall, broad man in blue scrubs walks toward you. He is tan, his eyes a deep brown. There’s a curious white patch at the front of his hair, and it’s brushed downward, making him appear boyish.

But he is no boy. He has strong shoulders and large hands…a well-defined nose. He approaches your head where you lay against the table and looks down at you.

That also, is new. Most men who come in go straight between your legs. You almost never see them up close. Sometimes you never see them at all.

“Hi darlin’,” he says, his peculiar drawl thick and syrupy. He’s smiling down at you a little lopsided, his head cocked slightly. “Let’s get you all undone, now. Let you stretch your legs a bit.”

You blink up at him, trying to comprehend this radical change in protocol. He’s already working on the restraints binding your arms, then the large one across your middle. He moves down to your feet, and your gaze immediately finds the ceiling, expecting the worst.

Instead, he loosens those restraints as well. When he sees the reddened skin around your ankles, he tuts, taking one of your feet and gently massaging it. You say nothing, wondering if this is some sort of cruel joke. You’ve never been unrestrained during a fertile time before, not since you first arrived.

The man returns to your head. He takes one of your hands in his, thumb making little sweeps over your skin. It’s the first time someone has touched you with any sort of kindness in a long time, and tears spring to your eyes. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he says softly. “My name’s Ezra.”

You look up at him and reflexively draw your hand away. You marvel at being able to move your arms. They’re stiff and tingly from being bound, but you relish the sensation. You whisper your name and he smiles.

“That’s beautiful darlin’,” he says pleasantly. He holds out his hand again while his other hovers near your shoulder. “Need some help sitting up?”

The first thing you do is close your legs, wincing at the pain in your atrophied muscles. Your modesty intact for the first time in a long time, you let Ezra gently pull you to a sitting position. The hospital gown covers you, finally, and you let your legs dangle over the side of the table.

You still avoid his gaze, though you can feel it burn you where it lands. You chance a glance at him and his eyes are soft, thoughtful.

“I bet a shower would do you a world of good,” he says, still congenial…still seemingly kind. You’re unused to it. It makes you immediately suspicious.

“Are you…are you a nurse?” You ask him. The only time you’ve been cleaned up (and those were hasty wipe downs with a cold basin of water) was by nurses during your scant few bathroom breaks. A shower, as unbelievable as that sounds, still feels like a trick.

He chuckles at that. “Not a nurse, sweetheart. Here to take care of you, though. Here to make you feel good.”

You frown. How could you possibly feel good in a place like this? After all that’s been done to you? You shake your head in refusal.

He sighs, leaving you sitting on the side of the table. “Let me start the shower for you, darlin’. You think you can manage by yourself?” His brow is furrowed, his eyes sympathetic. “I know it’s been a while since you stood.”

Suddenly you see the adjacent bathroom. You watch Ezra as he walks into it; you listen as the water turns on. Hot steam wafts from the open door, and you close your eyes.

Then you remember…the door to your room. It’s probably open. You can get away, or try to. This is the first time you’ve had any actual hope of escape, and you’re drunk off of it.

You bolt toward the door, but your numb legs betray you. You fall on your face, crying out, the hard floor jarring your bones. Ezra is by your side in moments.

“Ah, now,” he soothes, taking you up by your shoulders. “Can’t be running off like that. I’m trying to help ya honey. Nothing more.”

You look up at him where he holds you in his arms. He’s handsome, you think distantly, but the realization has no physical effect on you. You lost any sexual desire you had a long time ago, when these people weaponized reproductive organs as a means to an end, a tool to be used for the greater good.

Ezra helps you to your feet. His hands are big and calloused, but they’re warm. You’re not used to gentleness. It makes you wary, but you find yourself craving it all the same.

He leads you into the bathroom…stands you up by the sink. He offers you his arm, looking away as you step out of your hospital gown.

The steam feels so good on your skin; you’ve been cold for so long that your very pores starve for warmth. Ezra leaves you and you step under the hot spray. A wanton little sound of relief, the nearest sound you’ve ever made to pleasure escapes your lips, and you snap your mouth shut.

You spend the next few minutes washing your body, your hair, letting the suds run over your skin and down the drain. You clean the dried semen from your folds, scrubbing just a little too roughly. You stand there swaying under the water. You haven’t had a hot shower since your youth, since before you were sent to the mines. You huff a disbelieving laugh at how good it feels. You forget about Ezra and stay there until the water runs cold.

When you step out of the bathroom, there’s a fresh gown waiting for you on the counter. You towel off, slipping it on over your head. Feeling the cool, threadbare cotton against you just reminds you of where you are, what your purpose is, and the previous contentment from the shower, scant as it was, immediately evaporates.

You pad out of the bathroom and onto the cold tile. Your legs are still wobbly. You’re lightheaded from the hot shower, and before you know it the entire room tilts.

But you never hit the floor. Ezra catches you under the arms, sweeping you up to cradle against his chest like you weigh nothing. He murmurs something, his voice a low and pleasant rumble, but your ears are still ringing. He sits you down beside him…not on the cruel examination table, but on the couch.

You come back to yourself, and Ezra is tucking your wet hair behind your ear. He lets his hand linger by your cheek in a soft caress. You blink up at him, not understanding.

“Why am I on the couch?” you ask. Ezra looks confused, then his face transforms into a wide smile.

“Well, it seemed a mite more comfortable than where you were,” he says softly. He ducks his head, trying to catch your furtive gaze. “You feel better?”

The question catches you off guard. You do a quick, basic self-assessment and realize that you do feel a tiny bit better. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Thank you for the shower.”

Ezra preens, seemingly pleased by your gratitude. He tracks his thumb back and forth across the soft skin of your cheek, humming to himself. After a moment, he leans forward, pressing his lips to your forehead.

You instantly recoil, pressing your back to the end of the couch. He scoots forward, crowding you a bit. Your heart picks up.

“Mmm,” he hums, that low rumble coming from deep in his chest. “Y’ smell good.”

You bite your lip, refusing to meet his eyes. “I smell like hospital body wash,” you say, still trying to parse what’s actually going on.

He drags his knuckles up your bare leg, and you look at him. His eyes are dark, his strong nose scenting the air. “Wasn’t talking about the soap,” he says, grin lopsided, and then you realize.

He’s here for a trial.

You swallow hard. He’s got his arms braced on either side of you; it unfurls a strange warmth in your belly. It feels like fear…anticipation, but you’re not really afraid of him.

“If you’re gonna fuck me then just fuck me.” You look up, your mouth a firm line. “Why play all of these games?”

He tuts again, eyes bright and looking at you softly. He floats his hand down the column of your neck, settling at your shoulder.

“Such harsh words, sweet thing.” He gives your shoulder a little squeeze, and your skin burns with his touch. “I’m going to make it so good for you. You have my word.”

A little thrill goes through you, and you shiver. Without a word he pulls you to him, wrapping you up in a warm embrace. He’s speaking, but you don’t register much of it. It’s soft nonsense, words you would use to calm a frightened child or animal. You close your eyes against the white noise, and your nose catches his scent.

It’s uniquely masculine, something earthy and rich. Saliva pools in your mouth.

He holds you there for a long time, whispering soothing words into the shell of your ear. He trails his hands down your arms, smoothing the gooseflesh he finds there.

“You cold baby? You need a blanket?”

He leaves you on the couch, going to a closet and withdrawing a blanket. In all your cycles here, it’s a comfort you’ve never been offered. He wraps it around your shoulders, rubbing his hands over it like he can stoke warmth into your bones.

“Th-thanks,” you say, your teeth chattering. You realize it’s not entirely from cold.

Once you’re wrapped up, Ezra leans in again and you stiffen but do not pull away. You realize this is a foregone conclusion. Ezra is here for a trial, and nothing you do is going to change that.

He noses the skin beneath your ear, and you exhale. He presses his lips in a trail down your neck, gentle little pecks. When he reaches the fluttering pulse there, he seals his mouth over it and sucks.

You gasp softly and arch against him, feeling the warmth in your belly from before travel lower and settle between your legs. You feel your heartbeat throb in your center. That’s never happened before, and it makes you want to squeeze your thighs together to make it stop.

You reach up between you and press a hand against his chest.

“I won’t fight you,” you say. Your voice is thready and soft, and you hate how demure it sounds. “Just do what you have to do.”

He ignores you, letting his tongue wet your skin where his mouth is still sealed over your neck, then he teases it with his teeth. You tremble again, from nerves or cold you know not. “Ezra,” you whisper breathily, and he groans.

“You got me so worked up, darlin’,” he breathes against your neck. He kisses down to where your collarbone juts out of the wide neck of the hospital gown and closes his lips over it. He pulls away, observing the flush of your cheek, your shallow breath.

“Gonna take care of you,” he murmurs. “Gonna put a baby in you. Maybe two. Right here.”

You look down and he has his large hand splayed over your stomach. Your pulse quickens. Your gown is hitched up, and your legs are on display.

You shake your head. “Can’t get pregnant,” you say, “no matter what the blood tests say.” You turn your head, cheeks blooming red. “Been through many trials. Nothing’s ever worked.”

Ezra pouts, pecking at the line of your jaw. “Bet no one’s ever made you feel good though,” he says, his hand sliding from your stomach down your thigh to catch the edge of your gown. “Bet no one’s ever fingered this pretty little pussy before.”

Your mouth pops open, and he uses it as an excuse to claim your lips. His are full and soft, and your eyes slip shut. You’ve never kissed anyone before, so you have no comparison, but you like the way it makes you feel…warm, wanted. His whiskers tickle your chin. He slips his tongue in your mouth and your eyes fly open, a little noise purring deep in your throat.

He moans into the kiss, probing your mouth with his slick tongue. Tentatively you kiss him back, unsure of exactly how, so you simply touch your tongue to his and hope it’s enough.

His hand slips up your thigh and you feel a gush of liquid between your legs. You pull away, mortified, and move to stand. “I think I need to go to the bathroom,” you stammer. You feel strangely off balance. Your skin’s on fire, and there’s a steady ache between your legs.

You’ve never felt this way before. Something’s wrong…Ezra has done something to you and you don’t understand what.

Your legs are shaking, and you look down at the wet spot on the couch. “Oh no,” you murmur, face red. You feel the sudden need to hide, but there’s nowhere to go, and Ezra has both hands on your arms.

“Sit down, sweet girl.” There’s color to his cheeks, too, and you can see his hard cock tenting the front of his scrub pants. He pulls you back down and gently kisses your cheek. “It’s normal, honey,” he says sweetly. “It’s what’s ‘sposed to happen. That little pussy just needs a cock is all. It’s crying for one.”

Your core throbs, and you feel even wetter at his crass words. The dull pulsating sensation is now more urgent, sharp and unceasing. You want to touch, thinking that would make it go away, but you’re not sure how or where.

Ezra places his hand back on the inside of your leg, slowly dragging it upwards. He kisses you again, gentler this time. His hand reaches the humid juncture of your leg and pelvis, and he pets through your damp curls with the back of his hand.

“Unngh,” he moans into your mouth, then pulls away. He withdraws his hand, and his knuckles shine in the sunlight coming through the window. “Haven’t even got my hands on you properly and you’re already soaked. Kevva’s sake, girl.”

You’re trembling again, gripping Ezra’s upper arms. He slips beneath your gown once more, parting your seam with two big fingers.

“Oh shit,” he breathes, scooting up some on the couch. “You’re dripping, babygirl.” He locks eyes with you, and his are impossibly dark. “This all for me?”

You bite your lip and tell him the truth. “I don’t understand,” you say, trying to keep the tremor from your voice. “This has never happened before.”

He smiles, his eyes sparkling. “Good,” he says around a smirk. “You mean you’ve never touched this pretty thing, not once?”

He pulls your gown up, exposing your soaked cunt to the cold air. You shiver. “Kevva be damned, you’re beautiful darlin’.”

He drags through your folds with those same two fingers, groaning at the wet heat. He finds your clit, giving it an experimental little tap, then circling it with his thumb. Your legs quiver and your head falls back.

Your panting now, chest heaving, arms braced against the couch. You unconsciously widen your legs and feel yourself leak onto the cushion.

“Goddamn,” Ezra groans. “You’re unbelievable baby.” He makes another gentle circle over your clit, and you can scarcely believe the sound you make.

You can feel your body tightening. Your muscles go rigid and your toes curl. The warmth in your belly returns, spreading out to your limbs. “Ezra…,” you say, tears in your eyes. He continues his ministrations, shushing you gently. “You’re just aroused, sweet girl.” He dips into your folds, bringing more of your essence to your swollen clit. Something’s about to happen…you can feel it. Your heart beats faster…your skin feels tight. Ezra presses one of his fingers against your entrance and locks eyes with you. “Gonna give you one finger, my good girl. Just one. Give you something to clench around.”

You nod, not sure what you’re agreeing too. It’s all so much so quickly. Ezra smiles and looks down to where his finger enters your body.

You cry out, and he’s barely a knuckle deep when your walls close around him. He pumps his finger in an out, hooking it just so. You see stars. Your vision goes black at the edges, and your legs shake. He coos, laying you back onto the couch. He’s still working you through it until you start to whine, overstimulated.

He’s showering your face with kisses when he finally stops circling your clit. He withdraws his finger, giving your pussy a slap. His palm falls wetly against your folds, causing a pleasurable little sting.

You’re still catching your breath when he’s opening your thighs again. “You were so good for me, sweet girl, taking that finger. Did I hurt your little clit, rubbing it so hard?” He’s trailing his hand over your abdomen. It tickles, and the skin there quivers. You shake your head.

“Uh huh.” His hand slips down between your legs, cupping your pussy. You groan, arousal stirring again. “I’m gonna kiss it better all the same.”

He slides down the couch, kissing his way over your belly, to the top of your mound. “Ezra,” you moan, and he has to palm himself. “Ezra, please.”

He noses your curls, chin bumping against your folds. You groan louder, feeling the pressure build inside of you. He seals his lips over that tender bud and sucks.

You arch off the couch, crying out. Your heels dig into the cushions and your hands drop to his hair. He nips your clit with his teeth, stealing your breath, and still travels lower.

He looks up at you, eyes hooded. Your slick paints his mustache and patchy beard. You feel a fresh gush of it coat your thighs at the sight.

He probes your entrance with his tongue, and you twist under him. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. There’s pain in the pleasure, but you also need more. He licks a stripe up your seam, and it makes you shake. “You taste so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs against you, and the vibrations of his voice against you almost send you spiraling. “Could stay here all cycle.”

His lips return to your clit, swirling his tongue around the little bundle of nerves. Two fingers probe your entrance, and he slides them in without warning. It’s a stretch; your walls flutter around him to accommodate the intrusion. Then he starts to move.

“Goddamn pretty girl. I think you can take another.” He slides in his ring finger aside the other two after just two pumps, and you groan at the stretch.

“So full,” you murmur, already cock drunk and you haven’t even had it yet. He pumps his fingers in and out of you while eating you out, feeling your cunt tighten and clench around him.

“Gonna give me another sweet girl? One more before you take this cock?”

You find yourself nodding…anything just so he doesn’t stop. He crooks his fingers and presses into that spongey spot inside you, and you keen.

It hits you like a lightning bolt. The tension in your belly unspools, and before you can stop yourself you’re riding his face, hands clenched in his hair. You know it must hurt, but you can’t be bothered to care.

He coaxes you back down with soothing words, his soaked hand rubbing little circles on your inner thigh. “That’s my good girl,” he says to you over and over. “Gonna take this cock so well.”

When you finally come down he’s holding himself, languidly stroking your juices over his shaft.

Your eyes immediately go to the cock in his hand. It’s big…you’re not entirely sure it will fit. Your mouth goes dry as you notice the little bead of precum clinging to the tip.

“It’ll fit, darlin,” he says, reading your mind. “Gonna fill you up good. Like nobody else.”

His cock twitches, and he gives it a squeeze. “Gonna put a baby in me,” you murmur, and he smiles, cock lined up at your entrance. “That’s right, sweetheart. That’s what I said.”

The fat head of his cock breaches your entrance and you gasp. It’s a stretch, and once you’ve adjusted he eases a few inches inside you.

You both groan in unison. You can feel yourself relaxing around him, the initial twinge and stretch all but gone. It’s always hurt before. It’s never felt like this.

He’s got both elbows planted on either side of your head. He bends down to kiss you, and sinks his cock to the hilt.

You moan into the kiss. For a few moments neither of you move. His breath is coming in warm puffs. His hips are moving in little thrusts; he’s not fully fucking you yet…it’s like he’s settling in.

“Knew this pussy would take me,” he grits out. “So perfect. So tight.” He pulls out and then slams back in. It takes your breath. He finds a rhythm, pulling all the way out before thrusting back into your tight heat. His pelvis grinds against your clit. He balances on one arm, pulling up your hospital gown and exposing your chest.

You blush. He looks at you in awe, then bends and licks a stripe up your sternum. “Knew these tits would be perfect, too,” he says before taking one his mouth.

Your mouth drops open. He’s fucking you hard, and you’re so full you wonder briefly if they’ll be any room for his seed. You wrap your legs around him, the wet squelch of your bodies joining and your harsh breathing the only sounds in the room.

He pulls off your breast, a string of saliva dragging from his lips. “I’d come on these pretty titties if it wouldn’t be a waste of seed,” he stammers out. His hips are stuttering…there’s high color to his cheeks, and his hair is soaked in sweat. He flicks one of your hard nipples and it goes white at the sting. “Maybe next time.”

You clench around him at the thought of a next time. He pulls out suddenly and flips you on your belly. He slaps your thigh. “On your knees for me, sweet girl. Gonna pound you deep.” You’ve barely processed what he’s saying before he’s slipped inside you again, fucking you at a furious pace. He is hitting you deeper at this angle, you marvel, and a blooming warmth starts unfurling in your body even more rapidly than before.

Ezra reaches for your clit with his free hand, and it sends you over the edge. You soak his cock, and he groans, pulling you up and grabbing your hips in a bruising grip. A few more thrusts and he’s spilling inside you; his hot release branding your insides.

He collapses against you. You’re both breathing heavily, your body slicked in sweat. Ezra stays there for a long time, pressing sloppy kisses into your shoulder.

You feel sleepy, fucked out. Your eyes slip closed as Ezra slips out of you. He presses what seed escapes back into your loose hole, holding it inside with his fingers.

“Gonna take, pretty girl. We’re gonna populate the new world, you and me. Gonna be a regular Adam and Eve.”

You moan into the couch cushion. You’re pleasantly sore, and your mind is blissfully blank. Ezra’s fingers wiggle within, and you clench around him, trying to keep him inside.

You never wanted to help repopulate the world, you can’t help but think. But if Ezra was by your side, maybe a baby wouldn’t be so bad.

-0-0-0-

[valentinablackhand]

So hey I finally finished that story, I hope people enjoy it. Be mindful that I am NOT a writer but I'm proud of this story. THIS CONTENT IS MATURE, CONTAINS GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE, DEATH, CHILD LOSS, AND GORE

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　 ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Background information on the future reading material

Hello! This is going to be some background on why I’m writing this, what inspired me, and how this is going to be portrayed. For starters, this is going to be a sort of fan fiction/character origin story prior to the events of Baldur’s Gate 3, a game inspired by D&D with roleplaying aspects and turn-based fighting. The character I am writing about is Theresa “Onyx'' Blackhand. Onyx hails from the colder northern region, Icewind Dale. She lived in a small rural area called Aneira with her adoptive brother, Tanith, and her mother, Eulalie. The year is 1490, two years before the events of Baulder’s Gate 3, and it is set in the height of winter, a rather awful blizzard is running its course through the town and our adventurer is going to see the apex of nature's wrath. This story is going to be told in the eyes of our main character, of course.

Some background on me, the writer (who isn’t the best at writing). My name is Ava but I go by Valentina online and I am an artist and dungeon master! D&D has inspired a lot of what I do and the media/games I play, and in general, has changed my life for the betterment of my creativity. The Baldur’s Gate community has given me so many amazing artists, writers, and players to be inspired by, not to mention the writers and actors who are in the game itself. I wouldn’t be where I am today without the inspiration of others, friends, and partners who encouraged me to pursue my passions of the fantasy and D&D worlds I’ve created. This is a test and dedication to the many more worlds, characters, and friends I’ll make along the way through shared interests. I thank you, dear reader, for taking the time to read my rambling and indulge in one of my favorite characters I have come up with, background, gameplay, and story wise. 

Winter, 1490; A Warm Welcome

Howling, freezing wind cuts through me like a blade, cutting right through the layers of wool and hide I wear out in this tundra. My face is burning, hair covered in a thick coating of ice, sticking to my scalp and face like tree sap.

“Is this the clearing Tanith was talking about? This is awfully deep in these woods…” I said to myself, wondering how he could navigate through this storm. This winter has been worse than in seventy years, he shouldn’t be outside now anyways. Mother is getting worried sick about him. This is the third time this week I’ve had to dig him out of trouble, little wriggly worm he is. “Tanith? Tanith! Where are you? It’s too late to be outside, the storm gets worse at night!” I yelled out into the clearing, but my words were quickly snuffed out by the wind once again. Just as I was about to give up and find help, torch light shines through the clearing, Tanith standing there with that slimy grin on his face.

“I knew you would find me! Now c’mon, there’s something I want to show you!” he shouts as he darts off into the tundra again. I chase after him despite my skeleton shaking in this cold. Why is winter so brutal this year? Mother and Tanith have been acting strangely as of late. My heart is racing, where is he leading me? We finally stop running as we reach the top of a cliff, surprisingly high above the city below. The lights are mesmerizing, staring down into the flurry of snow and ice almost seems magical beneath the tons of houses and factories brimming with life. 

“You know, I’m glad you dragged me out here. This is a wonderful sight to see” saying as I grab him into a side hug, holding him tightly for warmth and security. 

“You really need to stop going out at odd hours of the night, Mother is getting worried sick about your habits as of late”

“I know she is but I’m restless! Being inside all day is no fun, and I can’t see friends through all of this snow! I can’t wait for winter to end” Tanith says in an unhappy huff, burying his face into my coat. There’s a certain unease in the air tonight when the wind stops blowing, it slowly wraps my heart in black tendrils and brings sweat to my brow. 

“I know, I can’t either. Say, how about we go back home now? There’s still some sweet rolls left over.”

“There are? You didn’t eat them all?” 

“Not yet!” I say, darting off in the direction we came, Tanith close behind. He passes me in just a few strides, the speedy bastard. He has always been fast, no matter if he’s carrying heavy wood or our mountain of a dog. We finally reach the back door of our cabin and burst in, letting out a sigh of relief as we feel the warmth of the fire seeping throughout the house. Mother is sitting by the fire, we startled her by bursting into the door unannounced.

“There you two are, I was getting worried sick! You look positively dreadful Theresa, sit by the fire.” Mother says, wrapping a wool shawl over my shoulders and gesturing towards the large wooden chair. Tanith joins me shortly, bringing a tray of sweet rolls with him. His eyes are glistening but something is missing, his usual spark of joy is no longer there. There’s something he isn’t telling me.

A dreadful proposal

We all retired for the night but I can’t sleep, my head is spinning and my heart is racing. Were the sweet rolls bad? Was I out in the cold too long? I can’t be sure, but time is at a standstill and I am tossing like mad. Minutes felt like hours but before I knew it, our front door swung open. Mother and Tanith weren’t awake, so it must have been the wind. I got up in a dizzying state and stumbled out of my room to close the door when I saw this man standing in the door frame, almost filling it out, the light from the fire making his features positively grim. His stature was sunken although he was built to the nines, his face looked like a husk of a man, his arms, big and dead, like a once mighty oak tree taken by rot and decay. Is this man undead?

He stood in pure silence as he took a step into my home, halfway to me already with his long stride, and stopped mere inches from me. I can see the whites of his eyes, or what would be white if they weren’t bloodshot and glassy. Finally seeing his face in the light, he was covered in blood. I tried to gain my composure quickly and grab something, anything, to hit him with, but he grabbed me by the shoulders and knocked me out cold. The next few hours I would fade in and out of consciousness, seeing snow pass underneath me, then cobble, finally back to snow. I have no idea where I’m going. I’m worried about my family. What has he done to them? Are they even alive? My head is pulsing with pain and heat, a roaring heat as if I were in the depths of Avernus. We were going uphill on rocky terrain, the dense wood of a carriage underneath me hits my bones with each bump like stone.

After almost a day had passed, I awoke in a chair, bound at my wrists and my ankles tied to each leg. Why am I receiving this punishment? Did I see something I wasn’t supposed to see looking over that cliff? I let the memory flood my mind and I couldn’t see anything but snow blowing across my vision and the twinkling of the lanterns below. Looking around the room, it’s more like a cell. A singular bed roll laid in a dark corner, a wash basin, and an old door, about to fall off its hinges if it took a single blow. The air is rather humid, thick with the smell of iron and wet stone. I look at my restraints and they seem simple to break out of, too simple, in fact. Just as I try to move towards a wall, someone walks into the cell. It’s the same man as before, but now I can see his face. Dirty brown hair, gray eyes that hold no glint of light in them, and a rather large nose, badly patched up after a break. His face screams a hard, tortured life. 

Before I know it, he strides over and unties my restraints, grabs my arm tightly, and makes me stand. I tried to land a blow with my other arm, but he grabbed my fist in an instant.

“Who are you?! What have you done with my family?” I shouted, looking over this shell of a man. His body ached and creaked like an old house, and I can see the outline of his muscle and bone on every part of exposed skin.

“Mustn't talk, the Lord is waiting” he said with a deep voice, almost vibrating the air around him. There was something otherworldly about him. Is this the work of a necromancer? “He needs to see you. Your family is waiting.” he leans in, and whispers ever so softly “I don’t want to have to hurt you again, the Lord is making me hunt others for his game of cat and mouse.” His eyes finally have life to them, wet pearls of sadness and regret. His breath smelled of rot, his hair was as stiff as straw. How many others did he bring to this “Lord” he spoke of? What is going to happen to me? 

With my arm still held by this undead husk, we walked a short distance to an audience hall. Decorated lavishly with gold and marble, red carpets, dark wooden chairs and tables, and statues of hardly clothed men and women, all eyeing a chair in the center of the room. I see them, my family, finally after what felt like an eternity. The stranger lets my arm free and I rush over to where they stand, clinging onto both my brother and mother so tight.

“Tanith… Aneira, I never thought I would see you again, where are we?” I glance above Mother’s head and see the snow building up through an unreasonably large window. The day is bright, almost blinding against the snow. I’m in familiar territory, thankfully.

“Theresa I hadn’t a clue where you were! I awoke to such an awful sound when those men came in and grabbed Tanith and I. My heart felt like it was leaping out of my chest. At least we have you now, my love.” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. Just as this sweet moment couldn’t get any better, the double doors at the end of the audience room open, creaking and moaning with every movement. 

“Ahh, these are our most esteemed guests then, hm? I was expecting more… hardened looking people for being a family of lumberjacks, afterall. My name is Lord Ransley, it is a pleasure to meet you." The man spoke, confident, dominant, and radiant. He was eyeing me curiously, looking for something within my appearance that I hadn’t a clue what he wanted to see. He carried a tome on his hip, lined in gold and the cover had a yawning mouth with a purple gem shoved into the center. This has to be the necromancer of the house, and apparently the Lord as well. Looking around again, the unseen halves of the statues were all bone and muscle remnants, real muscle and bone. The room stunk of decay and humid bodies. “You are rather extraordinary, you know? A half-elf with such muscle definition, tall stature, and eyes that hold the world within them…” Ransley says again, walking around me like a curious dog, grazing his hand over my biceps and back. I shift away from his touch, feeling a rush of cold go down my spine. He grabs a lock of my hair and shudders, as if he’s enjoying himself, pleasuring himself to my physique. 

“What exactly are you looking for in me, your lordship,” I said harshly “and why knock out and kidnap my family, bring them to an unknown house, and gawk at them? Is this for your own sick pleasure?” I spat, locking eyes with this short statured freak.

“Ohh, feisty are we? Fret not, my large friend, I will answer your questions after you answer one of mine. Then you and your family will be able to go back home and live your lives as they were.”

He paces around me, studying my figure until he gets right in front of me and asks “Your father had something of mine that he stole, and gave it to you. That large steel amulet you wear, it belongs to me. I know what power it contains, and I know that you can’t live without it. How does having cold lungs feel, little love? If you give me back that necklace, I may just help you with your affliction, but if not… Well, your family is not going anywhere.” Little Love. The nickname dad gave to me. Hearing the words was like a sharp puncture in my diaphragm. 

How does he know about my lungs? I’ve had this affliction ever since I was young, I caught a cold and since then I have had an icy cold breath that can freeze anything it touches. This amulet is the one thing that keeps me able to keep breathing without freezing the world around me. I can’t risk letting this go, even if it is Ransley’s. I have to figure out a way out of this house with my family. Ransley slips a hand to my neck and pulls the necklace out from under my collar, eyeing it lovingly. His breath is hot on my skin as he puts his lips to my ear and whispers “We can accomplish so much together, little love.”

“You want me to give up the thing that makes me able to breathe normally? Do you want your house to be in icy ruin?” I say, my anger rising with each touch and word he says.

“No, my dear, it would be a shame to see my lovely home go down. Are you really not going to give me back my possessions?” he says, taking a stride towards my family “Pity… I thought you would be smarter than this.” He walks up to Tanith, who is as white as snow, and puts a hand under his chin, studying his features.

“If you have a quarrel with me, then keep me here. My family doesn’t need to be a part of this. They never were in the first place.”

Aneira and Tanith are humans, they have lived only a fraction of the life I have lived. They deserve to live their lives to the fullest, I fear that Ransley is planning something drastic.

“Fine, if you will not give me that amulet, I will take it off of your corpse. You will make a fine addition to the many beautiful faces I have in my war room” he says, as he turns away to grab a sword displayed on a plaque behind a large chair. He touches the blade, running his fingers along the edge in ecstacy, as if he’s going to enjoy hurting me. Looking around the room, there are two guards. Easy targets, they aren’t as strong as me and they can barely hold the hammers they’re equipped with I think to myself. How are Aneira and Tanith going to escape? The double doors Ransley had previously pranced through is the only way out. I give each of them a shove. “Aneira, Tanith, run!!” I shout at them, darting for the hammer a guard is equipped with, knocking him on the floor with one shoulder charge. He falls to the floor, the flesh under his armor breaks off in chunks and his bones shatter once they hit the ground. More undead. Turning to face Ransley, he is running towards me, sword pointed towards me. I thrust my hammer and knock his sword off its course, and take a swing at him. I hear bones crack, it hits, by the Gods it hits. 

After he gets his footing again, he steadies his gaze towards me, preparing for a swing. I brace and block his first blow, his arm going limp at his side. From his other sleeve, he pulls out a dagger and slices across my shoulder, a deep cut that would take a while to heal. I wince out in pain and his eyes light up like a fire. What a sick, twisted freak. With a one armed swing, I knock the dagger out of his hand and strike another blow quickly with my hammer. Something is welling up in my chest. It’s warm and radiant, I feel strength ebbing out of me.

“Listen to me, Lord, I have no clue why my father stole this amulet from you, but you aren’t getting it back. You threatened my family and my life, you have no right to hurt my family. I will end you swiftly and painfully, for you have no say in my fate!” I say, and as the words roll off my tongue, the hammer I wield is basked in a radiant light. Power. I feel power flowing through me, a divine power. Who granted me this power matters not, at this moment I have my opponent under my grip. Ransley’s arm is limp at his side, he still wields his sword in the other. He lunges at me, swinging his sword from above, I block with the handle of my hammer. Even with one arm, he is still rather strong. Taking a good look at his physique, he himself is partially undead, he has great strength but each blow he takes, he weakens. I fling him off with a side swipe and take a swing at his back, hitting his tailbone and knocking him on the floor. With one hand, I sit him forward and drop my hammer. Taking swings at him, my fists get coated in crimson. His breathing is shallow and slow, I drop him back on the floor with a loud thud and pick up the hammer. My breaths are short and icy, the coldness in my lungs is unbearable. Looking down at Ransley, I broke his nose and jaw pretty good. He won’t be standing up any time soon. His breathing is gargled and mashed, his windpipe must be broken. I need to let him suffer a slow death, choking on his blood and bile until his last breath exits his lips. 

After leaving the audience hall and taking a look around, I find Lord Ransley’s room. In my search, I found his personal journal which reads “Barnes stole the Amulet of Curse Binding from me and gave it to his sick, weak daughter. Pathetic. If she is too weak to shake an illness, she is too weak to live. I will find him one way or another, our deal isn’t finished.” Deal? What deal had my father made? Whatever it was, it doesn’t matter now. I don’t suspect that Ransley will recover from a crushed windpipe. Flipping through the journal, another entry catches my attention. “I don’t know how much longer I can stand, my bones are brittle and weak. My flesh is starting to fall off of me. Myrkul needs to hear his servant, to provide his blessing unto me.”I shudder at the thought of being an undead, having no control of the decay of your physical form while you remain conscious sounds like the ninth circle of Avernus. As I put the journal in my pack, that blinding light illuminates my vision again. A woman in white robes, with even whiter hair, stands before me. 

“Child of light, I am the spirit Evangeline. You show great power in judgment and vengeance. I have imbued you with the divine power I once had. I propose an oath to you, an Oath of Vengeance, avenge those who have fallen to dark powers and dark people, cast out evil from this world in my name and spirit, oh divine vessel. Your hammer is your oath, and your divine being is my spirit. This is my word.” 

She disappeared as soon as the last word was uttered from her mouth. Was this my purpose now? To purge the blights of evil from this world? I bolted out of the room and my head started spinning. I was too enthralled in a fight and forgot where my family had gone. Rushing through the seemingly endless halls of this house, I found more guards and the mysterious man who kidnapped us all waiting for me at the exit, my family lying on the floor. They peered up at me with glossy eyes, pleading for me to go and leave them to the guards. The mystery man tilted his head up and gave me a nod and after, he whips a sword out of his coat and stabs the guard on his left until he collapses to the ground. I take a stride and aim at the next guard rushing towards me, striking true to his jaw. It snaps in an awful, bone chilling sound and he kneels, screaming in blood coated words. With one hand, I take Tanith and the man takes Aneira.

We rush through the doors and the wind chill strikes all of us, a familiar and welcome feeling to that of the house of Ransley. Outside was still bone chilling, but it wasn’t the uneasy feeling inside that overly decorated audience hall. 

“Onyx, what happened? Why does he want your amulet? What deal was that man talking about?” Tanith said, giving me a scared look. Something about his gaze is telling, like he knows what’s about to happen.

“I don’t know, but you remember why I wear it, right?”

“Yes, it keeps the cold away from you” he said, his face easing into a soft smile, but his eyes lack any reflection. What in the hells had they done to him in the time I wasn’t there to protect him? To protect Aneira?

I take a look at Aneira and she is as white as a sheet, her eyes fixated on me. I can’t see her breath in the air, is she breathing? I let go of Tanith and grabbed her, shaking her. “Aneira? Aneira! Listen to me! Are you alright, can you hear me?”I screamed, shaking her shoulders. Her eyes are still fixated where I was standing, she’s as cold as a corpse. I look at the undead man, and he looks just the same. Snapping back at Tanith, he is starting to freeze. “Tanith! Please, no! What is happening to everyone?!” I scream, looking back at the door to see a blood stained and cripled Ransley, holding a staff covered in arctic shards. Rage is overflowing again, seeing my family frozen to the ground, my second chance at raising a child has flown out the window. I won’t let him get away with killing what I love.

“You see, Onyx, this is what happens when you don’t give me what I’m rightfully owed!” he screams, waving the staff in a circular motion with his one good arm, bringing in more snow and cold. He is surrounded in an undead green light, the work of the God of Death. I should have broken both arms. I dart out of the blast radius before he unleashes a winter like I’ve never seen. One look back where my family stood and they were gone, frozen to the land they stood on. Aneira, Tanith, and this man who helped me without even knowing who I was. Gone. A rage like no other fills my senses as I take a look at the scrawny man in the doorway, ready to cast another spell. Hammer in hand, I run over screaming and jump, hammer overhead and ready to strike down on his head. As the hit lands, divine light shines and I see the whites of his eyes gleam one last time before his skull is split in two, mashed beyond recognition. I keep whaling on him, beating his skull in until it’s a mashed pile of bone, flesh, and blood.

I fall to the ground, crying so hard that I can’t see. My tears cling to my face as they freeze in this awful weather. How did this all happen so fast? How can I go home now, with so many memories of raising Tanith and aiding Aneira through her remaining years? The remaining hope I had for a family is now gone, frozen, and it hurts like no other pain I’ve felt before. I stare at Ransley’s corpse, wondering how he found me in the first place. The staff he wields even in death, it’s cold to the touch but brimming with the Weave. It’s a very powerful item, and I’m taking it as a reminder. A heirloom of a necromancer, the undead prick who stole my life in one day.

I’m coming home

I stayed at the Ransley estate for two days after the incident, seeking and searching for who he was and why he wanted this Amulet. I found out that Evangeline was his wife, who he murdered for his own sick and twisted pleasure. He logged his thoughts after he pleasured himself to her corpse, but he never turned her into one of his thralls. She was only, what seemed to be, in her early twenties from the pictures I found that weren’t torn to shreds. In the basement of this house was where she was kept, and still remains. Her hair as white as snow and she was dressed in white robes, as I saw her in my divine vision. The ground outside is too hard to dig for a grave, so I fashioned a small circle out of wood and carved a prayer into it. Wrapping her in a burlap cloth and laying her on her back, I placed the prayer on her and took a moment of silence. I did this for those outside as well, since I can’t give them a proper burial yet. These last two days have been rather gruesome and depressing, but I need to press on. I need to go home and set out on the quest Evangeline gave me to purge the world of evil. 

I take what rations of food I can find, some clothing and furs as well, and set off back to the cabin. Surprisingly, it wasn’t too far away from this estate. I didn’t even need to make camp and I made it back by dusk. The door was still swung open from when the undead man opened it last, the common area full of snow. My mind still wanders, what was it that Tanith was hiding? Throughout the whole ordeal, he was a husk of his normal, happy self. I may never know now, now that Ransley and his guards took away that young boy who I almost considered my son. My son? He might as well have been, I was there from the moment he emerged into this world from his late mother, who I never learned of other than when she was in labor with him. Aneira, the lady of this cabin, a seamstress who took care of me when I had no place to go after father died, is a frozen corpse. She took me in and treated me like one of her own, even though her own had already gone and made lives for themselves. Oh gods, if I ever run into them, how can I tell them of her fate?

I shut the door, its hinges almost froze over in my absence. Heading to the upper portion of the cabin, I feel that grip in my chest that I felt before. This isn’t some bad dream where I’ll wake up and they will be downstairs, making a fire and telling stories. I peer into my old room, everything is just as I left it. The furs along my bed still shifted off, the small shelf filled with books and trinkets I collected out in the dense forest. I grab a few sentimental belongings, books, and more furs and stuff them into my pack. Was this the only reason I had come here? I walked my way over to Tanith’s room, his room is in pristine condition. He had always been very neat, so it’s no surprise to me. His clothes are in a neat pile on a dresser, so small. He was barely twelve years old. I searched his room, trying to keep things as they were when he left them. I found a note stashed away in a book on dreams and premonitions. When had he gotten this? He usually only read memoirs on nature and animals, he wasn’t spiritual. Well, at least I thought so. I unfold the note and it’s addressed to me. Me? How? I begin reading his sloppy handwriting, and I get my answer. He knew how he was going to end, Aneira, too. He knew I would have been given the gifts of a Paladin from Evangeline. He wrote an excerpt on how this amulet protects me from cold spells, curses of the winter, and the inability to slip on icy surfaces. “I don’t understand how, but the amulet that you wear is filled with magic from a lady with white hair who keeps me safe at night. She isn’t a goddess or a human, something in between? I think so. Well, Barnes had stolen the amulet from someone named Ransley when he found the lady with white hair stowed away in the basement. The amulet has some of her power stored in it and whoever wears it will have their sickness or weaknesses taken away. There was someone who took care of her, a tall man named Marcus. She doesn’t talk about him much, but he has gray eyes. If you’re worried about me, I’ll be with Evangeline, so I’ll still be around! I love you, Mom”

Mom. He called me mom. Fighting tears isn’t possible anymore, they stream down my face as I clutch the note in my hand. This amulet has been imbued with the power of a demigod, Evangeline. She was a demigod? Ransley had kidnapped her and made her his wife. The undead man finally has a name, Marcus. I wish I had known this sooner, or else I would have carved that into his prayer. Tanith had been visited by Evangeline many nights before we had been taken away, he told her about the events that unfolded two days ago, and that he wasn’t going to make it. No wonder he hadn’t been himself, he knew his time had come. Marcus had been a caretaker to Evangeline, and that’s why she was locked away until she perished. He had also stood up to Ransley and failed, he got turned into his own personal thrall. Ransley’s staff has the power to dominate minds in a simple flick of the wrist. I wish I had known sooner, I wish I had known what Tanith was told. I could have turned the tides in our favor, maybe even saved everyone and just killed Ransley. He was never deserving of the title of Lord anyhow, he had servants through mind control and a very strong essence of undead power through Myrkul. 

I fold the letter closed and clutch it to my chest, trying to stifle back more tears. Things could have been different if I had been awake earlier, if I had heard Aneira and Tanith walk downstairs to investigate the noises of Marcus breaking in. All of his life, I told him I was his sister. I never wanted to form an attachment like I did to my child, although she never lived long enough to see the light of day. It seems that him and I both grew that attachment towards each other, but reading “mom” at the end of that letter let's me know that I did my best for him.  What’s done is done now, I can no longer regret the past. I set down the book, and turn away from his room. Walking outside again after grabbing materials and rations, I take one last look at the cabin door, pressing my hand onto the jagged wood. As my fingertips leave the wood, I turn and make my way to Baldur’s Gate city. Neverwinter is closer, but there’s more promise for me in the great gate. This is it, this is my destiny. This is the thing I had been longing for my whole life. A purpose with true direction, no longer am I just riding the waves of fate.

Five months later

I’ve made it to Rivington, a small area just outside of the Lower City. I finally made it out of the cold and harsh winter I used to live in. The warmth of this area is unfamiliar, the many layers I wear are beginning to be too warm. I have to figure out a place to stay. 

After venturing a bit outside of Rivington, I found an abandoned shed. I set my pack down and make preparations for the night, which rolls in quickly. There’s a ladder propped up on the side of the shed and I climb up it. The stars shine bright tonight. Taking a look around, I spot the area of the cursed Shadow Lands, which fell to be that way over one hundred years ago. It gives me chills to even think of what lies in the depths of those lands. Turning away, I lay down on the roof of the shed and drift off to sleep. The city is just ahead, all I have to do is make my way there before I have no strength to do so. I can start anew, a new life and a new purpose. May my dreams take me to where I belong. 

Dawn is slow to come, the sunrise coats the land in a lush light. The green of the grass, the smell of fresh bread and fried fish is in the air already. I make my way to the pass into the Lower City and get a pass through the Flaming Fist guards, giant mechanical beings called Steel Watchers patrol the gate and surrounding streets. Everywhere is very heavily guarded, something I’m really not used to seeing. The loudness of people talking, merchants shouting, and businesses bustling with music and conversation alike was almost too overwhelming. Shifting through crowds and guards, I make my way into Wyrm’s Crossing’s tower. A man named Lord Enver Gortash resides in the upper levels apparently. The word “Lord” still doesn’t sit right with me. 

After many hours of talking and bartering with guards, I gained a pass into the Lower City where I am appointed as a body to the courthouse judges during trials. Court hearings vary in length, but by night I try to catch criminals and assassins who stalk the streets, waiting for someone unarmed to strike at. I interrogated one of the assassins I captured and found out he was an assassin of Bhaal before I sent him into a coma and threw him into the sewer. There’s a Bhaal cult around here? If so, I will do my best to inform the Flaming Fists and the city watch alike. Over the next few months, I was a personal bodyguard to the courthouse during the day, gaining my own personal set of armor and a hammer with the symbol I chose for Evangeline, whose presence I can still feel around me like a warm hug. I am adorned with silver and black plate armor, paired with chainmail underneath. During my time in the Lower City, my heartache to be in nature grew. I missed the vast lushness of trees, seeing a pair of white foxes chase each other in the snow and pounce at one another. Finding a remote spot in the forest in spring time and taking a short swim in a lake nearby the cabin, the warm breeze flowing through my hair. The city lacked any sort of bucolic surroundings, maybe a bush here and there. It felt like a cage, but with open air and no bars. After some time, I was able to afford my own place. A small apartment near the courthouse, where I raised plants and kept small creatures who would wander into my home. I may just like this life I have, even if I don’t have what I once cherished. Something inside of me is saying that this is only the beginning of a long journey ahead.

A year from now

Things were as good as ever, a decent week at court thankfully and I found a new cat to take care of, who I named Apricot since she was the same color as one. I was cooking her a fish when I heard citizens screaming, and the thunderous roar of something in the sky. I rushed out of my balcony door to see a giant ship with tentacles and a shell hovering over the city. What in the gods name is this? I thought to myself. I put Apricot in a safe space under my bed and threw on my armor. I gave her some pets goodbye and ran out of my apartment. I was directing citizens to a safe house when another one of those living ships appeared right above the street I was standing on. The tentacles rained down and anyone who had been touched by them evaporated into them. I had to get more out of here, I had to save more citizens from an untimely death.

 Just as the thought flew into my mind, I felt the slimy touch of the tentacle across my mouth. I blinked and I was on the ship. I had to be. So were so many Baldur’s Gate citizens. A strange looking woman with green skin was trying to break out of her binds when a large tentacled freak held up its hand and put her to sleep. Mind flayers. By the Gods, a mind flayer ship? I had only heard of them in books and tall tales, I had no idea they were actually real. The mind flayer levitated towards me and held out his hand, I had gone unconscious. In my dreams, I saw my old fireplace, crackling and filling the living room with warmth. Tanith and Aneira, sitting in their chairs, beckoning me to sit by the fire. I couldn’t move, I had no control over my body. As the sweet moment filled my senses, it quickly faded away. The room imploded and snow and ice shards swirled around the two people I adored. I tried to scream, but no sound came out of my aching lungs, only more ice and snow. I snapped my head upward to see Ransley’s face looming over me, his smug smile decaying like the rest of his features. His eyes pierced right through me, as if he was trying to intimidate my soul.

 As soon as I was put to sleep, I was awake. Days had passed. No, weeks? I couldn’t tell. My stomach ached, I needed to eat, I was in a cold sweat. I looked around with what little room I had, the strange woman was still asleep in her pod across from me. The same mind flayer from before was looming over a large, fleshy basin full of an acidic smelling liquid. He pulled a worm-like thing from the basin and levitated over to the strange woman, holding his hand out so she would stare directly at the worm. It latched onto her face and snuck right into her eyeball. Oh Gods, is he going to put one in me next? Just as the thought occurs, he is back to fishing out another worm. Or maybe they were tadpoles? He picks out another one and locks eyes with me, its eyes orange and radiating malice. As he is floating towards me, I try to turn my head away, only to have it snap into place with the flick of its wrist. The tadpole screeched with a psionic power that hurt the innermost parts of my mind, and secured itself into my orbital socket. I slip into unconsciousness again. My new life, taken from me once again. Who was going to take care of Apricot? Who is going to keep the streets safe at night? I need to figure out how to get off this ship and go back to Baldur’s Gate.

[gizmocrate-werecrow]

what to do when you are a leafling: finally a cure?

(might write a later chapter on the feild)

When Pom returned, there were a lot of salutes and cheering. Pom weakly held up a vial of pure glow sap and handed it to Sherry who quickly vanished to Yonny’s lab. She yawned and collapsed onto Oatchi.

“Good job Pom!” Shepherd said. “Yaaay me, bed needed, Oatchi makes a good bed.” Pom smiled with pure bliss on her face of a job well done.

Shepherd however handed over a strange green pill to Pom “Take this, Yonny’s made a pill that can remove the effects of tiredness from you. Take it and give it a few minutes and you’ll be back on your feet. Don't worry about side effects, he's ironed most of the kinks out.” Shepherd said, leading the rookie into the S.S. Shepherd.

Meanwhile, Dingo was carrying the breadbug. It squirmed and squeaked with worry in its voice towards the dead giant breadbug. Nearby was a castaway with almost sparkling eyes and dark green hair. Dingo watched the castaway’s eyes light up and they dashed towards Dingo. 

“Look at that fella! Oh my, isn't that a cutie? It looks like a bread roll, so cute! I'm going to call it a breadbug. Can I have it?” The castaway asked with a sparkle in his eyes.

Dingo took a couple of steps back in surprise. “Wh-what’s your name?”

“My name is Dalmo. Animal enthusiast. I'm the author of the Piklopedia.” Dalmo said. He walked up to the Breadbug once more and went cootchie coo. “Can I have it?” Dalmo asked. “I g-guess so.” Dingo said, gently putting down the Breadbug “THANK YOU, I'll call you Gilbert!” Dalmo said, picking up Gilbert and lightly stroking him on the top. Gilbert weakly squeaked and waddled around the place. With that dealt with, Dingo headed to Yonny’s lab with Jack on his shoulder. Down in the lab, Yonny was carefully refining the glowsap sample. Sherry carried over some blue liquid in a test tube and poured it in, Yonny then pressed a few buttons and waited a moment or two. Just when there was a soft ding, Dingo entered. Yonny motioned towards a spare helmet and the leafling on the table, the leafling’s leaf color was purple. “Ah Test subject Dingo, lovely to see you here. Can you grab that helmet, I'm sure the cure will work this time. If not then I need more of it.” “Copy that!” Dingo saluted, he then grabbed the helmet while jack gently opened the leafling’s mouth. Yonny held up the glowing pill and dropped it into the Leafling’s mouth

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the leaves began to glow with the eerie green of glowsap and the stem began to wither away. With a quick signal, Dingo secured the helmet safely onto the castaway. There was a brief moment of silence until the former leafling opened his eyes.

“Oh, hello. You must be the Rescue Corps underneath the leaves.” The castaway spoke calmly as if he wasn't just an unwilling participant in a medical breakthrough. Sherry was writing away into a notebook and Yonny smiled. “Eheheheheh! It WORKED IT ACTUALLY WORKED. YES! YAHAHAhAH!” Yonny cheered and flew around the cave. Dingo couldn’t help but smile. Now that there was a cure ready, the chances of survival have just gotten a whole lot better.

In the Hero’s hideaway and In the cave of frozen inferno. A Beautiful icy moth fluttered around the ice and red Pikmin, Louie’s leaves were tipped with ice and he was holding an icicle for a knife. Louie turned back to look at Olimar. Olimar could feel the unending hunger gnaw at his own mind mixed with the Dandori thoughts. Louie pointed up at the moth and nodded. Olimar lowered his hands in preparation. With a quick dash, Louie stepped on Olimar’s hand with a quick lift. Louie went flying towards the Moth and dug the icicle into the weakened moth’s back. The moth began to develop weak ice blizzards and fell to the ground with a thump. There was a castaway, not a leafling. Not good, not good at all. Eventually the suit would fail and they would die. He blew the whistle and led the ice pikmin to the vents. Louie dusted off his hands and walked to Olimar. Maybe I should take the moth and dice it finely and pluck the wings. Wait a moment, i wouldn't want to do that, that moth is such an interesting beast, why would i want to eat it? Unless…” 

Olimar thought to himself before looking up at Louie. Moss nudged Olimar, breaking the former captain out of his thoughts. “...” Louie didn't even say a word before walking to the vents. Olimar stayed there for a moment, thinking about the now fading hunger that seemed to slip into his mind. He needs to make note of this in his logs. Although I have saved another castaway, a worrying feeling filled my mind. One of hunger and cooking expertise. Is Louie affecting the Pikmin as well as I with these feelings? Maybe strong emotions can override the purpose of the Connection. This is just a theory however and I do hope they can save me soon…

(two things, one there’s a tf2 reference in this and two, :3 the breadbug’s name is a reference to big Gilbert )

[dertaglichedan]

The growth of space and cyber technologies worldwide is raising the likelihood that war — or at least its ripple effects — will crash onto America's doorstep.

Why it matters: Centuries of national security strategy, relying on protection provided by the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, are being rattled by these weapons that conquer vast distances.

America has long had the edge in space and cyberspace, but China and other powers are closing the gap. A global surveillance showdown is underway.

Hackers tied to the People's Liberation Army abscond with countless files detailing stateside arsenals. That theft propels its modernization.

Other saboteurs stalk critical infrastructure, including in Guam, a key U.S. foothold. A digital onslaught there would sap military responses in the Indo-Pacific.

Russian hacks plague Ukraine, earning it a "testing ground" moniker. U.S. lawmakers expressed concern about spillover in the months following the 2022 invasion.

North Korean cyberattacks rake in money and other assets, funding the regime's weapons programs.

A record-setting 2,877 spacecraft were launched in 2023. While most were attributed to the U.S. and its booming commercial sector, Chinese and European numbers were on the rise.

Both China and Russia have made strides in developing space weapons that could knock out satellites essential to navigation, overhead imaging and long-distance communications. Destructive testing of anti-satellite weapons has produced dangerous debris, as well.

A senior Pentagon official earlier this year warned of Moscow's efforts to put a nuclear device into space.

"I would say China is well ahead of us there. They've got the full suite of counter-space capabilities, as does Russia," said Todd Harrison, a senior fellow at the American Enterprise Institute. "The United States has a lot at stake in space."

By the numbers: The Department of Defense's spending illuminates its thinking

[kirnakumar155]

SAP Basis

SAP Basis: The Backbone of Your SAP Landscape

SAP applications form the core of many modern enterprises. Financial data, customer interactions, supply chain logistics, and many other critical business operations rely on SAP’s robust solutions. But what powers these solutions? That’s where SAP Basis comes in.

What is SAP Basis?

In simple terms, SAP Basis is the technological foundation upon which SAP applications are built and run. It’s like the operating system specifically for your SAP world. Basis provides a set of middleware components and administration tools that ensure your SAP applications function smoothly and reliably.

Key Responsibilities of an SAP Basis Administrator

SAP Basis administrators are the unsung heroes of the SAP world, responsible for a wide range of tasks:

Installation and Configuration: Basis admins handle the initial installation and setup of SAP systems, ensuring they’re configured correctly for your business needs.

System Administration: They perform ongoing tasks like monitoring system health, applying patches and upgrades, and managing system resources.

Database Management: This includes database installation, configuration, backup and restore processes, and overall database health.

Performance Tuning: Basis admins identify bottlenecks, optimize settings, and ensure applications run at their peak.

User Management: Creating and managing user accounts, assigning roles and authorizations for secure access control.

Troubleshooting: When problems arise, these experts step up to diagnose and resolve issues promptly, minimizing downtime for the business.

Transport Management: They oversee the movement of code changes and configuration updates between different SAP environments (e.g., development, testing, production).

Components of SAP Basis

Some core components that make up SAP Basis include:

SAP NetWeaver: The core technology platform that provides the foundation for different SAP products.

ABAP Workbench: The development environment for creating custom ABAP code (SAP’s primary programming language).

SAP GUI: The graphical user interface used to interact with SAP systems.

Transport Management System: Tools for managing and tracking changes across SAP environments.

Solution Manager: A centralized platform for system monitoring, diagnostics, and support tools.

Why is SAP Basis Important?

Reliability and Stability: A well-managed SAP Basis system means your critical business applications will run smoothly, minimizing disruptions and downtime.

Performance: Basis expertise ensures that your SAP applications are optimized to deliver their best, promoting efficient business operations.

Security: Basis includes a suite of tools to manage user access, protect sensitive data, and ensure compliance with security standards.

Agility: A flexible Basis layer gives your business the ability to adapt to changing needs by scaling SAP deployments or introducing new components.

Becoming an SAP Basis Administrator

A career in SAP Basis is both challenging and rewarding. If you have a knack for technical troubleshooting, problem-solving, and enjoy working with complex systems, here’s how to get started:

Get a Technical Foundation: A background in computer science, database administration, or system administration is a strong starting point.

Gain SAP Expertise: Take SAP Basis training courses and explore online resources and tutorials.

Certifications: Consider getting SAP-certified in Basis administration to validate your skills.

Hands-on Experience: Look for internship or entry-level positions that allow you to work on real SAP systems.

The Future of SAP Basis

As SAP continues to evolve into a cloud-centric platform, Basis will adapt too. Knowledge of cloud technologies, containerization, and automation will become increasingly valuable for Basis administrators.

You can find more information about SAP BASIS in this SAP BASIS Link

Conclusion:

Unogeeks is the №1 IT Training Institute for SAP BASIS Training. Anyone Disagree? Please drop in a comment

You can check out our other latest blogs on SAP BASIS here — SAP BASIS Blogs

You can check out our Best In Class SAP BASIS Details here — SAP BASIS Training

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[bigbadripley]

Chapter 8 - Could've Been

Marc Spector&Co. x Ex!F!OC, F!OC x Modern!Miguel O'Hara

Summery: Everything changed after Marc and Simone moved to New York. Being in a relationship with the Fist of Khonshu proved to be difficult enough without the added obstacles of normal relationships being forced into the mix. With seemingly irreconcilable differences overhead, fate’s plans continue to drive the pair back into each other’s lives, testing their patience, self-control, and new relationships. Is it truly written in the stars, or is it old habits taking over?

18+!! | Third-person omniscient | Dark elements | AU/AT |  Warnings: Language, OC with religious trauma, childhood trauma, sexual trauma. Effects of trauma in adulthood. Cutesie couple shit, stalking, suspense.

Words: 2.7K

A/N: I update warnings with each chapter. Only proceed if you can handle the themes included in the warnings.

Minors DNI, DL;DR, if I miss a warning, please let me know.

Chapter List

"It could've been right, but I was wrong  Only think 'bout you when I'm alone  The part of me that cared is almost gone And I know that I can't get caught up" -"Could've Been" by H.E.R.

No pills, no dreams. Perfect. Simone thought as she pulled her sleepy limbs out of bed. The lump beside her made her smile, remembering the night before and how they went for round two after their long talk. She honestly didn't expect Miguel to be there once she awoke, but she was glad he stayed.

Simone knew watching someone sleep was creepy, but his messy bedhead and toned bare shoulder peeking out from the covers caused her to study him and admire his chest's slow rise and fall under the quilt. He even took his glasses off sometime after she fell asleep. He was comfortable. 

After slipping her since-removed shirt back on and the long-forgotten sweatpants, Simone went on with her morning routine. Miguel, on the other hand, stayed in her bed until she was entirely out of sight of her open bedroom doorway that looked into her kitchen. This way, he was able to pop his glasses on unseen. 

It was a risk to take them off in the first place, but damn, would it look fuckin' weird to sleep with them on. He thought as he quietly got redressed and stepped out into her living area. Simone was sitting with her legs on the couch and a cup of coffee in hand, one of the large windows of her place flooding with natural light behind her.

"Coffee's up there." She told him upon noticing he was up and nodded to the small galley kitchen. Simone had thoughtfully sat an empty mug out next to the Keurig machine, allowing him to avoid the awkwardness of shuffling through her cabinets to find one. 

Once Miggy's cup was secured, he joined her on the couch and placed her legs over his lap. 

"How are you?" He asked, running a slow palm over her clothed thigh.

"Well, obviously, I'm good," Simone replied with a smile. How did she look so well put together even when just waking up? She was a mystery that he wanted to get to the bottom of.

"I just wanted to ask, ya know, to make sure you're not getting cold feet." He admitted, eyes following her coffee cup as it touched her lips and then pulled away with a soft gulp. She licked the liquid residue from her upper lip before she looked at him with confusion. 

"Cold feet about...?" 

"This," Miggy stated, gesturing a hand between the two of them. He wasn't used to this. "Sex makes people think sometimes." 

"Well, what is this to you?" The brown-eyed woman asked, emphasizing the word just as he did. 

"I mean, I really, really like you. I feel like we connect really well and make each other happy, and-" 

"Are you asking if I'm your girlfriend or proposing marriage?" Simone cut off his ramblings seamlessly. Miggy felt like a total sap but couldn't help wanting to call this something after learning about the other characters in her life. He wasn't jealous, just cautious. If not of her, then of those characters.

A nervous tut flew through his teeth before he could stop it. "Shit, I guess I'm just testing the waters to see if you want me to be your boyfriend because I totally will." He finished, recovering from the nerves and replacing the tone with a hint of cockiness. 

Miguel didn't know that Simone knew his play. Game recognized game, as they say, and she loved every second. She decided to reverse it once more. "Alright, I'll be your girlfriend, but only because you want me to be so badly."

She watched as his eyes widened for only a moment at the response, fearing that he would take it the wrong way, making it clear that she had read him wrong. Instead, he made it known that he knew what she was about. 

"Great, now that you've practically begged me to make it official, what do we do now? Drink coffee and sit here watching cooking shows until noon or something?" He teased. Simone chuckled at the idea and shrugged, 

"Odd choice, but we could do that if you want to." 

Just as she finished her response, her phone pinged with a text message from her pocket. She slid her legs back down to the floor and placed her cup on the short table to see what the fuss was about.

James Barnes: Emgc meeting ? Bringing Sam. 

Simone's eyebrows raised at the words on the screen amazed that she didn't have to suggest the session with Sam again before James set it up. She knew she couldn't pass it up. "Or I could catch you later because one of my patients wants a session."

"On a Saturday?"

"I don't think this one has any concept of weekend relaxation or relaxation, in general." She said with a laugh. They stood up simultaneously, knowing it was best for Miggy to take his leave for her to get ready, but not without a goodbye kiss. He pulled her in by the small of her back and gave her the kind of smooch that makes people smile.

"You make me feel human." He told her, knowing what it meant to him even if she didn't yet. Miguel was the most human thing Simone had ever known. Gods, creeps, vigilantes... finally, someone normal. She pressed her forehead to his, 

"Probably not a very hard feat." She said, placing another peck on his lips.

"Harder than you know."

It was silent from when Dr. Fredrick let the couple into her office. She sat quietly, waiting for James to begin with why they were all here, as Sam seemed confused and uncomfortable.

"So tell him, doc." James finally spoke up, running his gloved hands over his jeans nervously. Simone ticked an eyebrow up, 

"Tell him what exactly?" 

"That thing we've been discussing in our meetings. You said you'd tell him." 

"Oh, no, James. I said I would mediate a conversation so you could tell him." She corrected. Before he could speak again or argue, Sam finally broke his silence. 

"What the hell do you two know that I don't?" He asked with a hit of aggression in his voice. It made Simone wonder what led to this meeting in the first place. Whatever it was, it clearly rubbed Sam the wrong way.

All eyes were on James as he hesitated to find the words to say. Having the floor was clearly making him more weary, so Simone thought it best to encourage him.

"It's okay, James. This is a safe space." She said. Sam nodded to her first, then looked at his partner,

"Yeah, I want you to talk to me. You've been avoiding me, and you've been distant. What's up?" 

Bingo. Simone thought. That's why we're here. 

A huff erupted from James' chest before he finally began saying what he wanted. "You've been talking about us moving to Louisiana together and-"

"You think it's too soon?" Sam finished the sentence, seeming almost unbelieving that it was never brought up before but not entirely surprised.

"That's the thing: It might not be too soon at all! This is the longest conscious commitment I've ever been a part of, and I'm just..." James started but trailed off, realizing he would have to admit to a truth he had not said aloud. Not even to his shrink, who was nodding for him to continue. "Scared. Living together means more time together, and you might get tired of me, or your family might not like me anymore and..."

A loud sigh ended James' thoughts, but Sam's eyes grew soft at the man on the couch beside him. He turned and took his hand,

"Buck, we don't have to do it right now if you don't want to. We can do it when you're ready."  

"Really?" James spoke again, seeming surprised by the compassionate nature of his lover on the subject. Sam nodded again and let a grin crack between his lips, 

"Of course! Babe, the last thing I want is for you to be even more on edge." 

The pair hugged tightly and happily at the resolved issue as if they had the conversation without Simone being present. James looked to Dr. Fredrick over the other man's shoulder for what seemed like assurance, to which she answered with a thumbs up.

The couple's therapy caused a strange hankering for poppy seeds and cream cheese for Simone, who failed to get a bite to eat all morning. A bagel shop called Dolly's was on the route home that she had never tried but decided to give a chance just this once. 

A day of new things. She thought as she stood in line, playing the voice message that Miggy left her during the appointment on repeat and close to her ear like a secret. 

"Can't get you out of my head, cariño. Looking forward to those cooking shows we won't pay attention to."

Simone liked the use of the word cariño. It was affectionate without bringing love into the mix. Sweetie, honey, darling... 

Gotta hear it in person. She thought weakly. 

The trance-like state was broken by coins clinking against the floor below her and a whispered profanity by the woman in line just in front of where she was. 

"I'm... one second." She told the cashier before kneeling to collect the almost comical amount of coins. Simone realized several of the stranglers were gathered by her shoes, so she lowered herself to assist.

"May's well have four hands to handle all these nickles." She joked to the woman, who seemed frustrated. To Simone's content, she got a snicker in return. 

"Yeah, no kidding." The woman with much curlier hair replied. She had an accent that Simone couldn't quite pinpoint but was gorgeous regardless. 

Once all the coins were split between the two women, they stood in unison and faced each other, locking eyes for the pass-off. It took only a second for Simone to recognize the woman who likely had no idea who she was. 

"Wait, you're Layla El-Faouly." She said as the money exchanged hands. The woman squinted at her for a moment, 

"I'm sorry, have we met?" She asked, confirming her identity but confused about how this random woman would know that. Before Simone could reply, she returned to the cashier and placed her money for her meal on the counter. Simone cleared her throat awkwardly.

"Not officially, no. I'm Dr. Simone Fredrick. We have mutual, uh... friends?" She stated in the form of a question, knowing the word didn't feel quite right in her mouth. Layla turned around again as the man behind the counter went to the warmer for her treat. 

"Indeed we do. I've heard your name but never put a face to it." She responded. Simone wanted to ask how she heard her name, but Layla clarified before the question could leave her lips. "From your involvement with our... mutual friends, as you said." 

"Past involvement." Simone quickly corrected, knowing it was accurate but deeming it didn't quite feel right, just as the word friends didn't. The cashier returned with her to-go bag, and as if Layla had eyes on the back of her head, she swiftly turned to procure it with a chuckle.

"Welcome to the club, party of two." She said in a jokey fashion. The to-go bag told Simone she would be on her way out, so the only thing she could think to do to let the woman be on her way was to order her own meal, being next in line once Layla stepped away and began to leave.

"Hi, I'll have the TBEC on an everything bagel, please," Simone told the cashier. As he punched the order into his system, Layla turned back around.

"Hey, I'll be right over there at that table if you wanna chat for a little bit." She called out to Simone with an extended pointer finger to a corner booth. Simone nodded and paid for her meal, surprised that Layla stuck around to converse with her.

Though the beginning of the conversation was awkward and mostly spent eating, they soon warmed up and spoke in-depth, knowing they related to each other in a way not many others did.

"The bird's in an Asgardian prison," Simone informed Layla, who asked about the moon god in a reserved fashion, unsure of Simone's knowledge of Khonshu. Layla seemed unsurprised by the news.

"Where he belongs." She replied before taking the final bite of her bright green bread. 

"And you can find Mr. Knight pretty easy. The building with all the moons painted on it. His church." Simone emphasized the name and final word with air quotes to poke fun at the changes. Layla thought momentarily, unsure of the name's relation to the conversation, before her eyes widened, knowing that Simone meant Marc. 

"Church? Has he lost his mind entirely?" 

"Not entirely. The other two seem to have a better grip on things than him, though. I haven't had a chance to fully evaluate him. That's someone else's job." Simone explained but only seemed to confuse her woman even more.

"Other... two?" Layla asked.

"Right, you know Steven, but from what I understand, you had a run-in with Jake back in Cairo." 

"The blackouts!" She nearly shouted in realization. 

"Yep, believe it or not, he's very nice. And there might be more crammed into his noggin that I've never had the pleasure of meeting. Last year some astronaut guy came for five minutes, and we never saw him again." There was a bit of laughter followed by a brief silence between them. Simone had tried everything to avoid even so much as thinking about Marc, but here she was. 

"You know, I know that look. You miss him, don't you?" Layla called her out. It was funny to Simone, knowing none of her friends could pinpoint it that well. She hated to admit it, but who better to tell than someone who knows?

"I miss who he was." She told. Layla nodded,

"It gets easier, you know. Once I met Ramone..." The woman paused to pull out her phone and showed Simone her lock screen. It was a cute photo of her and a woman with short pink hair. "Everything got better. Have you met anyone yet?" 

"I have. I gotta say, he does make things easier." 

"Good, you've already done the hardest part."

Before the pair parted ways, Simone took note of the suspicious stranger in the other corner of the bagel shop. He came in shortly after she did, never ordered anything, just sat at the booth with a book but never turned a single page. He kept glancing over, and at first, Simone thought it was because they were being too loud. However, the glancing never stopped, even when they lowered their voices.

Simone assumed she was just paranoid and decided to walk in the direction of Parker Industries to drop in on Miguel, who already gave her express permission to come and see his office anytime and confirmed that he was there. 

It didn't take long for her focus to dwindle to the sound of camera shuttering. At first, she thought she had photobombed somebody, but the sound followed her, which told her someone was on her tail. She quickly whipped around to see the man from the shop, now wearing a baseball cap, a few feet back with a camera in hand.

"Can I help you?" She yelled, which only caused the man to take off at full speed down the sidewalk, nearly smacking into passersby. 

Gotta be one of Mr. Knight's guys. She thought. 

[sopebubbles]

annyeong!

just finished chapter 9 🫠 first of all, what’s up with Eli? i mean suddenly show up and became this overprotective and caring brother? yet at the end he threw her out just because his fiancé asked him to? is he an alpha? because he is hell act like a sap, asshole sap just like his fiancé.

honestly i do understand that he care for her little sister. deny all you want but you can’t change who you are originally. so i guess within him, as lykos, he just cannot see his sister in trouble that’s why he tried to save and provided for her. yet his fiancé freaked out and he also willingly threw her out and that is really a dick move. wish you happy life Eli, until your sap pregnant and got lykos hah serve you right- (im sorry for being salty)

the fluffiest part has come to show though, yoongi and yn!!! that is so heart wrenching yet fluffy yet soo soo ugh. no words can describe how im feeling right 😭

well, soon after, yoongi and jk probably going to take her home. aww can’t wait for that!!

but, i wonder- it just me thinking okayy, um what if,- (author-nim don’t take this to heart or in you wip okay! it just me wondering in my wild thoughts instead of studying for my test tomorrow- sigh, i’m 22 yet still going to class for test— btw!!! ) after all is well, and yn get to be in pack as yoongi’s omega, and what if, suddenly yn got pregnant instead of hoseok. you know as we all know that hoseok and jin has been trying for kids yet yn and yoongi get first?? it would be hella dramas and i’m just wondering okay author nim- you don’t have to wonder or put it in your wip you know- just wonderrrr ㅋㅋㅋ

all is well, and i really lurve the update! got me excited for next!! oh question, how long this lone wolf series would be? 12 chapters? 14 chapters?

luv u ! - 🫧

About Eli: he is a beta. Really there's no other way he would be able to pretend so well. I think he genuinely wanted to help her, but only as long as it didn't threaten his own security. He grew up the same way she did and is also very damaged, so don't hate him too much.

That scene where she goes to him and calls him alpha has been in my head for so long. I'm so happy it's it there now. It's everything to me. She will be in get proper home very soon.

Ah so about that. As I've hinted at with her fear of breeding, mc will not be getting pregnant, at least not anytime soon at all. Because of her past, that would be extremely traumatic for her. But that doesn't mean kids won't come up 👀

I have no idea how long it will be!! Most likely the following chapters will be a bit shorter just because they are going to be fluffier. I kind of really pushed their separation into as few chapters as I could bc I don't want it to last too long. Now I think I'll do slightly shorter chapters and we can just snack on the fluff for a long time.

Thank you so much for showing my little universe some love. Good luck with your exam!!

[miss-ingno]

Ruffling Feathers

Rating: G Characters: Zhu Hong, Da Qing, Ying Chun, Fourth Uncle, Ya Qing Words: 7.1k Tags: post-canon, casefic, Yashou politics & worldbuilding, High Chief Zhu Hong

Summary: Zhu Hong is more than ready to delay her responsibilities for old times' sake when Da Qing approaches her about his missing bells. But the case takes them smack-dab into internal Yashou politics and Zhu Hong's mettle as High Chief is put to the test.

For the 520 Day exchange, this is my gift for shadaras! It was awesome to write for such an incredible writer :D Check out their works if you’re at it!

*

That morning, Zhu Hong walked into the SID's offices with mixed feelings, carrying an empty box. 

Everything felt different. There was no Wang Zheng to greet her – she and Sang Zan were on leave in order to recuperate from their ordeal, their energy having been sapped during their stay in Ye Zun’s stomach. It was a miracle they had survived at all. Lin Jing was supposed to rest, too, but as Zhu Hong walked through the bullpen she could hear the familiar sound of an explosion coming from the lab. Not that she could blame him. She, too, had kept busy in the aftermath of their hard-earned victory.

She nodded to xiao-Guo, who was corralling all the rookie hopefuls under lao-Chu's stern eye. Xiao-Guo gave her a bashful smile and a little wave, but he didn’t run over to come help her. This, too, had changed. He’d grown into himself and found new responsibilities to shoulder. Being a senior to the newbies suited him well. Zhu Hong half-wished she could see it, see what sort of mentor xiao-Guo would make. She shoved the thought to the back of her mind, setting her box down on her desk chair with a decisive thump.

Lao-Zhao wasn’t here, hadn’t been since the invasion. Instead, he was busy with a PR campaign, making use of the current public approval to secure more funding for the SID, despite the fact he was still recovering from his own injuries. She supposed giving interviews wasn’t too hard, as long as he sat still for a bit. Still, she hadn’t seen him since the battle ended. Someone should make sure he was eating properly, and…

Not her problem. Not any longer, she thought with a pang.

Continue on Ao3.