#Wild Wasteland |Crack|

[cold-steel-eyes]

“I've come to make an announcement, Caesar's a bitch ass motherfucker!! He pissed on the fucking Mojave!! That’s right, he-”

[expirednukacola]

ORANGE COLORED SKY 🏜️ || The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

𐚁⊹₊ ⋆☆

AHHHH! The first chapter is getting so much love and attention! I can’t believe it- This is making me cry! I love you all so, so much! SUMMARY: After two hundred years of some much needed beauty sleep, reader wakes up and realizes she has been given a second chance at life.. only to look like a piece of scorched summer sausage.

TW: GORE + GHOUL CANNIBALISM? + A BRIEF MENTION OF A “BIG IRON” 🔫

og gif made by: @lousolversons

“Don’t they know it’s the end of the world..”

“..‘Cause you don’t love me anymore.”

As your limp body fell to the brown, dead grass beneath you, you look up at that disgusting orange sky with such hatred and contempt before — Darkness. Nothing but darkness shrouded your senses alongside Death’s eery, cold chill.. At least death provided some relief for your decrepit, burnt body.

You finally felt.. free. Free from life’s fleshy binding that attached you to the mortal plane. Free from life’s troubling trails and tribulations that would’ve dragged like heavy chains on your body until the weight of them became too much. Free from pain, free from suffering, free from fear — Free from the horrible world itself.

…Until some asshole decided to turn the damn lights back on.

You woke up with a loud gasp and almost immediately, the pain of hunger and thirst was overwhelmingly evident in your facial expression. “Fuck- W- Water..” Like a zombie who was ran over by an 18 wheeler, you stood up on your little “Bambi” legs and looked around the wasteland that surrounded you. Nothing but patches of dead grass, cracked and crumbled dirt, and the occasional tumbleweed was all that you could see — Besides the dilapidated remains of Mr. Shit-Stain’s house.

“..How the hell is this thing still standin’?” You rasped out as you fumbled towards the tumbledown remnants of the house, the P.O.S. glass shard still sticking out of your leg like an annoying family member that never wanted to leave when it’s Christmas- or any holiday for that matter. Carefully stepping over the pieces of glass, you cautiously entered the house through the large broken windows and looked around what used to be a living room. Some things were still standing, like the couch, the television (minus the ginormous crack its screen had), and one of the most rinky dink coffee tables you have ever fuckin’ seen. “..Pretty sure ‘Bobby’ picked that shit out-”

You cut yourself off by letting out a much needed laugh and after a few minutes of laughing and snickering like a hippie high on mary jane, you staggered on over to the kitchen.. and that’s when you saw your saving grace- THE FRIDGE! Somehow, that piece of metal was the only thing unscathed from that damn blast! You thanked the heavens for this one of a kind gift that you most definitely deserved and you opened it to find-!

…A shit ton of mold and one dead and pretty large roach. “…After all I’ve fuckin’ gone through, I am gifted THIS?! THIS IS WHAT I GET?!” After kicking the fridge door shut, you went to pinch the bridge of your nose only to find out that you no longer had one. That’s when you finally looked down at your hand and your arm. With your heart now starting to collide with your ribcage, you quickly inspected both of your arms and then both of your legs, noticing how one of your arms was more skeletal than the rest of your limbs. “No, no, no, no..!”

You quickly ran around the decayed bits and pieces of the house until you finally found what used to be a bathroom. Immediately gazing into the shattered mirror, you saw how your once beautiful and youthful face had now become twisted, corrupt — grotesque, if you will. On one side of your face, it resembled shattered porcelain and your eye was milky white.. the other side was just a burning memory of what you used to be.

After a few minutes of pulling yourself together, and pulling that damn piece of glass out of your leg, you finally ventured out of the house and back to the “wild, wild west” of Lost Angeles (see what I did there?), and began your little adventure to find something to eat and at least a pond to drink out of. As you hobbled around the wastelands of an already wasteland-like city, you finally stumbled upon the rotting “corpse” of someone who looked just like you. He had the same red, fleshy blotches all over his face and his entire body, and his nose was missing as well. You guessed it was some type of peculiarity people like you shared.. well goddamn-

But something else about him struck a tender little chord in your hungered state.. His chest cavity was busted wide open, like the doors of a Golden Corral on a Sunday afternoon. Your mouth started to salivate, your stomach started to rumble, an animalistic growl spewed from your vocal cords.. and you ran as fast as your legs could, despite your leg that was still in its healing process. Once you were right next to the decaying and rotting body, you quickly dropped down to your knees and began to feast.

Dark, thick blood covered your hands, your chin, and those sweet lips of yours as you stuffed your mouth with that man’s flesh and what remained of his organs that once nestled underneath his ribcage. The only thing that was left whole was his heart.. his delicious, succulent heart. Slowly, you lifted his blackened heart out from his body and began to suck the little bit of blood that dripped out from the aorta, lapping it up as if it were the best water you have ever drank.

“Oh, sweet heavens above!” -were the first words you have uttered in a hot minute when you finally had your hunger satisfied — your thirst quenched by your newfound animalistic appetite for flesh and blood. “..Fuck- Thanks for your help, sir.” As you stood up and wiped your bloodied hands on your top, you heard the familiar sound of a gun getting cocked.. Well shit-

“Hold it right there, missy.” That voice.. That southern twang.. That teeny tiny lisp that’s barely noticeable unless you really listen.. You quickly whipped your head around, but instead of seeing your beloved cowpoke with those sweet dimples you love oh-so much, you saw someone who merely looked like him. You let out an audible gulp and reached your skeletal hand out towards the creature’s face, but he stepped back in response.

“..Cooper?”

“..Y/N?”

Your vision slowly began to fade in and out and the one to catch your collapsing body was that sweet, tender man you knew and fell so deeply in love with before The End. “I got you, missy.. I got you.” Were the last words you heard before you finally gave into the darkness once more. The Ghoul cradle you close and tight to his chest — Oh, how he craved feeling your comforting warmth against his own once more. How he yearned to hear your sweet, gentle voice again. How he ached to gaze into those kind eyes of yours; those pools of life that he had to be careful with because he didn’t want to drown in them.

Now, he’s finally got you safe in his arms..

..Or does he?

———————

I apologize for this chapter being shorter than the first one so consider this chapter 1.5! I was a little busy today with some personal stuff but you all asked so kindly and I hope you all liked this one as much as the first one!

TAG LIST: @lexiway121 @onyxclown @hellolettuce444 @leo4242564 @minaxcarter @a-case-of-attachment @hiddenworld666 @looneylooomis @sunnexaltation @coolrobloxkid28 @enaelyork @foggyturtleknightangel @ghcstvibess @haleymaccosplay @classaysstuff

[justagalwhowrites]

Master List

What I've been working on lately. All works are 18+, minors DNI

Now accepting requests :)

A note on tipping (AKA please read before you tip!)

Joel Miller x Female Reader

Oneshots/Requests

Bane of My Existence (QZ Smuggler!Joel Miller x Female Reader)

Undone (Dom!Joel Miller x Sub!Female Reader)

Homecoming (DBF!Joel x Female Reader)

Lavender No Outbreak AU Masterlist

Sick Leave (Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender)

Date Night (Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender)

Girl Dad (Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender)

Long Day (Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender AU)

Long Distance (DBF!Joel Miller x Female Reader from Homecoming)

Pick Me (Joel Miller x Female Reader)

Proof of Life (Darkish!Joel Miller x Female Reader, QZ era)

The Watch (Joel Miller x Female Reader, QZ era)

Fucksgiving 2K23: Gray Sweatpants

Game Time - A New in Town College Football One Shot

Wonderland - A Lavender No Outbreak AU One Shot

What Was Lost... - A Lavender One Shot set between chapters 8 and 9

...Can Be Found - A Lavender One Shot set between chapters 47 and 48

Expecting - A Lavender Drabble set between chapters 48 and 49

Undone - No Outbreak AU Joel Miller x Female Reader

Yearling

After years of surviving in the wilds of Wyoming after the cordyceps outbreak, you find yourself in Jackson. It's a town filled with friendly faces and the kind of world you hardly remember, let alone can connect with or understand. But one man - Joel Miller, another loner, like you - makes you think that trying to find your place in society again might be worth it.

A slow burn friends-to-lovers fan fic.

Masterlist

Yearling No Outbreak AU

Bambi and Joel find each other in every timeline.

Masterlist

The Savage and the Sanctuary

After the death of his daughter, Joel Miller fell apart. But when searching for answers at the bottom of a bottle and within his own rage doesn't fix it, he resigns himself to working for his brother in private security. It's a job that starts him down the path to stability and a semblance of a life, even if it's not one he particularly wants. At least it does until you show up.

The biggest movie star in the world with your newly adopted niece in tow, you throw everything about Joel's life into flux. Is he capable of letting himself feel something again while protecting the only things left in the world that matter?

Masterlist

Halcyon

When your life falls apart, you find yourself back in your hometown of Austin, Texas for the first time in more than a decade. Eager to make your own way after a rough divorce, you reconnect with your high school best friend Joel Miller - a man you never thought would be in your life again.

Things have changed since your falling out just before you left for college but friendship with Joel comes easy. His life isn't in any better shape than your own and the two of you make a vow to get your acts together - personal, professional and romantic - in the span of a year. But will your burgeoning connection make it so you can figure everything out or will your history together get in the way?

Masterlist

Stranger in a bar

You meet a stranger in a bar, one who is fun and sexy and makes you wonder if the single life is all it's cracked up to be. But there's one big problem: you probably shouldn't be fucking your dad's best friend.

Masterlist

Run Rabbit

It was just over a year after the world ended that you were captured by Joel and Tommy Miller. They’re harsh, they’re cold and they’re killers. But, as a nurse, you’re a valuable person to have around and they’re not the worst thing wandering the wasteland that was the United States. And there might be more to these men than meets the eye.

Masterlist

Holly Jolly

Joel Miller has never been a fan of Christmas. It's stressful, it's expensive and it's depressing. But a chance meeting in line to take his five-year-old daughter to see Santa might just change that.

Masterlist

New in Town

When you move to Austin for work, your best friend Sarah recommends that you hang out with her dad, Joel, to get to know the area. Sarah just never mentioned the fact that her dad is just your type.

Masterlist

Haunted House - A Halloween one shot

Manic Monday - A New in Town Drabble

Lavender

An age-gap grumpy/sunshine friends-to-lovers (and eventually friends-to-lovers-to-enemies-to-friends-to-lovers) fanfic that starts pre-outbreak. Will be long running and updated regularly and run through the outbreak and at least season one of TLOU.

Lavender Masterlist

Lavender No Outbreak AU Masterlist

My casting of the OCs

Found Family - Fan Art

Joel & Doc - Fan Art

Family Portrait

Joel - Fan Art

The Mandalorian x Female Reader

Excerpts and previews of Beskar Doll (found in total on AO3), an enemies-to-friends-to-lovers slow burn fic.

Tumblr Chapter Master List

Buycika - a Beskar Doll Drabble

Growing - A Beskar Doll Drabble

Overcome - Din Djarin x Female Reader

For You - A Collection of Requests Benefitting Palestine

Featuring Joel Miller, Oberyn Martell, Din Djarin

[solisaureus]

gets on my knees please could we have any will solace angst hcs 🙏

cracks knuckles

it’s wild to me that will calls himself a killer, supposedly over losing patients. i’m sure that when he first started out as a field medic, it was plenty traumatic when patients died in his care, but calling himself a killer seems extreme. for this reason i think that this line refers to the trauma of emergency triage, which i had him address in my fic guilt

In general, i can think of few things more horrifying than a child surgeon. the kinds of injuries will tends to are nightmare fuel and he’s so young. i’m always thinking about how upset he is in this scene from tho:

in tsats will seemed to have a bit of an inferiority complex, like he always had to be proving himself to nico as useful. he had that nightmare where nico accused him of holding him back, and another where his father told him the only thing he was good for was being a “spare battery.” will’s self worth seems to be tied to his usefulness to other people, which is depressing as fuck.

not only does will have anxiety and fear about not measuring up, he tends to catastrophize when he perceives that he’s failed. after the scene with amphithemis when nico yells at him, he automatically jumps to the worst case scenario, which is nico not only breaking up with him but leaving him to die in the wretched wasteland of tartarus. my boy needs therapy bad

the amount of responsibility on his shoulders is immense, between leading the second largest cabin at camp half blood and running the infirmary, where he’s charged with saving lives. that’s too much for any one person, let alone a teenager, to handle

he was lonely growing up and had pretty much no friends his age. and he doesn’t really appear to have friends at camp either — i know fan works have cecil and lou ellen has his besties, but they were only in one scene together and will doesn’t talk about them at all in tsats. he doesn’t talk or even think about any friends at all, except kayla and austin, who are his siblings. i wonder if he’s just too busy to make friends or if he still feels alone.

his cabin lost two head counselors in as many years and when will had to take on the role, i wonder if he feared that he would be next, like a curse had been passed to him. because lee and michael died in such quick succession, i doubt they had time to teach will anything about how to run the cabin and he had to figure it out himself

i think will was probably fairly close to michael, considering it’s now canon that michael taught him field medicine. michael probably truly felt like a big brother to him, and will had to watch him die

will reacted so strongly to nico saying that nobody at camp half blood wanted him, it makes me think that that genuinely hurt his feelings. since it’s now canon that will and nico met during the events of titans curse, i wonder if will considered nico to be his friend and was worried about him when he disappeared. i wonder if he developed feelings and pined for nico before that point, and hearing nico say that he was going to leave because no one wanted him broke will’s heart

[ichorai]

dinner & diatribes ; adrian chase. (m)

track eleven of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; adrian chase x gn!reader

synopsis ; the two of you only brought the worst out of each other, but you just couldn’t stay away.

words ; 1.8k

themes ; comedy, mild smut (?)

warnings / includes ; arguing, lots of swearing, they fuck against a desk but it's not too graphic and pretty glossed over, reader punches adrian and breaks his nose, chris is the embodiment of e_e

main masterlist.

“I had him!” you snarled, striding up to Adrian until the two of you were practically nose-to-nose. He had ripped his mask off earlier, seeing no point in keeping it on when everybody on the team was already very well aware of his not-so-secret secret identity. “He was the only shot we had at getting information and you just fucking—Argh! You ruined everything, you dumb fucking piece of motherfucking—!”

Raising his hands in a condescendingly placating manner, Adrian retorted, “Woah! Watch it, potty mouth!”

Frustration crawled through your skin and wove beneath your muscles, nestling within your bones. “God, I hate you. This was my mission. You had no right interfering—!”

“Well, excuse me, first of all, this was our mission. Second, I’m sorry for saving your ass!” he interrupted. “If it hadn’t been for me, you would be out there, bleeding out of multiple gunshot wounds, thinking to yourself, ‘Oh, I wish Vigilante was here to come rescue me! He��s so handsome and I wish I could have sex with him just one more time and tell him how sorry I am for being a dick and ignoring him and pretending like it had never fucking happened!’”

You clenched your jaw, eye twitching. Sure, the two of you had slept together once—it was the heat of the moment and the adrenaline after a bloody fight, really—sodden clothes were hastily torn away or pulled to the side, bleeding lips were roughly slanted against each other, and he had fucked you on top of Chris’ messy desk with wild abandon. So fucking what?

“I was more than capable of handling the situation on my own.”

“Oh, were you, really?” Adrian rolled his eyes. “Don’t kid yourself. Honestly, sometimes it feels like you wouldn’t even care if you died—!”

With a growl rumbling within your throat, you wound your arm back, clenched your hand into a tight fist, and struck Adrian squarely in the face. A bilious crack echoed throughout the dingy room. He reared backwards, clutching his most-likely broken nose, groaning loudly. 

You were well aware of the fact that the rest of the team was awkwardly watching the two of you hash it out. Tentative, Adebayo started saying, “Guys, I think we—”

“No!” you cut her off. “Fuck you, Adrian.”

With that, you stormed out of the room, ripping off the rest of your tactical gear along the way and cold fury wrapping its dark hands around your neck. 

“Fuck,” Adrian said, all stuffy from his bleeding nose. “That made me so hard.”

Chris smacked him on the back of his head, which made him squawk with pain.

“I don’t know, man,” said Chris, sticking his tongue out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on scribbling a dove of peace on another one of his weapons that Harcourt hadn’t bothered emblazing, despite his repeated insistence. “Maybe you should apologize to Y/N. They seemed really pissed.”

Blowing a raspberry, Adrian waved his most best friend’s advice away. “Pfft—no, if anything, they should be the one apologizing to me. Did you see how my nose was all bloody and crooked?”

Chris momentarily turned his attention away from the crude drawing of the dove of peace (which, unsurprisingly, looked like a ghost), and scowled at the spectacled, borderline psychotic man-child across from him. “Jeez, stop overreacting. Harcourt set your nose back right after, don’t be such a baby.”

“But it hurt!” Adrian whined. “You know that a person’s sense of smell is probably, like, the most important sense out of all the senses?”

“I don’t think that’s true.” 

“Uh huh—scented candle businesses would go bankrupt if none of us could smell!”

Narrowing his eyes, Chris replied, “Yeah, but how the fuck would that make it the most important—ugh, you know what? Just go apologize to them. We have another mission tomorrow morning and I don’t want their panties in a twist because of you.”

Adrian chortled. “Heh, wouldn’t be the first time I twisted their pa—” At Chris’ sharp glare, he immediately cut himself short. “Fine! I’ll go, I’ll go. If I die, please play an episode of Friends at my funeral—specifically the episode where they hire Danny Devito as a stripper. I really liked that episode. I liked it a lot. You got that?”

“Yeah, Danny Devito, stripper, funeral, got it!” retorted Chris, clearly not listening anymore as he waved Adrian away.

Squaring his shoulders, Adrian marched away from his trusted friend and headed to the room down the hall, pushing the door open and peeking his head through. He saw you buried behind a pile of paperwork on your desk, muttering incoherently beneath your breath. 

When you noticed him come in, he pursed his lips and waved awkwardly, shutting the door behind him.

“Hey,” he called out from the other side of the room, a bit too loudly. You winced at his volume, and he moved closer before parroting himself, this time much quieter. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” came your tentative, stiff reply. “What do you want?”

The man in front of your desk cleared his throat, rocking himself back onto his heels as he swung his arms awkwardly. “I, uh, just wanted to apologize.”

“Oh, yeah?” You crossed your arms, cocking one of your eyebrows expectantly. “Go on, then.”

“I’m…” Adrian doubled over groaning, stomping his feet like a petulant child, before righting himself and huffing in an overexaggerated manner. “Ugh, I hate this. Fuck—I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said those things to you. It was unprofessional.”

Humming, the beginnings of a smirk began to play with the corner of your lips. “Great, thanks. You can go now.”

Adrian stayed rooted to the spot, staring at you blankly. 

“What?” you asked him.

He scowled, gesturing to his slightly-crooked nose.

Rolling your eyes to the ceiling, you sighed. “Fine. I’m sorry for punching you. Happy?”

“Yeah, pfft, whatever—doesn’t even hurt,” he bluffed, leaning his weight onto your desk in an effort to appear nonchalant. 

You scoffed. “With how you were groaning, you made it sound like I nearly killed you.”

“You’ve got a strong punch, okay?” he heatedly rebutted, before haughtily sticking his sore chin up in the air. After another second of tense silence, he glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his fucked-up nose. He coughed into his fist, before muttering, “Honestly, though… it was really fucking hot.”

The dull wooden edge of your desk dug into your lower back as Adrian leaned over you, mouth rough on yours, glasses knocked askew amidst his vigor. One of his hands were buried in your roots at the back of your head, anchoring you close to him, and the other pinned your thighs apart so he could slot between them. Your hands were tightly curled up in the gap between his sweltering skin and his suit’s dark armor, yanking him to bridge the gap between you. His nose brushed your cheekbone every time he surged forward to kiss you—and it sent a mild jolt of pain spidering down his spine, but he didn’t seem to mind it too much, rather preoccupied with other sensations.

Clothes were hastily pulled to the side, sweat beaded both of your foreheads, and strained gasps fell through your lips as he began to move against you.

Neither punching Adrian nor fucking him afterwards were on your agenda for today, but you certainly weren’t complaining. And judging by how loudly he was moaning into the brutal kiss, he wasn’t going to complain, either.

With one final roll of his hips into yours, he bucked forward with a strangled, choking noise as his climax washed over him just when you were pushed off the edge as well, sinking his teeth into the flesh of your shoulder, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“God, you’re loud,” you panted, snaking your hands to his hair to gently pull him away from the crevice of your neck. 

He stared at you with full-blown pupils, delighting in the fact that you were quivering against him ever so slightly. “And you’re so fucking hot.”

“Alright, buddy, we’re done here,” you said, patting his chest, before pushing away and straightening out your wrinkled clothes. “This is the last time this is ever happening, by the way.”

Adrian scoffed, righting his glasses up his nose. “Uh huh, yeah right. Admit it, you just can’t resist me. I’m like the peanut butter to your jelly! The… the chocolate to your pizza!”

Nose wrinkling, you shook your head incredulously. “What? Who the fuck eats chocolate with pizza?”

“Uh, duh, I do,” he replied, as if it were obvious. “It’s amazing—you should really try it. I don’t know, maybe you could come over to my place one day and have some. Nothing beats the perfect ratio of greasy-crispy Hawaiian pizza and Nutella straight from the jar.”

Kiss-swollen lips parting, you leaned against your desk out of interest once again. Adrian was fidgeting with his hands awkwardly and began looking everywhere but you, like he hadn’t just fucked you silly literally a minute ago.

“Are you asking me out?”

“No!” he said. “Maybe.”

You regarded him with a strange look.

“Ugh, yes, fine, I’m asking you out. Well, technically in—I’m asking you into my house. Preferably into my bed—”

“Alright!” you interrupted, holding your hands out. “Fine. Only this one time. But just because you’ve come in me twice by now doesn’t mean you can go on falling in love with me, okay?”

Brightening, Adrian sidled closer to you, the green of his eyes glimmering beneath the flickering lights hanging over your desk. “Don’t worry, that won’t be a problem. If anything, you should watch out for falling in love with me. I’m quite the catch, you know?”

It was hard to suppress the growing grin forming over your lips. “You’ve got the Barbie Girl song as your ringtone.”

“Yeah, and? It’s a good song—super catchy. It’s practically a chick magnet,” he defended, beaming like an idiot. 

You rolled your eyes, patting his chest twice, before striding away from both him and your desk, off to go to the bathroom to clean up the sticky mess between your thighs. Adrian watched you go, before repeatedly punching the air with excitement and breaking out into a dance—not to music, but to the buzz of the office’s artificial lights, and the lethargic whir of the semi-broken air conditioner. 

 From outside, he could hear Chris greet you, and he momentarily paused in his little victory jig.

“Oh, hi, Y/N! Hah, your hair’s all messed up, why do you look like you just had your brains fucked—oh. Oh. God damn it, you guys better not have done it on my desk again!”

[feralghoulie]

Note: Ahhh! I'm not super proud of this one honestly, but it's okay. I was kind of blanking ideas for this one

MINORS DNI 18+ CONTENT.

Prompt: Blindfold (Day 2)

Summary: Cooper let's his guard down to be blindfolded by Lucy. He soon finds out, he's going to regret not being the one in control.

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) X Lucy Maclean

☆

Lost Senses.

Cooper narrowed his eyes. Drilling holes into Lucy's wide smile.

"No."

He said in a stern manner. Crossing his arms.

"Absolutely not." He said rolling his eyes as her smile widened further.

Lucy frowned. Throwing her arms up in the air. "You're no fun! Fun sucker!" She taunted. The Ghoul staring back at her with an annoyed expression.

Cooper and Lucy had began to grow close with one another. Going from a shackled enemy, to the girl he can't get off his hip. Lucy brought out the deeply shelled happiness that still resided in him.

Wandering the wasteland together, Lucy managed to get a couple genuine laughs out of him. A light in a situation after she had experienced so much dark. Cooper occasionally cracking a joke to lighten the mood of mentioning her mother or father.

Though as much as they joked, Cooper was still a hardened man. Getting his boundaries down was near impossible. It would be easier to shake hands with a Death Claw rather than getting Cooper to open up about any of his past life.

It came to times like these where Lucy would have to relentlessly annoy him until he caved. She would get her way. One way or another at least.

Their tricky relationship had the added factor of sexual relations. The Ghoul having found himself studying her body. The sway of her hips, the way her vault suit hugged her perfect smooth skin.

He ravished her body like it was his first and last meal, and she enjoyed every single minute of it. She couldn't get enough of the way the Ghoul treated her. The way his fingers were rough yet so full of passion. Her soft lips against his. She cherished the feeling deeply.

Although Cooper had quite a high sex drive, Lucy was three times as worse. Every chance they got she would beg for just a touch. Maybe it didn't help the fact that he would tease her. Slapping her ass, whispering dirty things into her ear.

"If we don't find some cover soon, may have to take ya right here." He would whisper into the shell of her ear. Giving her ass a swift smack.

She would yelp and giggle, but never got the chance to enact her fantasy of being fucked shamelessly in the open.

Now that they had taken shelter safely in some old parlor. She wanted it. She absolutely needed it.

She insisted on trying something she had experienced in the vault. Her cousin using an old cloth to drape over her face. She hated recalling some of the things they did, but she didn't despise him.

He would drape the cloth over her eyes to restrict her vision, and touched her. It was a sensual experience and she couldn't get her mind off it.

Constantly fantasizing of using Copper for her pleasure while he laid blindfolded. Unable to see the bliss sprawl across her face. She wanted to hold his hands down and grind against his cock.

Slip it between her slick folds to tease his shaft. Forcing him with restricted vision to try and take control.

Cooper hated the idea. He hates being teased, and he hates not having full control.

With enough begging, he caved in. Pretending to be annoyed, but the idea alone drove him wild. He knew he would still have full control, but she would be in the mind that she was using him for pleasure.

Extremely excited, Lucy dug through her bag. Sorting through various items. She had stolen a bandana off one of the Raiders they wasted. A red unfolded cloth.

She grabbed it out of her bag and waved it around. The ghoul laid down on the dirty bed roll. Huffing as he did. His back was starting to feel the effects of constantly sleeping on the wood floor.

She approached him with anticipation, and tied the blind fold around his face. Removing his hat gently and placing it beside him.

"Don't overstep your boundaries Vaultie. Just cuz I like you don't mean i won't kill you." He said, knowing it was a partially empty threat.

"It's okay! I think you're going to enjoy this." She said caressing his cheek. Something she would be too nervous to do if he could see.

The ghoul flinched slightly. Feeling his heart pound. He was perfectly fine with intimacy. He could handle not being in control. Not being able to predict her next move.

Right?

He found himself flinching at alot of her delicate touches. She was trailing her hands around his body.

It was hard to touch someone as clothed as him. He refused to take any of his clothes off. His huge trench jacket thrown aside, but that was all he was really willing to part with. His vest hiding his life before war. A sense of himself from clothes.

Lucy didn't seem to mind this. She worked her away around it. Rubbing his throat with her fingers.

Leaning in and pressing gentle kisses. Peppering him with kisses anywhere skin could be exposed. Pulling up his sleeves, kissing his rough fingers. Careful not to venture to far, but just enough to find new parts of his skin to tend to.

He let his head sink into the dingey bed. Biting his lip softly as she palmed his striped pants.

Such a simple experience felt exhilarating to Lucy. A growing wet spot forming in her panties from just ftom exploring his body. The scent of the Wasteland was strong on him. A deep yet attractive musk.

His hands had been stationary by his sides almost the whole time. Finding Lucy's hips after she decided to finally straddle him. He gripped them tight. Pressing his thumbs into her dips.

She was grinding against his bulge. Slowly, but deeply. She thought about how good it would be to feel his bare cock again. To be fucked raw.

She let out a long content sigh. Taking her hands away from the Ghoul. He questioned the absence, but gave a discreet grin as he heard her start to unzip her vault suit. Uncovering her dirtied tank top and panties. Tossing the suit aside, she continued.

Grabbing onto Cooper's belt buckle and undoing it. Sliding his belt fin out and giving his pants a few tugs. Enough to expose his partially tattered underwear.

Their exchanges had been silent almost the entirel time. Lost in their own minds of pleasure. The Ghoul finally breaking the silence.

"Well c'mon now sweetheart. Move a little faster.." He said as Lucy rubbed her thumb against his clothed cock.

She huffed. "Last I checked, I'm currently the one in charge." She said in a mocking tone.

He groaned. "Don't get too cocky there sweetheart- I could easily wri-" He was immediately cut off by Lucy swiftly pulling his cock out. Loudly spitting on it.

"I'm in charge." She said firmly. Giving his cock a few strokes. Pulling his pants down just a little further.

"I'm going to take what I want. Not you. As a matter of fact! I don't even care what you want." She said feeling high and mighty. Letting out a small giggle, feeling proud of herself.

He smiled to himself. Holding back his own playful giggles. It made him happy and weirdly turned on seeing her come out of her kind and caring comfort. Taking a charging role in something so intimate.

"Well, my my. Guess I should be listenin to your commands then, ah?" He said in a teasing tone.

She raised an eyebrow. "Well.. um. Yeah! Yeah you should be." She said nodding her head.

She adjusted herself and removed her panties. Setting them beside her quietly. Straddling him again, she adjusted herself. Grinding against his solid cock. Using his tip to press against her sensitive clit.

He was taken off guard by the sudden motions. Biting down on his lip, letting out a low growl. His hands snapping back onto her hips.

She let out quiet gasps as she pressed his cock against her clit, grinding against it to find the right spot.

He was growing increasingly more impatient. Waiting for the moment he would feel the tight warmth of her pussy. As she pressed his head against her clit, she fought to get her shirt off. Throwing it aside.

She leaned forward on his flat body, and stopped her motion. Letting her lips part, his cock slid inbetween. The slick letting it glide very slowly. She braced his shoulder with one hand, and used the other to guide her breast into his mouth.

He quickly realized once he felt what was against his face, his mouth widened. Suckling on her breast, his tongue flicking against the bud. Switching between sucking and licking as she occasionally bucked her hips in pleasure.

Before switching breasts, she lifted herself up, and guided his swollen cock head against her hole. Not immediately letting him in. She waited for him to force his way in, tightly squeezing. She sunk all the way down onto his cock. Switching breasts and leaning closer.

She carefully tried to bounce up and down on his cock. Finding it to be a hard time to prop herself in this position.

Cooper was enjoying it. Moaning as he sucked and nipped at her. She took her breast out of his mouth and replaced it with her lips.

Immediately shoving her tongue into his mouth. This took him completely by surprise. They had never even kissed before, let alone made out. It took alot of intimacy for Cooper to kiss someone. Though in this case he didn't see it coming. Graciously accepting her offer, his tongue fought for dominance.

His hands helping her bounce on his cock. Pulling her hips to the rhythm of his eager bucking. Their lips parted and Cooper groaned.

"Good lord girl. You're fuckin pussy is so tight. You'r soaking my cock." He said pressing his head back into the mattress.

She only let out a breathy laugh in response. As his thrusts were starting to slow, she switched from bouncing, to grinding her walls against his cock. Letting his tip hit her g-spot.

She let out quick gasps as her climax started to rise. Gasps, turning into whines. Whines turning into strangled moans.

"Yeaaah. That's it honey. I can feel that pussy squeezing me real damn good. I need your fuckin cum on my dick." He winced, giving her ass a firm smack.

She furrowed her eyebrows, mildly annoyed by his interjection of dominance. Losing her rythem of grinding.

She swiftly removed herself off his cock, and kept his thighs straddled. She knew the orgasm wouldn't be as intense, but the satisfaction of pissing him off would be good enough.

Her fingers pressing against her clit, quickly circling and rubbing it. The slick soaking her fingers, the sound of her pleasuring herself surrounding in Cooper's ears.

He ripped his blind fold off, and narrowed his eyes. Watching her as she threw her head back in pleasure. Her fingers vigorously working her climax.

"You've gotta be fuckin kiddin me." He said watching with a lifted head.

She rode out her climax, huffing and catching her breath.

"I told you I'm the one in charge. And I say. You can't cum! Not from me at least." She smiled brightly. Tilting her hand as if she won an argument.

Climbing off him she hummed. Cooper following her with his eyes. Completely stunned by the stunt she just pulled. He grabbed at his shaft, using the slick she left behind to stroke his aching cock.

"I could fuckin kill you vaultie. I ain't going to be nice next time."

[edgepunk]

OC Smash or pass

Rules: pretty self explanatory. include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. the “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc).

Tagged by @roseeway <3

Took me a while to pick which OC I wanted to do this, but I picked my Courier Six, Mrs. Ramona Fawkes

Basics:

Age: 38

Height: 176 cm/that's around 5'7''

Sexuality: well, she's bisexual, but she doesn't really think about her sexuality she's too busy trying to survive

Gender: she/they cowgirl yeehaw. Again, she doesn't really think about it, but she sometimes gets mistaken for a man bc of the way she dresses and doesn't mind being called a guy. so. take that as you will.

Extra: She knows some neat gunslinger tricks and doesn't mind showing them off. And she has a deep voice with a southern twang.

Ramona is very closed off and it takes some time and work to gain her trust, but it's worth getting on her good side, because she's incredibly loyal. Which comes with her bad habit of putting others' needs and wants before hers. She often avoids her own issues and rather deals with other people's problems.

Despite her closed off nature, she's pretty easygoing and cracks a lot of jokes in a sarcastic manner. You feel like you can talk to her about anything and she won't judge you, but you'll soon realize that you don't know anything about her, because she doesn't talk much about herself. There's a lot of baggage she refuses to share with others, unless she learns to trust you.

While she might not be the most morally righteous person and doesn't mind drilling a bullet between someone's eyes, she still believes there's good in people and tries to find a more peaceful solution before she reaches for her revolver. You could say she's this grizzled gunslinger with a heart of gold and one of the fastest hands in the Wild Wasteland.

And I'm too lazy to tag anyone, so if you wanna do this then consider yourself tagged.

[undertheopensky]

Feather Dreams

Whumptober Day 2: Delirium

Characters: Wind, Sky, Warriors

Read on Ao3!

Wars insists he doesn’t snore. Wind knows better. He’s worse than the old man, and Time once snort-snored so loudly it scared a small flock of birds out of a nearby tree. Time, of course, slept right through it, and so did Warriors, because he’s not as light a sleeper as he thinks he is for anything short of metal-on-metal chiming.

Point is, if there are any monsters around, they’re not going to go undetected, but Wind’s not too concerned about that. Anything that hears Wars snoring is going to assume it’s a hinox and steer clear. Wind being on watch is more to make sure the fire doesn’t go out. It’s cold up here.

Time doesn’t like having the younger members of the team on watch, but they’re low on options. Hyrule had to use way too much magic helping Legend take down that lynel, and everyone is exhausted after days of marching through a snowy wasteland. It’s not even fun snow, as Wind discovered when trying to make snowballs. They need as many functional people as possible, and sometimes that means Wind takes a watch shift, much to his delight.

There’s just something exciting about being up so late, when all the adults try their damndest to keep him going to bed on time. He’s a pirate. He spent weeks alone on a one-man sailboat, and sometimes that meant staying up all night using the stars to navigate or fighting a storm. Like, he gets it. He’s small and cute and sets off big brother instincts. He is a big brother, he gets where they’re coming from. But when trying to protect him means they’re hurting themselves, well, then Wind has Opinions about it.

Aside from Certain Snoring Persons, tonight’s been quiet. There’s no insects here; too cold, Wild said. The crackling fire is the loudest noise, underlaid by the soft sounds of sleeping people. Steady breathing, when it’s not drowning out by the snores. Cloth rustling as someone rolls over. A faint whistle that might have been Legend and might have been a nearby owl.

Wind frowns. And a soft, steady whine, like someone close by is in pain.

Quietly, Wind picks his way around the campsite, tracking the whine back to its source, and finds Sky with his face tight in hurt or fear.

He kneels by Sky’s shoulder. Don’t want to get smacked in the face, so no leaning over; just a light shake should do it. “Sky. Wake up, Sky.”

Sky doesn’t stir. And sure, they like to tease him about how he can fall asleep anytime, anywhere, but he’s not — he doesn’t sleep deep, not like Wars does. He should have jolted awake as soon as Wind touched him.

He shakes harder. “Sky, c’mon. It’s just a nightmare.”

The whine cuts off and for a second Wind thinks he’s awake, but Sky just — makes a gulping sound, an odd stutter-step in his breathing, and then just stops.

Ten seconds. Twenty.

Wind starts shaking him again. “C’mon Sky don’t do this to me —”

Sky sucks in air, strained and rattling, and whines again.

He’s — he’s not awake. His eyes aren’t open, and are half-rolled back when Wind checks. Every now and then he whimpers on an exhale, like it hurts. He also won’t wake up no matter what Wind tries.

Sky’s breathing hitches again.

“No no no don’t do that again — Sky please you’re scaring me —”

“Kill them, bring them back,” Sky says, strangely clear, “Blind them, maybe.”

Wind freezes.

Sky’s breathing goes back to being short and shallow, almost panting. He’s shaking, Wind realises distantly, little bursts of full-body trembling. He’s clearly — asleep, or unconscious, or sick, but he’d spoken so clearly —

This was officially beyond Wind’s ability to deal. He needed an adult.

Okay, something going wrong on watch. It wasn’t monsters, so he didn’t need to wake the whole camp. It wasn’t rain, so he didn’t need to wake the whole camp. It wasn’t fire, so he didn’t need to wake Time to put it out.

Okay, focus.

Problem: can’t wake Sky.

Does Sky need to be woken?

Sky whines again, wispy and cracking like he’s in terrible pain.

Spooked, Wind’s shoulders inch towards his ears. That was an unequivocal yes.

Someone not waking up… was a medical problem, right? That was why they kept waking people when they had concussions, to make sure they could wake up.

Warriors it was!

Wars is, as always, a nightmare to wake up. Wind doesn’t actually want to wake the whole camp, so he’s restricted from anything that involves shouting (either him or Wars), which pretty much only leaves shaking him as hard as he can.

“Wars wars wars wars wars wars wars —” he chants, quietly, trying to listen to make sure Sky is still breathing behind him.

“Mgh. You fucking gremlin.” Wars doesn’t even have his eyes open but Wind is still relieved beyond bearing at his voice. “Whadyou want?”

“It’s Sky,” Wind hisses, “I can’t wake him and he’s breathing funny and he keeps saying stuff!”

Wars cracks one eye to glare at him. “Mrrrgh. You woke me up because Sky talks in his sleep?”

“Wars I’m serious —”

“Pour me into a dead sheep and toss me to the moors,” says Sky, still in that eerie, too-clear voice.

They trade horrified looks and scurry over.

Wars immediately sets about looking Sky over. “No fever,” he mutters, “increased heart rate, increased breathing —”

Right on cue, Sky stops breathing.

Wars makes a strangled noise of horror and dives for Sky’s pulse. Wind starts roughly shaking his shoulder. It had worked last time, right? “Sky, wake up, please!” Sky’s head lolls back and forth with the force of it, limp and unresponsive, until finally —

Sky gasps.

Wind slumps back in relief.

“That is not normal.” Wars checks Sky’s temperature again. His frown deepens. “How long would you say this has been happening?”

“About, uh —” Wind cringes as Sky starts to make that horrible pained noise again, then tries to remember the question. “Maybe, um, ten minutes total? I tried to, to wake him before I tried to wake you, and — and I would’ve noticed him doing the gasping thing or talking before that.”

“Okay, good.” Wind bites his lip. Wars’ expression is too grim for ‘good’.

Wind watches him pick up Sky’s hand, and dig a nail into the space between thumb and forefinger. Then, when that doesn’t get a response, he pulls back the bedroll so he can scrub the hard side of his knuckles up and down Sky’s sternum through his sleep shirt.

Sky’s eyelids flutter. But he doesn’t stir, and he doesn’t wake.

“Whisper, whisper,” he murmurs. “Whisper soft or the mermaids will hear.”

Warriors swears quietly and covers him back up.

“Wars? What’s wrong with him? He’ll be okay, right?”

Wars’ face goes tight in the way that means he’s trying not to have an expression. “The delirium without fever, the lack of response — those aren’t good signs. If we’re lucky, he’s been poisoned.”

“But… what do we do for poison?” Wind’s experience boils down to ‘don’t eat things you don’t recognise’ and ‘if you get acid on your skin wash it off immediately’.

Wars stands to get something from his pack, and Wind notices for the first time that he’s in socked feet. He hadn’t so much as paused to grab his boots.

Somehow, that’s when it hits him just how serious this is. Sky could die.

“Wars?” he says in a small voice as he comes back holding a bottle of potion and the Chain’s last fairy, “he is going to be okay, right?”

“We’re not losing Sky to this, sailor,” Wars swears. “Not if I can help it. Now, help me hold him.” Wars hauls Sky into a sit and unstoppers the potion bottle.

Wind reaches to steady him. “But potions can’t fix poison.”

“No, they can’t cure poison, but they can fix the damage poison causes. Sky’s lasted this long. If we can keep him alive long enough for his body to clear it out, we’re in with a chance.”

But whenever he’s not muttering strings of dark nonsense Sky’s jaw is clenched tight. He mumbles something about blood and locks up again before Wars can get more than a few drops onto his tongue. And getting him to swallow is an exercise in frustration. “Sky, work with me here,” Wars pleads.

Sky hums and rolls his head into Wars’ shoulder. “If you’re going to run, you better do it fast.”

“Why? What are we running from, Sky,” Wars tries to prompt.

“Death walks in his wake,” Sky says, and there’s an odd, lilting sigh in his voice that makes Wind sit up anxiously.

This time when Sky gasps, he chokes on it. His whole chest heaves and his hands scrabble in his blankets, and Wind stifles a terrified sob.

“Hhnngwars? Wind? Wassgoinon?”

That’s — that’s not at all the clear voice he was using before. He’s breathing, breathing properly now, deep and hard like he’s been running, and blinking bleary eyes at the two people crowding his bedroll. Wars’ face brightens with hope. “Sky, drink this.”

Dazed, Sky takes a sip, only to splutter and shove the bottle away from his face. “Wha — Wars! Why’re you — we’re low on, we don’t have, why are you giving me this?”

“Just drink the potion Sky. We don’t know when you were poisoned so I’m not taking chances — do you know when you were exposed, did you get an injury fighting that lynel you didn’t tell us about?”

“Can I have more than like five seconds to wake up before you start peppering me with questions?” Sky begs, head in hands. “Please?”

Wind bursts into tears and flings himself at Sky.

“I was so scared!” he wails. “You wouldn’t wake up and you stopped breathing and you kept saying scary stuff!”

Sky pats his head clumsily. “Sorry, Wind. I promise I’m okay. Wars — Wars put that away, I know what it was. I’m not poisoned.”

“Poisoned? Who’s poisoned?” asks Wild. The commotion has finally dragged him to groggy wakefulness, and he’s not the only one stirring at Wind’s hysterical sobs.

“No one’s poisoned. C’mon, Wind, calm down for me.” Sky wraps a clumsy arm around him so he can rock him a bit. “Deep breaths. You’re gonna scare the shit out of everyone.”

“You scared the shit out of me!”

Legend jerks upright with a snort. “Wha? Why’s Wind cryin’?”

“Golden Goddesses,” Sky mutters.

Wild squints across the stirring campsite. Notes the unused healing items, Wind sobbing on a bleary-eyed Sky, and visibly decides not to panic. “Y’know what, I’m gonna make some tea.”

Some minutes later, the whole camp is awake under the stars, mugs of tea in hand and sporting various expressions of confusion.

“Why am I awake?” says Twilight.

“We had a medical emergency,” says Wars. He still hasn’t put his boots on. “Hoping Sky can shed some light on it, because that was damn scary. Sky?”

“In my defense,” Sky says into his hands, I’ve slept in dormitories more than half my life and never had a complaint, so. I didn’t think to warn you.”

“Warn us about what?” Time says.

“It’s, um.” Sky scratches an itch at his collar. “So. Bear with me. I was dreaming. We were walking along a long, long bridge, very tall, made of grey stone, over deep water that was a long way down. In front of us there was an old fountain, covered in moss and lichen, and when we got close, a pair of lizalfos jumped out. Wild was expecting them and took them both out with arrows.” He pauses, briefly, eyes flitting to check their reactions. No one interrupts. “Then… there was a roaring sound, and the air got really hot. And then this — it was so big it broke the fountain when it landed, this massive black dragon landed in front of us. But the proportions were wrong. It had a huge, heavy body with a long thin tail, and three heads crowned with fire each on a long neck —”

“Gleeok,” Hyrule and Legend both say at once. Hyrule waves Legend to continue. “Giant dragon with multiple heads that spits fire,” the veteran says. “Not common.”

“Well it was definitely huge. All it had to do was spin around once and I think everyone was thrown from the bridge by its tail. But it was so hot that hitting the water was almost a relief, except… we weren’t safe there either. There was something in the water with us, and we had to swim quietly, but we had to get out as fast as we could. So we made it to an island in the middle of the lake, and we were safe from the lake, but there was still something — wrong. Something hunting us.”

“Did the gleeok come down after us?” asks Wind from where he’s still curled into Sky’s side.

“No, the dragon didn’t follow us. It was just this little island of sand and rock, and… there was something bad there. Something empty.”

“What happened then?” Time prompts.

Sky shakes his head and looks up from the fire. “I don’t know. It ended there.”

Wild is frowning, more curious than anything. “That’s a near-perfect description of my Lake Hylia, bridge and fountain and island and all. But — we haven’t been there yet. Have we?”

Sky shakes his head. “No.”

“Then, how did you…?”

Wrapping the edges of his sailcloth a little more firmly around his shoulders, Sky tries for a smile. “Um. Sometimes… when I dream… I see things that haven’t happened yet. And they do happen. I dreamed it before the portals started, and when Zelda — my Zelda — right before my adventure I dreamed of the storm that made her vanish.”

“Hm,” says Time, with an air of dawning comprehension. “Prophetic dreams.”

“Yeah.”

“So why did Wind and Wars freak out about it?” asks Twilight, still grumpy.

“Well, when I’m having one of those dreams, I can’t be woken, not until it’s over. And, um. I swear I didn’t know about the rest, Pipit’s never said anything —”

“He stopped breathing a few times,” says Wars. “And said some pretty dark stuff. At one point it was ‘pour me into a dead sheep’ or something. I was convinced you were delirious.”

Sky gets a peculiar look on his face. “What’s a sheep?”

“Ooh I know this one,” says Wild, digging for his slate. “I have a photo, hang on — it’s these things.”

“Hm,” says Sky, looking at the fluffy cloud with horns and a face. “I definitely saw those in a dream once, but had no idea what they were.”

“You didn’t know what the gleeok was either,” says Legend. “So it’s all just… contextless?”

“Yeah.”

“That doesn’t seem very useful.”

Sky laughs, and relaxes for the first time since waking up to terrified faces and the bitter taste of red potion. “It’s really not.”

“Yeah, what was that about poison before?” Wild asks.

“There’s not a lot of things that will make someone drop into a sleep they can’t be roused from, combined with — delirium, with a fever,” Wars explains. “Poison was the most likely, considering we’re constantly coming across new and terrifying monster variants.”

“Well.” Legend throws back the last of his tea like a shot. “Sky’s fine, and I’m tired. Unless there’s something else, I’m going the fuck back to bed. Everything else can wait til morning.”

“He’s got a point,” says Wild. “We still have a long way to go to Snowfield Stable tomorrow. Wind, you should go to bed too — it’s nearly time for my watch anyway.”

Wind opens his mouth to complain — he can take the full watch, for Din’s sake! — before glancing at the moon. It really is close, and honestly, as the last of the adrenaline fades and Wild’s sleepy-tea kicks in, he wants nothing more than his blankets. Except, that would require getting up, and Sky is warm, and —

He squeaks indignantly as Sky flops down and deliberately drags Wind with him. “Sky! Lemme go!”

“Nope. You woke me up. Mine now.”

Sky snuggles into his hair and flips up the edges of the bedroll to block out the chill. And Wind wants to complain, he’s not a little kid, he can sleep in his own damn bed —

Sky is warm, and solid, and breathing. He’s okay. He’s safe.

Wind deliberately ignores the loose grip that he could escape from if he really tried, and closes his eyes to the sound of Wild humming.

[omtua22]

Through Time and Lies

Thank you @mangoshorthand for helping develop this idea. This is a little dabble of an alternate version of the Umbrella Academy Season 4. This is my first time writing anything like this, so sorry if it's bad. I just hated what really happened between Five and Lila in the actual season.

The acrid stench of ash and decay hung heavy in the air, a constant reminder of the wasteland I'd called home for the past six years. My fingers tightened around the worn grip of my shotgun as I surveyed the desolate landscape, always on guard for any threat. That's when I saw them—two figures materializing out of thin air, one of them stumbling and clearly injured.

My blood ran cold as I recognized the face of the man. It was... me. An older, more haggard version, but undeniably me. Before I could process this mindfuck of a situation, instinct took over. I raised my gun and fired without hesitation, the crack of the shot echoing across the barren terrain.

The other me crumpled to the ground, a look of shock frozen on his face. The woman accompanying him—dark-haired, wild-eyed—let out a strangled cry and dropped to her knees beside him.

"Five! No, no, no!" she wailed, cradling his head in her lap. Her eyes, filled with tears and desperation, snapped up to meet mine. "Please," she begged, "don't shoot, you trigger happy little squit. You don't understand—"

I cut her off, my voice cold and steady. "I understand perfectly. You brought another version of me here, and now he's dead. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't put a bullet in your head too."

The woman—Lila, she'd called herself earlier—took a shaky breath. "Because I can help you see your family again. To get out of this hellhole."

I scoffed. "And why the fuck should I believe anything you say?"

"Because I know things," she insisted. "Things only you would know. I was Diego's wife in another timeline. I knew you—the other you. And damn, it would just be your luck you'd die at your own hand."

I raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You think dropping Diego's name is gonna make me trust you? Try again, sweetheart."

Lila's eyes narrowed, a hint of her own fire showing through the grief. "Fine. You want proof? Dolores."

The name hit me like a punch to the gut. Dolores. My companion, my confidante, the only thing keeping me sane in this godforsaken wasteland. How the hell could she know about Dolores?

I lowered the gun slightly, but kept it trained on her. "Talk," I growled.

Lila's story poured out in a frantic, disjointed mess. Time travel, the Commission, apocalypses—plural. My family, all grown up, with their own lives and problems. It was too much to take in, too fantastical to believe. And yet... the proof was lying dead at my feet.

"So let me get this straight," I interrupted, my head spinning. "You want me to pretend to be him?" I gestured to the corpse with my gun. "To what, save the fucking world?"

Lila nodded, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "It's the only way. Please, Five. I know it's asking a lot, but—"

I cut her off with a bitter laugh. "Asking a lot? You're asking me to lie to my family, to pretend to be someone I'm not. To step into the shoes of a man who's apparently fucked up time itself multiple times over."

"But you'll get to see them again," Lila pressed. "Isn't that worth it?"

I fell silent, considering. Six years of isolation, of wondering if I'd ever see another living soul again, let alone my siblings. The chance to go back, to be with them... It was everything I'd dreamed of. Even if they hated me—well, the other me.

"Fuck it," I muttered, holstering my gun. "I'm in. But if this goes sideways, I'm putting a bullet in you first. Got it?"

Lila nodded, relief washing over her face. "Deal."

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, adjusting the tie of the perfectly tailored suit Lila had procured for me. It felt strange, constricting after years of scavenged clothes and whatever I could cobble together.

"You're fucking crazy, you know that?" I muttered to myself, running a hand through my hair.

Lila appeared in the doorway behind me, her arms crossed. "Crazy got us this far, didn't it?" she smirked.

I turned to face her, my eyes narrowing. "This plan of yours is insane. You realize that, right? There's no way in hell they're going to buy this."

She shrugged, that infuriating smugness still plastered across her face. "They will if you sell it. Come on, Five. Don't tell me you're chickening out now. Don't you want to see your family again?"

I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to snap at her. Of course I wanted to see them. It was all I'd thought about for six fucking years. But this? This felt wrong.

"They're going to hate me," I muttered. "Or, well, hate who they think I am."

Lila's expression softened slightly. "Maybe. But isn't it worth it? To see them again, even if they don't know it's really you?"

I turned back to the mirror, straightening my jacket. She was right, damn her. I'd endure anything to see my siblings again, even their hatred.

"Let's get this shitshow on the road," I growled, pushing past her and out of the room.

The reunion was... intense, to say the least. Seeing them all grown up, changed in ways I couldn't have imagined, it was almost too much. Luther, no longer the awkward, bumbling kid I remembered, but a leader. Diego, still a hothead, but with a newfound respect that caught me off guard. Allison, confident and powerful in ways that went beyond her rumors.

And Viktor. Jesus Christ, Viktor. The quiet, timid kid I'd left behind was gone, replaced by someone strong, assured, with powers that made my spatial jumps look like child's play. I couldn't have been prouder if I tried.

They all looked at me with a mix of wariness and resentment, clearly expecting the worst. It stung, but I swallowed it down. This wasn't about me. It was about them.

"Well," I drawled, falling into the persona Lila had coached me on, "looks like the gang's all here. Ready to save the world... again?"

Diego scoffed. "Oh, now you want to work as a team? That's rich coming from you, Five."

I bit back the urge to defend myself, to explain that I wasn't who they thought I was. Instead, I just smirked. "What can I say? I'm full of surprises."

As we delved into the latest apocalyptic threat—because of-fucking-course there was another one—I found myself marveling at how they'd all grown. Their abilities, their teamwork, it was beyond anything I could have imagined.

When Viktor unleashed his powers, nearly leveling a building to stop a group of Commission agents, I couldn't help but grin. "Holy shit, V," I muttered under my breath. "You've come a long way from violin practice."

"What was that?" Allison asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

I schooled my features back into a neutral expression. "Nothing. Just thinking we might actually pull this off for once."

As the days wore on, the lies became harder to maintain. Every time they referenced some shared experience I knew nothing about, every bitter comment about past mistakes I hadn't made, it was like a knife twisting in my gut.

But then I'd see Luther take charge of a situation with a confidence he'd never had as a kid. Or watch Diego and Allison move in perfect sync, covering each other's backs without a word. Or catch Viktor's small, proud smile after mastering a new aspect of his powers.

And I knew, deep in my bones, that it was worth it. Every lie, every moment of self-doubt, every flash of hatred in their eyes—it was all worth it to see them like this. To know that somehow, despite everything, they'd all become the heroes I always knew they could be.

One night, as we regrouped after a particularly harrowing battle, Lila and I blinked up to the roof and just sat there. I did this when I was a kid too. Blinked to the top of the Academy to escape dad.

The guilt was written all over Lila's face.

"They don't know," she whispered, her eyes darting to where the others were gathered. "They still think you're him."

I nodded, a small, sad smile tugging at my lips. "I know. And it's okay. Let them think that."

Lila frowned. "But... don't you want them to know the truth? That you're not the one who—"

"Who fucked everything up?" I finished for her. "Who dragged them through time and space, who got them stuck in the wrong timeline over and over?" I shook my head. "No. If this is what it takes for me to see them like this—strong, united, better than we ever were as kids—then I'll take it. I'll be the villain in their story if it means I get to see them shine."

Lila's eyes filled with a mix of admiration and pity. "You really love them, don't you?"

I snorted. "They're my family. Of course I fucking love them. Even if they hate me."

As we turned back to join the others, I caught sight of Viktor laughing at something Allison had said, his whole face lit up with joy. And in that moment, I knew I'd made the right choice.

They might never know the truth. They might always see me as the asshole who ruined their lives. But I got to see them like this—happy, powerful, united. And that? That was worth everything.

Even if it meant being hated.

[cold-steel-eyes]

🎁

send me 🎁and a character and ill describe them using images i already have saved 

(You didn't add a character, so I will just put photos saved on my phone that remind me of Kira if that's alright!)

[tremendum]

twin suns ; the awful daring of a moment's surrender

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part one of the Twin Suns series ; prologue

pairing: au (canon-divergent), western-inspired Din Djarin x fem!bounty!reader (afab, w use of woman, girl, etc)

 rating: eventually explicit in future chapters. slow slow burn. (18+. mdni.)  

warnings: canon-typical violence, themes of hunting/being hunted, fear

synopsis: "you are a shadow in Mos Espa, while Din Djarin is a statue in the suns."

notes: alright heres the official first part to my new series!! written between both povs bc i wanna work on writing in din’s pov :’)still setting up characters and settings but itll definitely pick up in the next part! hope yall enjoy :) not beta'd because im sloppy

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every step you take, you crush worlds.

the sand that makes up the surface of the planet slides under your power, the lilt in your stride stricken with nerves carving out a pattern known only to you.

the sand is everywhere.

you slip on it as your boots move; demolishing over tiny mountains that climb up towards the sky, crushing them below your titan feet. there's sand in your tunic, sticking to your thighs. it grits between your teeth as you forge ahead.

you allow yourself a shaky, dry breath which exhales from your lungs in the same defeated way that your feet trudge along the eroded soil, scarce of vegetation but abundant enough in your own regret. 

an itch stabs the back of your head - not the normal kind, but the kind that strikes your heart in a gallop like a wild Orbak stallion - you can feel him.

a pair of unseen eyes on you, but you don't have to turn to see him: 

disrupting the continuity of the bounding wasteland sprawled out behind your frame is a small shining dot; far enough away, but you do not let the perspective of distance lower your guard.

far away, but not far enough:  the large, bulking body covered in beskar. 

he stalks after you, just like always. you've almost gotten used to this kind of game. he's always there, always following - exceptionally, on the few occasions which you were following him.

for weeks he's been slinking around the corners of your nightmares. that tattered cape curling around corners, that bulking frame of metal towering over every space he fits in, his own skill of the hunt flirting with your sheer ego; yes, you are good at hiding, at running.

but you are also too full of hubris. too good at poking the sleeping bear for your own good. and- kriffing hell, you've gone too far this time. you let yourself a small groan of nerves as you shake your head, recalling the steps that'd led you to this final leg of your journey. 

panic licks up your throat like a shot of liquor begging to resurface. The Mandalorian persistently appears larger and larger upon the horizon behind you, but he doesn't run.

he's lying in wait for his time to ensnare you. 

you know his time will come soon, and he will pounce upon you. 

your heart clutches its sodded pearls within your chest at the prospect of being captured after your short-lived taste of freedom - this newfound nomadic life as enticing as it is provisional for your escape. you don't allow yourself the luxury of pity as you will your burning thighs to push along. 

at the prospect of hiding, your legs carry you faster through the wasteland; though you can hear the clock ticking louder and louder as the hunter's feet trod after yours. he's closing in, but a light gust of warm desert air nearly stops you in your tracks: you feel a grin spread across your cracked lips at the realization: 

nightfall will come soon. 

so you forge on; one foot in front of the other, wheezing breaths, screaming lungs. the trail you leave is no problem to you as long as the twin suns start their descent into slumber soon. 

another forty five minutes until your breath is soothed. the suns have wavered over the horizon, and the dilapidated buildings have come back into view.

you smile once again, a deliriously relieved laugh echoing over the empty landscape, swallowed up by the very sand that you crush.

you're going back into town, and he will follow you. 

he does it every night. 

with a drip of sweat sliding down the expanse of your neck, you clear your aching throat, desperate for a flagon of water. the cityline swirls as the suns cast an iron orange over the sky. you start to listen to your body's quiet pleads: your bones ache. your muscles scream for rest - desperate, you realize, for sleep. 

soon, you chide in your mind. soon. 

soon, the twin suns will settle into the unseen realm of the cosmos, dipping enough below the crest of the planet to paint the sky of Mos Espa in a deep lilac and sparkling fuchsia -  and you will sink, much like those suns you so despise, into the walls of every building you pass. your blaster will stay holstered upon the meat of your thigh, a heavy burden while you blend in seamlessly to your surroundings.

a city rat, through and through.

you smirk down at the dustdevils that kick up as the evening wind carries grains to and fro near your shins. fuck you and your desert, scum. to whom you mock, you do not know. 

soon, you will find a cantina full of those who are also nobodies; most of them older than you, more experienced - more deadly. full of hate, or disdain, or exhaustion from a galaxy that put them too low on the spokes of the wheel that will turn for eternity. 

but not you; this diminutive existence doesn't bother you. outlawed in your prime, you've been forced to jump head-first off the lowest end of the spoke, down towards the unknown abyss below.

you're nobody, now. on the run - no exhaustion, just anticipation; the peak of the mountain, the wind that zips underneath the wings of an unknown bird. 

desperate for an escape from the one who haunts you day and night, lucid and dreaming. 

the Mandalorian arrives like clockwork. 

it's been the same routine for- what, almost three standard weeks? you're unsure why he hasn't yet taken you to his ship and sent you off to your debts with a heavy sack in his hand, gleaming with the promise of a few more rations or maybe a refuel for his metal steed.

with no intended disrespect to yourself, you truly don't understand why. depending on the information he has on you, surely he just sees you as an outlaw; a little skittering bug which has plagued his routes to more lucrative jobs by evading his crushing boot in the several instances your planets have collided. 

and it's not as if he isn't capable.

you are smart, that much you will give yourself credit for. smart, conniving, you know how to get what you need - that's what got you into this mess in the first place. but he's... different. a damn machine.

you can tell from the way he slings his blaster, the sheer force of his body. his imposing presence. the legacy of his people, the best warriors in the galaxy: it was true, at least from what you've seen.

you may be handy with a knife and a blaster, but you know you're nothing compared to the Mandalorian bounty hunter who will soon find you. 

normally, you aren't really one to spook easily. years of shady business in the grimiest corners of the galaxy have hardened you into a cocky motherfucker - but you have the decency to admit that the low, modulated baritone that rumbles through the Mandalorian's helmet sends spears of fear down your spine. only a handful of times you've been in close enough range to hear him, but once is more than enough in your book. 

there's something about that calm posterior and the smooth voice that settles fear deep, deep into your being. 

there's been three times you've heard his voice. each one its own close-call, in which you'd nearly surrendered yourself to him like a child caught swiping ration packets in front of the Marshal.

the first time was a true lothcat-and-rat chase through the back alleys. it'd only subsided once you'd maneuvered your way into the ducts of a backside apartment building - the Mandalorian is a tall man, anchored to the ground beneath him under the weight of the beskar armor. he's imposing, a large force that you shouldn't be any match to - but what he isn't, is agile enough to fit through the ducts. not with all of his sacred armor draped upon him.

but that first time, the chase was over before it really began. you were shocked to discover, once tucked away in your hidey-hole, that the chase left you with a heated core but also the sinking warning that not all attention is good attention, after all.

he didn't pursue you hard enough. that's how you knew he was a professional. that's how you knew he'd just lie in wait, holding with baited breath in the shadows for you to let barely a centimeter of your guard down before he swiped you up like a hawk and kept you clutched in his metal talons. 

so the first time, his voice only came from curses and grunts of anger or exertion that you'd heard as he'd leapt over discarded alleyways. though your heart slammed into your chest each time he tore through buildings or kicked down doors to follow you, there was no denying the tickle your chest that yearned to hear his voice again.

because you needed to win. to survive.

the second time was a flick of your middle finger in his direction.

he'd been tailing you for two days relentlessly; you'd spend most of your days on the outskirts, scrapping in the junkyards and selling it for rations to get by. he was always there - every few hours or so, a glint in the corner of your vision. watching patiently.

the patience this man showed had driven you over the edge.

so the second time, when you'd allowed yourself into the same cantina that he'd slinked into with a pouch on his side that seemed to move inexplicably, your curiosity got the best of you - as did your pride.

you'd seen him slip through the doors after an hour of crawling several hundred feet behind and above him on rooftops; your body shrinking in to conceal yourself under your hood as you slid into a booth in the cantina just out of his sight. 

you knew he was a good hunter, not just by his preceding reputation, but because there had been others before him.

many of them, in the last few weeks since you've been gone - maybe seven, or eight. but you'd bested them all within days if not hours; escaping planet or jumping ship. anything to avoid the weight of the chains which, just as quickly as you'd splintered them from your wrists, were surely to clasp right back on. 

and then, the other thing. something about him intrigues you: he's still here, following you patiently, even after all of the bullshit you've pulled.

in your youth, the woman who lived across the hallway from your family had run a makeshift daycare for the children of your quadrant. in a fit of frustration, she'd mentioned once that the best way to deal with a child that throws a tantrum is to just wait them out until they get tired. 

something about that memory heated your cheeks as you'd glared at the helmet across the cantina; his head tilted down coyly as he seemingly spoke to the young woman working bar. 

perhaps he just likes the thrill of the hunt and the reward of his bounty's fear. he didn't have to try hard to get it, after all: jealousy stung strong in your stomach when the crowd cowered back at his presence; alarmed, maybe. in awe, perhaps. but certainly, definitely in fear. 

something about how cocky he was when he carried himself, how blatantly he'd taken to trailing you in your daily processes on-the-run in the dismal city of Mos Espa. how he'd even tilted his head at you in some sort of twisted greeting at the market days ago when your eyes met his helmet just above the line of the crowd; just before giving to the chase that led to you learning the location of his contact, and the old Hunter's Guild of Nevarro. 

you resented the Mandalorian.

you're still not fully clear on who set the bounty on you - your old business partner, likely. it boils your blood to imagine. the New Republic may be dismal, but Maker knows everyone has to do something to survive. you just couldn't keep doing what you were doing anymore, and the only ways out were... well, either running away or falling victim through galactic court. 

no, thanks. 

you don't like the Mandalorian because you can bet everything on your back that he's willing to hand over anything to anyone as long as it gets more of that silver beskar on his chest. 

so it was the second time you heard his voice, your own ears straining hard as the server in the cantina came round to the Mandalorian's booth twenty minutes later. you'd watched with a satisfied smirk as the waiter had presented him with a nice, hearty jug of Desert Chase - a cocktail from the menu that you'd personally hoped would offend the Mandalorian the most.

it was ironic in a way that made your stomach giddy and your grin split in two under your mask. it was a cheeky name, at the very least, and you figured he wasn't dense enough for the irony to pass over his helmet completely.  

your grin was untamable as you watched; the server, pushing the drink his way and passing on the message you'd slipped him five credits to tell the Mandalorian: happy hunting, Mando - followed by your first name.

oh, it was a delight and a half to watch that shiny, stupid helmet whip up towards the crowd near the bar in shock.

and then his deep, rolling, excuse me? that thundered through the walls in his untamable frustration. the coiling warmth in your stomach after he pushed up from the booth with his head on a swivel. 

because you figured if you were going to be caught, at least you were going to have some fun beforehand.

you can pretend not to love the hammering in your chest all the same. 

the third time, though - it was a momentary weakness. a genuine accident. a sign of humanity lost within the planets and systems of bad and good, of black and white.

and it'd actually sent just as much panic into him as it did to you. 

you saw him before he saw you. his back was turned, fiddling with the sack strapped to his speeder. like a prey, rigid, you'd slid from your post and snuck towards his speeder, the one that'd been discarded in favor of heavy, projectile-strapped boots upon eroded dirt only several hundred feet away, to a merchant stand which sold some kind of cloth to protect from the suns' rays.

you had barely thirty seconds to get it before he returned to the bike, you estimated. 

you'd moved much too fast in your self-preserving mindset; sped off on the rusted thing without realizing there was a small bundle within the supply basket on the back.

a moving bundle. 

and, to your horror: inside, a curious little green creature which stared up at you with confusion as you'd gasped in shock. 

it happened in stages: first, you'd considered throwing it off; tossing it to the wind to be swallowed up by some sandworm or scorched to a crisp in the unforgiving, sweltering air.

you thankfully didn't do that because shortly after the thought crossed through your mind: dank farrik, this thing was- it was some kind of...baby. it was tiny, its screams of confusion barely clipping through the hot rush of air blowing your head covering back in your speed. what in the name of Maker's Ghost was the Mandalorian doing with a baby? 

then, the following stage, with a thudding halt to your heartbeat, you'd wondered if it was like you. hunted, about to be sent to a place of no return just for a lousy sack of credits. would the Mandalorian stoop so low as to kidnap a mere child for a bounty? 

but then a glint on the thing’s chest pummeled you into the third mental process: a cold sheer panic.

 there was some sort of armor on its tiny, heaving chest. you knew, somehow, that this was a claim. he was with the Mandalorian, either in protection or by blood.

the speeder skidded to a stop as you allowed yourself to wonder if it was some sort of ploy; was he ensnaring you in a trap, coaxing you into his iron maw with a small child? 

(he wasn’t, as you’d later learned.)

you’re not sure why you went back. even with a clear target on the back of your head, you’d treaded on-foot back with the little baby cradled in a makeshift sling tight to your chest. the trek back into the city was blistering without your head covering, but the child’s wailing had ceased along with your racing fears. you hadn't wanted him to become scalded by the twins that beat down upon you from the sky. 

you'd grunted and growled to yourself: no matter who the Mandalorian assumed you were, you weren’t the kind to kidnap. never. 

maybe that's what caused you to track him back to his ship, wait for him to storm back out in his flurry, surely panicked by the loss of his transport and his small little companion.

he'd flown on a jetpack straight towards town. you left the child under the shade of the ship once you saw the Mandalorian's figure appear on the horizon; you couldn't have spent more than thirty minutes with the green creature, but it cried nonetheless when you set it gently in the sand and tried to let it go.

reluctantly, the only way it stopped crying was when you left it tucked snug with your headscarf pulled tight around its body. 

and then you snuck away in the last moments, evading the Mandalorian's sights, but watching behind a rock to make sure he returned to the child eventually, before it was dark.

and he did return; as he picked up the child and let out a groan of relief, tucking the child tight into his chest the way your father did you when you were in your youth, something too warm kindled in your chest. 

was it humanity, that you'd found?

the thing that was all too lost in your endeavors running away from the bounty which loomed above your head? 

maybe he, too, could play by the rules, even in this hunt. 

Din isn't quite sure what he expected from you. 

when he first took your puck, it seemed easy: a smuggler. young, naive, too cocky to be cautious. bought out by a man who said you'd robbed him of half his business then disappeared just before defending him in front of a galactic court.

Din had imagined you'd cower in his shadow, submit to his cuffs the minute he found you. 

but you were not naive - this he learned all too soon. you were unbending, cunning. slippery.

you were- you were a tease. there's no other way to put it: you were a kriffing tease, and it was killing him. you were like the foil to this job; everything but ease. 

you are a shadow in Mos Espa, while Din is a statue in the suns.

you knew he was trailing you all this time, it was obvious. Din didn't necessarily try to hide it at all. this job has never been anything but serious for him - no playing around, no jokes, just business. it was survival, especially now with Grogu; but this delicious game you'd started with him... he hated to admit, it was addictive.

was it when you laid that chase for him through the alleys? or when he'd first caught your wandering eye through the crowd at the market in town?

but then - you'd taken his child away and fear had struck him just as deep as the anger did.

he was a second away from tearing the entire planet apart for his Child when he returned to the Crest, intending on using his navs to source for Grogu-shaped infants nearby to find his son lying in the shade of the underbelly. he'd been concealed from the harsh sun by that very same cloth that'd concealed your head from Din for days. 

it made no sense. 

maybe that's why he liked this chase. it was easier for him to just get a job done and leave, usually - but you were an enigma, a fascination akin to a forbidden fruit lying just out of reach in the middle of a grove.

squeezing from his grasp every time he reached out - until he finally got you. 

"happy hunting?"

and now, this fourth time, the Mandalorian sends you tumbling to the sand had before aiming a blaster straight at your skull.

his voice is deep, seeded with disbelief and irritation; his timbre is finally in a direct address to you, and it's harrowing. his helmet is angled down towards you, one hand stern on his narrow hip as you dare to look around. 

nothing but dirt, sand, heat. a mirage of floating trees in the distance, but no other living being capable of freeing you from your predator.

turning back up to face his looming, commanding figure, you finally, with a groan, accept it. you're all alone here. no friends on this planet besides the tumbleweeds, it seems. 

no matter; here you are - the fourth cataclysm of universes for the two of you, and likely the final. 

and now you lie on your elbows, ass sore from your fall, rug pulled out from under you as sand grits into your arms. 

you squint up against the unforgiving glint that cuts into your retinas, sharp enough to slice you. the sight of the hot suns on the metal is unbearable as it is; imagining the suffering heat beneath the layers on his person is too much to consider.

those suns and his beskar must never have gotten along, you're sure.

he stares down at you in a sear that slices you in two, exposing your heartbeat immediately. he's expectant - happy huntings, he said - he's awaiting your response with a tersely angry stance.

with a blaster down the bridge of your nose.

you - you can't speak. fear drips like a saline bacta-bag through your veins.  

you don't have enough air in your lungs, that much you're sure of - the blaster pointed directly at your heaving chest: your hands shake as you raise them, resigned to your fate as the Mandalorian's broad chest heaves with nearly as much exertion as your own. he takes it as a sign to speak again.

"I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold." 

his words rumble into your chest, writing themselves at the top of your life's story; a new chapter. or an epilogue.

your head falls back in defeat, the suns' rays blistering new blemishes onto the bridge of your nose and your forehead, exposed above the mask.

your groan is of resignation. acceptance. 

that deep voice of his rumbles somewhere deep in your gut, nesting with the fear and the desire to run. run, run, run. 

you don't this time. 

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taglist. @silkiers @leithatnight @totallynotastanacc @afandomidiot @bbyanarchist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @notsosecretspy

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[breannasfluff]

Wild Wolf - Wolf Pack Sequel!

Being stuck as a wasteland coyote isn’t the adventure Link expected to have when he stepped into a cave. Then again, wandering around in the middle of the night was probably not the best idea to start with.

Yet here he is, no longer hylian, and certainly no longer down the hill from his house in Hateno and Zelda. This is still Hyrule; he heard plenty of people refer to it as such. But the woods and spring are not familiar. Neither is the village—Ordon.

The first night, Link sneaks away to check the cave again. The crack remains, but it is only a few inches deep now. There is no way home and no way inside. Hylia doesn’t snatch him up, either, so there must be no urgent need to leave.

“Noon! Come on, boy!”

Here is the other reason he stays. Link, now nicknamed Noon, gets up from his spot in the shade and trots to Link’s side. The boy is older than him by a few years and tends goats on the ranch. He shares the same name as Noon and from the few stories he heard, saved the village children at one time.

Clearly, he is a new hero and Noon is there to help. How he is supposed to do so on four paws is a mystery, though.

“Hey boy, ready to head home for the day?” Link leans down and scratches his ears, which has Noon giving a chuff of delight. “Yeah, I’m done for the day.” He stretches, groaning as his back cracks, and makes for Epona.

Noon stretches as well, giving a wide yawn as he bends into a bow. Then he shakes and trots over to Link. He wags his tail and minces a few steps away, looking over his shoulder.

Link grins and turns Epona to the path. “Race you home!”

With a bark, Noon breaks into a run. The pound of hooves has him digging his paws in to go faster. 

While he may miss being hylian, it’s more fun to run like this. Noon can smell so many more things, too. Some food is blander, but meat is more flavorful than before.

Epona snorts behind him and he automatically cuts to the side to avoid her hooves. She wouldn’t step on him, but he wouldn’t use that as a reason to cheat. Both horse and coyote are neck and neck as they round the corner and skid to a stop at Link’s house.

Noon lets his tongue hang out, smiling and dancing around Link’s feet as he dismounts.

“I’ll be right back.” Taking the reins, Link walks Epona further into the village, likely to hand her off to Illia.

Used to the routine, Noon settles on his haunches to wait. It’s been…at least a few months since he joined Link. It’s hard to tell time like this; the days blur together.

It took them a while to figure out how to coexist. Noon is lucky Link gave him a chance that first day. They’ve been through enough small adventures now to have an easy rhythm. Link is surprisingly adept at understanding canine body language, so that’s a plus as well.

The boy needs him, though. It’s unclear what happened before Noon’s arrival, but Link had all the signs Noon himself had as a hylian. Depression, Purah called it.

Noon counts on Link to survive in an unfamiliar land and Link needs someone to care for. In the end, they save each other.

Read the rest here!

[drunkenskunk]

Another place, and another time...

The following is an excerpt from my currently in-progress fanfiction project, Ashen Exile. I figure this sequence might gain more traction here than otherwise, for reasons which I'm sure will become apparent by the end.

- - -

Grey.

It didn't matter which way one looked, everywhere was that same lifeless grey, permeating every surface, smothering everything. The mottled, crumbling soil, the color of cold ash, was cracked and broken, torn asunder by thousands of boots and aeons of war. Broken spears, tattered flags, rusted swords, dented shields... so many discarded tools of warfare littered the ground, alongside their results: the scattered broken bones of countless long forgotten dead. A thick grey fog enshrouded the edges of this wasteland, and an oppressive grey sky hung heavy overhead, both featureless and foreboding. It was difficult to tell where the ground ended and where the sky began; ruin and devastation stretched out in every direction.

This was not a place anyone would want to be.

In the center of this wasteland of dead and long forgotten carnage stood a child, no older than 14. Locks of unkempt, greasy raven hair fell around a sharp, serious face. A pair of ruby red eyes peered out from beneath a fringe of wild bangs. Skin the color of polished oak stood in sharp contrast to the overwhelming grey of the landscape around them. Robes of black and red, the fabric inlaid with arcane sigils and runes of power, hung loosely in unappealingly flat and indistinct shapes. Entirely too-long sleeves seemed to swallow the child's hands till only two pairs of skinny fingers emerged. In one of those hands, the child tightly gripped a black metal staff tipped with a sparkling green crystal, humming with a barely contained energy that seemed eager to be unleashed.

The child inhaled deeply, held it, and slowly exhaled. Lingering in this brief moment of silence and peace, trying to draw it out for as long as possible... in preparation for what was coming next.

A voice boomed. Though it uttered only a single word, the voice dripped with authority. The sound carried the bellowing weight of a man who would never ask, when he could command.

“Begin.”

In an instant, the stillness shattered like the breaking of glass. From out of the foggy haze, dozens of figures emerged: vaguely humanoid in shape, in that they had two arms, two legs, and a single head, but that was where the similarities ended. These hulking, monstrous brutes were far too tall and far too broad, each of them a twisted mass of meat and metal. Half of their bodies were encased in blackened metal, either fused with or bolted directly to their bodies, armoring their heavily muscled forms unevenly. What wasn't armored was marred by red scaly flesh, jagged horns protruding from their heads and back, and feet ending in bulky, cloven hooves. These unholy amalgams of scarred meat, bleached bone, and daemonic steel filled the air with bellowing war cries, brandishing all manner of deadly weaponry, and charged directly at the child in the center.

Naught but a second had passed, and the child was already on the move. Feet kicked off the ground, and they ran to the side, putting as much distance between them and the charging horde as possible. A hand peeked out from the sleeve with a quick, yet precise, gesture; sparks and scintillating smoke trailed off the edge of their fingers, coalescing into a glowing rune, hovering in the air next to the staff.

“Shaza-kiel!” they shouted, aiming the tip of the staff towards the closest of the demonic brutes. Ethereal chains shrouded in dark light erupted from the crystal, spiraling around itself through the air, before plunging into the chest of the demon. It shuddered and halted in its advance, with eyes that started glowing with the same dark light as the chains. The enslaved demon swiftly turned to another of its fellows and swung the halberd in its hand in a wide arc, catching the other across the knees with the giant blade.

More demons were coming, and the child continued to run. With another gesture of their free hand, a new rune appeared. “Katra zil shukil!” they muttered, raising the staff. The crystal shimmered, releasing clouds of sickly green miasma and ethereal flies which shot forth towards the next closest beast. It shuddered and briefly halted in its advance; boils and sores began to appear on its scaly flesh, bursting just as quickly as they appeared, leaking torrents of blood and pus. Even the metal armor and greataxe in its hands started to visibly corrode and rust. The miasma began to spread, catching several of the other charging demons, inflicting them with the same corruption.

But this only slowed a few of them... and there were still so many more.

“Ashj-rethul!” the child said, tracing a burning rune into the air. A spark appeared, suspended in the center of the shimmering rune, and they plunged the crystal tip of the staff straight through. The rune imploded around the crystal, and the spell exploded forward, sending a massive gout of flame at the next closest brute. It corkscrewed through the air and exploded against his chest, showering him in superheated globs of molten metal. The monster's entire body – and the area surrounding it – instantly caught alight, as if it had just been dropped into a furnace.

Their numbers were starting to thin, but nowhere near quickly enough. The child looked to the grey clouds overhead, and raised the staff to the sky. Another rune was traced in the air, and more daemonic words of power were spoken: “Melar ril'daz!” The clouds began to darken and churn, and the child brought the staff down in a motion akin to yanking on a rope or a chain, right through the rune. With a crack of thunder, the sky split open in fire, raining down dozens of fireballs directly onto the charging horde.

Sparks of spent mana condensed on the child's hand, dripping away like droplets of sweat. The air was heavy with the stench of rotten meat and burning sulfur. Screams echoed in the air, some in pain... but more in anger, as many of the daemon soldiers simply ignored the rain of fire and continued to charge straight through.

There was no time to cast another spell. One of the monsters was bearing down on the child, brandishing an immense black iron greatsword as big as they were. The child gripped the metal staff with both hands, and lifted it over their head in a feeble attempt to block the oncoming strike. The impact sent a shock through their entire body, sending the child crashing painfully to the ground. Ash and dust billowed out in dirty clouds around the two of them, and while the child desperately tried to scramble back to their feet, the towering daemonic brute pulled the sword away, readying it for a final, deadly swing.

“Rakir.”

A crackle of magenta lightning shot straight up, bursting from the child's open palm like a flurry of buckshot. The daemon reflexively let go of the massive greatsword as it screamed in unbearable agony, its body wracked by blast after blast of terrible, unnatural pain. By the time the weapon clattered to the broken ground, the child was back on their feet and on the move.

But it was already too late.

A titanic mailed fist slammed into the side of the child's head, sending them reeling. They saw stars and stumbled. Before they had any chance to rally, an armored hoof caught them across the midsection and sent them flying. The child sailed through the air, crashed through a broken shield, tumbled end over end through the shower of wooden splinters, and eventually rolled to a stop flat on their back. The child was in a daze from the impact, staring blankly into the grey clouds above; they coughed several times, each reflexive hack sending a gout of blood spraying into the air.

The demon was standing over them now. Trails of blood were gushing out of every wound, pooling onto the ashy soil beneath the child's motionless body. Time seemed to slow to an agonizing crawl. The axe in the daemon's hand hovered no more than an inch above their scrawny neck.

Do it, the child thought. Just do it already. Their wide eyes were filled with manic desperation, fixed squarely on the jagged blade, its edge marred by dozens of deep nicks and gashes. What are you waiting for? Another cough, and more blood splattered onto their face.

“Stop.”

It was the same authoritative voice as before, just as commanding. A deathly chill appeared as a deep, dark shadow blanketed the landscape. The daemon lowered the weapon to its side, stepping away from the child before dropping to one knee.

“Leave us.”

The daemon disappeared without a word, leaving the child to lie on the dirt, silently cursing their ill fate. They rolled over and pushed off the ground with trembling hands, each movement punctuated by another gush of leaking blood. The child did not get back on their feet fully, instead kneeling before the towering shadowy figure, with head bowed and eyes averted; gobbets of blood and mucus continued to trickle out of their nose and the corners of their mouth, dripping onto the soil. The man loomed over the child menacingly, his every feature shrouded in darkness.

Venthrax had arrived.

“████████,” he boomed. “What are you doing?”

“I...” the child paused, trying to swallow some blood so they didn't gag. “I'm doing my best, Lord.”

This was apparently the wrong thing to say. An intense pressure began to weigh down on the child from all sides, as if they had just been dropped directly onto the ocean floor and the entirety of the fathomless depths were trying to crush them.

“Do you think me a fool?” he said, with words that dripped with venom. “I created you. I know what you are capable of. And I know that you are lying.”

“M-my Lord...” the child spoke in a trembling voice, trying not to collapse onto the blood-soaked soil beneath them. “I... I swear on my life, I'm trying my best.”

“You and I both know your life means nothing,” Venthrax snarled. “Swear on something that matters.”

Silence reigned for several seconds. The child said nothing, their mind entirely consumed by the effort required to push back against the spell threatening to crush them. This was, of course, a lie: they were very deliberately concentrating on that thought, dissembling in case Venthrax was reading their mind. The truth was far more simple. They could not think of a single thing they cared about enough to swear on.

Venthrax sighed heavily, the disappointment radiating from him almost palpable; the pressure relented as the spell evaporated, and the child gasped, practically choking on the air forcing its way back into their lungs.

“What do you think this is, ████████?” he asked. “Do you think this mere playtime? A game?” Venthrax fixed the child with his cold gaze. “What do you think will happen if you face a real foe, unprepared? One who does not hold back like my thralls? Do you truly think they will yield? That they will show mercy?”

Thunder boomed in the distance, as the grey storm clouds overhead began to slowly churn.

“The Alliance... the Horde... even the Legion. They are nothing. Mere pebbles at the foot of the mountain which lay before us. The first stepping stones on the path to my Ascension. There are far greater threats, waiting for the both of us among the stars. And you, as the instrument of my wrath, must be stronger than all of them. You will be stronger than them. So your 'best' is not good enough. Not yet.”

Venthrax twitched a finger with the subtlest of gestures. The child's staff was lifted by an invisible hand from the wreckage where it had landed, and sailed through the air with not even a whisper of a sound. It hovered before the child's face for several seconds before unceremoniously dropping to the ground with a clatter.

“The future is not a river to carry us. It is the ocean in which we will both drown, if we are not prepared. And we will be prepared.”

Thunder boomed once again.

“You will do it again,” he said, turning on his heel and walking away. “And you will not stop until you succeed.”

- - -

Hours passed. Maybe days. Time after time after time, the child stood alone against impossible odds. Over and over and over again. Each and every time they failed, the same word echoed across the desolation:

“Again.”

And each time, the assault would begin anew. The child lost track of how long they had been there. How many times they tried. How many times they failed. How long since they were last able to rest. Last able to eat. Last able to stop. Until finally...

The dust settled one final time, revealing a wasteland littered with dozens of fresh bodies. A deafening silence reigned supreme. The child stood alone, staring at the carnage with bloodshot eyes: wounded, bloody, and exhausted beyond measure... but the last one standing.

A deathly chill washed over the battlefield, and the monolithic form of Venthrax reemerged from out of the shadows. The child dropped to one knee, bracing for the inevitable reprimand. Wondering just how they had failed this time...

“There. You see, ████████? I knew you could do it,” Venthrax's voice was barely above a whisper, yet somehow louder than a shout. “I am proud of you, my son.”

Teeth clenched, and skinny fingers wrapped into a pair of fists. Nails dug sharply into palms. The color drained from the child's knuckles, and tiny dribbles of blood began to slip through their fingers.

- - -

Green.

All around, the forest was awash in a sea of green. Massive, gnarled trees with trunks covered in thick mosses could be seen in every direction. The sun was blotted out entirely by the densely packed canopy of leaves overhead, with branches twisted together in a mirror of the tangled mess of roots snaking into the ground below. Shrubs, ferns, and wildflowers were growing everywhere, linked to one another with wrist-thick vines, as clusters of mushrooms and other fungi grew in abundance out of every shadowy crack and crevice. Ethereal pinpricks of light glittered in the darkness, lingering in the air between the trees; they were flickering in and out of sight like lanterns, in a manner that was at once natural, and yet very obviously not.

This was an ancient forest, untouched by the works of Man. The air was thick with Old Magick. Wild Magick. The unpolluted power of Elder Things.

There was only one person in this strange forest. The child was running through the woods, heedless of anything around them. Tears streamed down their face, obscuring their vision. And while they were, in fact, the only person... they were hardly alone. Within the shadows, just beyond the path that was taking shape just ahead of them, eyes peered out of the darkness. Indistinct shapes clustered together. Hidden. Watching. Whispering.

Suddenly: a crash!

The child lost their footing and fell, collapsing in a heap onto a pile of damp moss. The shock was enough to pull them from their stupor, and they looked up and around, trying to find the fallen log or errant branch that had caught their foot.

The path behind them was suspiciously clear. The only sound that could be heard was that of their own ragged breathing, filling their ears like wads of cotton. Slowly, cautiously, the child got back on their feet, dragging the end of a sleeve across their face to wipe away the tears. With hesitation, they turned, intent on resuming their trek deeper into this ancient forest...

An elongated face of bone appeared out of the darkness, and the child came to a halt. A pair of emeralds glistened from within the empty eye sockets of the vaguely-equine skull. It hovered silently in the air before them, long tassels of multicolored cloth spilling from the bottom of the skull where its jawbone should've been, swaying in a non-existent breeze.

It was almost enough to distract from the echoing sound of laughter, fading in and out of earshot.

“Oho? And what mann'r of creature doth trespass within our borders?” a strange voice spoke in an odd sing-song cadence, seemingly from two places at once.

“You smell it, don't you brother?” another voice, much harsher than the first, chimed in from somewhere above. “It carries the rotten odour of Fel. We should kill it, ere the taint chances to spread.”

“Let us not be too hasty...” the first voice said, its source still unclear. “Perhaps she has good reason for this offense.”

A tiny head emerged from the other side of the skull, followed by a pair of proportionally tiny arms. Iridescent wings, like those of a dragonfly, also appeared from behind the tiny faerie and began to flutter. Its face broke into a wicked grin as it looked at the child with coal-black eyes, resting a pointed chin atop its interlaced fingers.

“Well? What say you?” the faerie continued to smile from a mouth that was far too wide and filled with far too many teeth for its size. “Art thou friend or foe? What're thee doing in our forests, little girl?”

“I.... I'm not a girl,” the child stammered out, eventually finding their voice. The faerie furrowed a brow in puzzlement.

“Oh, are you not? My apologies,” the faerie began to chuckle once more. “Never could tell with mortals, in truth.”

“This Creacher is not mortal, brother. It reeks of the daemonaic,” the other voice snarled. A pair of crimson eyes with an unclear owner emerged from the darkness. The form of this other fae was... indistinct; everything about its shape seemed to shift at random, and the child could only every catch glimpses of them out of the corner of their vision. “Why is it here?”

“You...” the child swallowed hard, trying to maintain their composure. “You are fae of... of one of the Seelie Courts, correct?”

“Not quite,” The small faerie leaning atop the floating skull chuckled again. “But... close enough.”

“I seek an audience with your queen,” the child said as firmly as they could muster. The small faerie atop the floating skull suddenly stopped smiling.

“A trick!” the shrouded one snarled again, its crimson eyes vanishing back into the darkness. “This foul daemon aims to bring ruin!”

“No tricks, and no ruin,” the child replied, steeling their resolve. “I am here to bargain away the only thing I have of worth.” Not entirely a lie, but...close enough to the truth.

“If thou know of our kind, Creacher of Fel, thee should well know our fair monarch is The Queene, and not merely a queen,” the faerie had dropped any pretense of amiability. “Pray tell... why shouldst we grant thee audience?”

The child opened their mouth to speak, but the answer came not from them... but from the skull. The emeralds within its eye sockets burned brightly, and a single word echoed from the bone:

Granted.

In an instant, everything changed. The skull and the fae vanished in a wink, replaced by a large raven. The corvid spread its wings, flew straight up, and the canopy of leaves overhead swiftly parted for the bird. The forest did not disappear entirely, but seemed to melt and shift before the child's eyes. They found themselves in a grassy clearing, encircled by a ring of mushrooms, and illuminated by a shaft of moonlight revealed by the freshly open canopy. Just beyond the fairy ring, the trees were just as thick as before, and dozens of eyes peered at the child from within the darkness.

“You have ventured far from home, little one,” a gentle voice wafted through the midnight forest air. “I wonder... why have you come before Me?”

The voice brought the child's gaze into focus: the owner was a titanic being of unparalleled alien beauty. Sat on a throne of bark, wrapped in a cloak of leaves, and crowned by a headdress of antlers, the Faerie Queene was impossible to look directly at, and yet it seemed equally impossible to look anywhere else. Her iridescent skin glittered like diamonds of the purest clarity, and her eyes seemed to carry within them the very depths of the infinite cosmos. For the briefest of moments, the child felt rooted in place, utterly captivated and enthralled by this majestic and terrible sight before them.

“I... I'm...” the child began to speak hesitantly... and then, a pair of fists clenched. They swallowed hard, and spoke with renewed resolve. “My name is ████████.”

Silence. The Queene furrowed her brow, gazing down from her throne with curiosity. Hushed whispers and breathless mutterings echoed among the figures hidden within the trees. The child stood before the Queene, wild-eyed and looking expectantly from side to side, clearly anticipating... something.

“... well?” they asked. “You're all faeries, aren't you? I've already given you my Name... What else are you waiting for?” The desperation in their voice was starting to become evident. “Do it!”

For the first time in millennia, the Faerie Queene was caught off guard, and this made her curious. There had certainly been mortal trespassers who had freely given their Names within the domain of the Aos sí before... but they were always ignorant of where they were, and with whom they were dealing. Those with Knowledge were far more guarded, and required tricks and deception to reveal their Name. That this child with Knowledge was so reckless was... unexpected.

And that made it the second unexpected event surrounding this child.

“I am afraid you have Me at a loss, young one,” she said, eventually. “Did you not say to my messenger that you came to bargain? What is it you desire, in exchange for your Name?”

“I...” the child's voice cracked, and they lowered their head, their face now shrouded behind their bangs. “I've heard of what happens to those who give up their Name to the Fae. They disappear. Vanish. Never to return.” The child looked up, briefly, and one of their fierce crimson eyes caught the moonlight. “...so. Go on then.” They looked down again. “Get rid of me.”

More mutterings from the trees. The Queene considered these words, trying to probe the child's mind to gauge their true intent. Yet, she found this mind frustratingly clouded and almost impossible to make sense of... quite unlike any of the other creatures touched by Fel magicks she had dealt with over the aeons. Normally, their ill intent was clear, and impossible to hide. But the only ill-will harbored within this child was... directed inward. It was just as unexpected and confusing now as it was when she first peered within, the moment this child set foot within her domain.

“My Courtiers...” the Queene eventually spoke up, gazing into the trees with a raised hand. “Please, disperse with haste. I wish to speak with this one, in private.”

One by one, the pairs of eyes in the darkness vanished, and the voices vanished with them. The moonlit glade within the fairy ring fell silent. The alien eyes of the Queene gazed down at the child, whose face was still mostly hidden behind the tangled mess of bangs.

“I wonder, young one...” The Queene began, once she was sure they were alone. “Do you wish to die? Was that your true goal in trespassing?”

Silence. The child refused to look up or answer. Their hands, still clenched into fists at their side, began to shake.

“You have certainly gone to an awful lot of trouble to come before Me, if that is, indeed, the case,” she continued. “If taking your own life was your aim, then surely there are easier...”

“I've already tried that!” the child practically shouted, cutting them off. “It never works!”

Silence fell once again, and the Queene's confusion deepened.

“My... my father, Venthrax. He... every time I try to...” the child's voice began to crack. “I can't escape. He always brings me back, no matter what I do to end things. And every time, it... the punishments for my... defiance. They just... keep getting worse.” The child looked up, and it was the moisture welling up in their eyes which caught the moonlight this time. “But... he's spoken of you. Of all the Fae Courts. He tries to hide it, but you're the only ones he truly speaks of with fear. You're stronger than he is. More powerful than he is... and you can make it stick.”

That was when their legs gave out. They dropped to their hands and knees, and their whole body began to shake.

“I... I just...” they began to quietly sob, and teardrops fell onto the grass below. “I want to be free of this pain...”

A pair of slender hands appeared, gently cradling the child's face. With a sniff, the child looked up, and they were met with a heart-shaped face: someone they'd never seen, yet who was instantly familiar. Kind eyes gazed at the child, sparkling in the moonlight as if they were gemstones of the clearest emerald. Long tresses of red hair, decorated with pure white flowers, cascaded off her shoulders in waves, shining like the last embers of a fire in autumn.

“Oh, you poor thing...” the Queene said, kneeling before the child and using the sleeve of her silken gown to wipe away the tears. She began to smile sweetly, and it felt like the sun against the child's face, its radiance filling them with warmth. “I think I understand, now.”

The Queene gathered the child up in her arms and held them close, embracing them as a kind and caring mother would. Instinctively, they tried to return the gesture... but were so overcome and overwhelmed, all they could do was lean against her for support, and continue to weep.

“Shhh... it's alright. It'll be alright,” the Queene whispered, cradling the child's head against her chest. “I cannot grant you what you ask, young one... but I shall grant you what you seek.”

The child said nothing, too stricken by a flood of emotions to do anything except continue to sob. Even now, they were denied... but the Queene was not finished.

“I have gazed into the future, child. It is not a river that ends here, but an ocean of infinite possibility, stretching out before you. I can see that you are brave enough to endure, and one day you shall discover a very important Truth.”

“Truth?” the child whimpered softly, confusion momentarily winning out over grief. “W-what truth?” The Queene shook her head.

“That, I cannot say. It is obscured from my Sight; a Truth that only you can find. But when you do, I give you My Word: I shall take from you all of this pain, wrap it up in the Name you have given Me, and I will scatter it to the winds of Time and Space.”

“Always remember this, young one,” the Queene held the child's face in her hands, smiled once more, and planted a gentle kiss on their forehead. “No matter what happens, you are not alone.”

- - -

Tuera stood at a window in her Sepermeru headquarters, still as a statue, staring at the maelstrom of sand churning just on the other side of the glass. Except, she wasn't really looking at the sandstorm; she was lost within the labyrinth of her own thoughts.

These memories of days long past were playing in her mind, over and over again. And while it was true, she held these memories... they did not belong to her. They belonged to someone else. These were the memories of a man who had been dead for years. She had killed that loyal lapdog her father wished her to be, and the agony of both his life and demise had fueled the fires of her own creation. But despite emerging from those ashes as herself, the wounds of that previous life still ran deep. These scars flayed across her soul could not be seen, yet still they remained, and would never go away.

If nothing else, the Queene had kept her Word from that day. The Name given to her had, indeed, been scattered to the winds: when she became Tuera, her deadname was simply erased from existence. And these memories she held were not truly painful. Not like you would expect. They just left her... numb.

Tuera sighed heavily, and forced these unwanted memories back into the depths of her mind, where they could be safely locked away again. Dwelling on these thoughts would do her no good... especially since she could hear footsteps approaching.

“Tuera?” Ioanna asked, rounding the corner with a cup held in each hand; trails of steam spilled from the liquid within. “Oh, there you are. Obsun brewed us some tea, and I thought you might want some...” She paused, looking at Tuera with concern. “Are you alright? You seem troubled.” Tuera reasserted a smile, completing the mask that was her face.

“Oh... yes. Yes, I'm fine. Just... lost in thought.”

[athenaeumsfic]

let's take jesus off the dashboard

24,430 / Mature / Complete / AO3 It’s been a couple of weeks since Kendall’s life ended, and now he’s trying to claw his way back to living. *** “Kendall,” Stewy's voice, coated in expensive cologne and Laphroaig, murmurs through Kendall’s ear. He’s purring like a cat that’s found its treat, that’s finally getting scratched between the ears. “Hello.” “Hey,” Kendall says, stopping in his tracks. He was on his way out, takeout bag in hand, ready to escape back to his apartment. “What the fuck is this?”

“Can I trust you?”

“Probably not.”

-

It’s been a couple of weeks since Kendall’s life ended, and now he’s trying to claw his way back to living.

Eventually.

He had thought about drifting away into the river, letting the cold tighten his skin and his clothes weigh him down until he was nothing more than an afterthought.

He’d thought about getting a flight to somewhere remote, start again in the middle of nowhere as a real nomad. Leave his phone and keys in his apartment and just… go.

Colin’s arms crushing around his ribcage yanked him from the thought as he clambered, clumsily, back over the railing to the safety of Battery Park.

In a brief moment of insanity, he considered going back to Waystar and locking himself in his dad’s office, force Matsson and Tom (fucking Tom) to watch in from the outside, lock them out of the room forever or until, maybe, he just dies there.

He thought about making it to the roof, somehow scaling Logan’s glass fortress wall and flying.

But eventually, after a discreet but pointed cough from Colin, he had risen from the bench in the park, blinked, and found himself sky high above Manhattan back on his living room floor.

He’d thought about reaching out to Roman, thought about asking Stewy to come over, wondered if there was any point contacting Rava.

In the end, no.

Two weeks later, he finds himself staring into the bathroom mirror, face half concealed with a greying and unkempt beard, hair out of style and teeth last cleaned… when? He doesn’t know what he’s looking for but the memory of who he used to be, the person he thought he would always be, sits hard in his stomach like a rock that won’t pass. It’s weighing him down and it’s dragging him back to the floor and it’s undigestible and he thinks it might be killing him, slowly. Poisonously.

The sun is inexplicably shining and as he leaves the bathroom, teeth still unbrushed and hair still wild, he contemplates the balcony. But he knows he can’t. If he did, he might just fall. He closes the blinds and resumes his spot on the floor wondering why he didn’t just do it, why he didn’t just force himself into the water, let the universe do what it would do with him.

“Mr Roy?” Colin calls into the darkness, “You have a visitor.”

He doesn’t know if he has a voice anymore. Maybe his vocal cords are fried, maybe they desiccated. What’s he got to talk about now anyway?

“Can I let them in?”

He must groan, or grunt, or ‘mmhmm’ because in the next blink, one of his blinds is cracking open and he feels his brother’s presence, so familiar it almost makes him want to cry.

“Kendall,” Roman says, looking around the room for a place to sit but appearing genuinely frightened by every available surface. “Pleasure as always.”

Roman walks in like he owns the place, like he might be welcome. He eventually perches on the end of the couch, but not enough to really be comfy. Kendall can see he’s holding his weight funny, not sitting naturally. He’s just a temporary fixture within his wasteland and if he’s not going to clean it up, he might as well bunker down.

“Rava called,” Roman explains, a little softer this time. “I know news might not make it all the way up to your lofty heights, but it looks like Jimenez is going to win. She’s coming back to the city.”

It’s a statement he doesn’t want an answer to, and he waits for no answer, but he’s tapping on his phone and a few minutes later puts it down with a sigh.

“I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

“She shouldn’t be talking to you,” Kendall eventually forces out. “I don’t want her talking to you.”

Roman, for a moment, if Kendall was paying real attention, flashes a glimpse of hurt across his face. There’s an apology hanging in his eyes, an attempt in his throat, but it never makes it out. “Oh, a feeling!”

“Fuck off, Roman,” Kendall mumbles. “Why are you even here?”

“You’re not answering your phone, fuckface, so I’m just passing on the message,” Roman huffs, standing to parade in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows before he adds: “And making sure you didn’t kill yourself this time. Does this building have a pool?”

“My phone died,” Kendall explains, ignoring the chill down his spine at Roman’s suggestion. Not because it’s not true, but because it was consuming every hour of his day. He was in fight mode, constantly battling the darkness threatening to cloud his brain, vision, judgement.

“Cool,” Roman laughs. “Yeah, in 2023 we don’t have fucking phone chargers or anything. Absolutely no way to get that baby up and running again.”

“Fuck. Off. Roman.”

“For some unknown reason your kids want to see you,” Roman says, quieter this time. Less mocking, but it’s still there. A challenge, waiting to be met. He wants Kendall to say something. He wants to be called out. Kendall is too tired to resist.

“Not my kids, right?” he eventually gives him, eyes watering ever so slightly. “Not my problem.”

“Ken-” Roman starts, drowning in relief.

“You’re fucking despicable, coming here pretending to care,” Kendall laughs a little. “You just wanted to see the spectacle. Have a day at the zoo.”

Roman says nothing, but he looks more comfortable. This is a space he can navigate, and Kendall can’t stop pushing the buttons.

Kendall smiles. “Look at you, fucking lapping it up. I can’t forgive you, for saying that shit. For letting her do it. Does that make you feel better?”

Roman frowns but quickly shakes it out. Kendall really looks at him now, notices his face has healed. You’d never know anything happened to him at all. Same old Roman.

“Yeah, I feel fucking fantastic,” Roman sighs. “Just call your kids, Ken. And call Stewy. If I have to hear him ask after you one more time, I think I might be sick.”

Kendall nods. “Maybe I won’t call him then.”

“Sure, whatever turns you on, you sick bastard,” Roman raises an eyebrow. “Is this foreplay? Are you both using me for foreplay?”

“Maybe.”

“Disgusting.”

“You’d know.”

CONTINUE READING ON AO3

[kemendin]

Chapter I: In a Single Understated Word, Unfortunate

When a critical mission for the Empire goes wrong, MALAVAI QUINN and LORD KHEL SUTEK find themselves lost behind enemy lines in the inhospitable ice-wilds of ILUM. With only each other to rely on, and their recently-formed relationship still relatively untested, the strain of survival under such circumstances is bound to cause a few cracks. But for two men with life-long tendencies towards walling themselves away - perhaps a few cracks are just what they need in order to start sharing things they've long kept inside.

Malavai Quinn x Light Side Sith Warrior Words: 5000/?? A/N: Been working on this one on and off (okay, mostly off) for over a year now, and while it's not yet finished, I decided to finally release the first chapter into the wild. Started as a light-hearted thing, ended up as deeper exploration of the early relationship between Khel and Quinn. Nothing like the threat of freezing to death to bring a couple closer together, amiright?

Read on AO3 (short excerpt below cut)

‘Present circumstances’ were, in a single understated word, unfortunate. But then there had been no way of knowing, when Quinn set out from the Imperial base alongside Lord Khel Sutek, the Emperor’s Wrath, that the two would find themselves stranded behind enemy lines with few supplies, fewer options for getting back, and facing the inexorable onset of night.

The mission had started out well enough. The loss of the Empire’s single remaining crystal mine to Republic control had necessitated going after their enemy’s stores instead. Scouts had relayed a careful route through the jagged forests of ice that covered this world, and while ground troops formed another blatant assault on the bulk of Republic forces, Lord Khel had led a small speeder-mounted strike team into the very heart of the the enemy’s presence here: an ancient temple constructed by the Jedi that stood guardian over one of the most generous deposits of Adegan crystals on the entire planet. The Sith’s team was only one of half a dozen smaller forces, all making coordinated bids for the Republic-controlled stockpiles of the crystals that were scattered across the frozen wasteland.

Once the team’s presence was realised within the temple, resistance to their infiltration had been fierce; but by then the Republic troops were divided, and the Imperials had made it too far in to be completely repelled. Still, fighting their way out with the precious cargo had been a more hair-raising feat, and they’d lost several good men before the sturdy containers were secured to the waiting speeders and the team could make their escape.

And that was where it had started to go wrong, because - and in fairness, not entirely unexpected - they’d found said escape route cut off by Republic reinforcements.

In typical Khel fashion, the unflappable Sith had leapt ahead to draw their ire. Bundled against the cold in his frequent colours of cream and soft brown, wielding lightsabers of deep gold and nearly white, the Mirialan could easily be mistaken for a Jedi - and he held no qualms about using that confusion to his advantage. 

The Republic squad had hesitated this time, had let him get too close; and within moments, their regret was audible, as shouts of alarm rose above peals of desperate blaster fire echoing off the ice.

Quinn had covered his lord from the side, his own blaster adding to the confusion, and in the chaos the crystal-laden Imperial speeders had managed to slip past the Republic lines. Malavai hoped that they had made it all the way to the rendezvous point, but there was no way to know; because as he and Khel made their own break and whizzed away on the last speeder, an errant shot from one of the remaining enemy troopers had struck the vehicle and sent it careening off across the ice.

With Force-enhanced reflexes Khel had seized Malavai and pulled them both from the speeder, and they’d gone tumbling together through the barely broken snow as their transport exploded against a cropping of ice several hundred metres away. Quinn had sustained no injury more severe than some scrapes and bruises beneath his thermal-wear, protected as he was by the Mirialan’s own body and hastily summoned Force shield. And as for Khel… well, Malavai was fairly certain that his lord wouldn’t even admit to dying, unless it were advantageous to do so.

So now, here they were, trudging as quickly as they could manage across the brittle terrain, trying to put some distance between themselves and the Republic’s forces. As Khel did something clever with the Force to roughly cover their trail through the snow, Quinn was fiddling almost constantly with his comm unit and becoming more irritated by the minute.

“No joy on the communications front, then?” asked Khel, and Quinn’s initial reply was a visible puff of breath.

“I’m afraid not.” Malavai tapped at his earpiece and pursed his lips. “Frankly, I can’t tell if they’re jamming frequencies, or if this abominable cold is doing the job for them. Either way, the fact remains that I can’t get through.”

Khel gave a noncommittal sort of grunt as he turned around again to glide a hand over their wake, smoothing out their shallow tracks through the ice. “That may not be the worst thing, right now. If signals aren’t getting through, that means they can’t trace us.”

“Possibly, my lord, but overall I think I’d prefer the risk of contact. We could at least be certain that the rest of the team made it back with the crystals. I’d like to die knowing it was for a good reason.”

“We’re not going to die, Quinn,” said Khel patiently, as he resumed walking beside the captain.

“No? You’ll pardon me for contradicting you, my lord, but the probabilities aren’t in our favour.” The cold was making him more than a bit tetchy. “Considering the situation - our remote location, our nearly non-existent supplies, the plummeting temperature -“

Khel paused, turned, and hushed him with a gloved finger against Quinn’s slightly blue lips. 

“We’re not going to die,” he repeated. “At least, not here. That would be a wretched end, wouldn’t it?”

[saintsenara]

for the fic ask game 11 & 67

thank you for the ask, @practicecourts!

[ask game here]

11. link your three favourite fics right now:

i'm going to cheat and turn this into several subsections...

three favourite fics i've read recently:

the fiction of realness by @evesaintyves - a painful look at remadora and their extremely complicated relationship which pulls beauty from the wasteland and breaks your heart with it.

in virtute et tutela by @incalculablepower - a love-song to crookshanks which made me cry.

blood by @the-paper-monkey - i'm on the record, in an unpopular move, as being a delphini enjoyer, and fics like this are why; papermonkey is also one of the best writers of draco i've ever read, and i love him here, broken and strangely brave but still the whiny little boy of canon.

three favourite fics of all time:

the white road by @perverse-idyll - the fic which single-handedly turned me into someone who reads snarry; an absolutely masterful portrayal of grief, love, bravery, and self-discovery which also gives lily a magnificent central role.

second life by nwhiker and cassandra7 - just a masterpiece, the gold standard of sirius black/severus snape; a careful, spare meditation on the complexity of loving and mourning, on the merit of chance, and on the pain caused by the great divide between the magical and muggle worlds.

the cactus and the toad by mirrormarie - a neville-centric story which explores his experience in the immediate aftermath of the war and how he thinks of healing and history.

three great one-shots:

ganymede by @phantomato - an exquisite character study of one of my own favourite characters, tom riddle sr., with the most astonishing period detail and really gorgeous sense of embodiment; i've read it again and again.

portrait of a sociopath as a loving mother by myrskytuuli- a brilliant, dark interpretation of lily, which plays with canon in an incredibly interesting way.

as an entire ocean in a drop by eldritcher - eldritcher's dumbledore is among the best in the fandom, and i love how they write him and his complicated relationship with desire, belonging, and family here.

three comfort fics:

never gonna give you up by @laeveteinn - a harrymort crack-fic set in the wild historical era of 2020 which never fails to make me scream.

do badgers dream of chocolate hobnobs? by gingertart50 - a lovely little gen-fic on pomona sprout and her relationship with snape, which plays really nicely with the canon portrayal of hufflepuffs as miscellaneous and a bit dim.

crocodile heart by floreatcastellum - because i love me a bit of romione fluff.

67. do you prefer prompts and challenges, or completely independent ideas?

yes.