#is our death pre-destined?

[mitchismirage]

Death And Grief

It’s coming up on the 9 year anniversary of my son’s death. This got me to thinking about death and grief. Today I share my thoughts and views on this topic.

[ladyluscinia]

Seeing more of the "Izzy and Edward aren't close at all" meta that puts emphasis on how they only talk work stuff in a work environment and like. They live on a ship. They quite literally cannot leave the office for weeks at a time, and cannot truly ever clock out because what if the wind changes or a ship is sighted? Every single person they spend time with is a coworker and subordinate, and this has likely been true for 20-30 years for both of them.

Genuinely what casual personal life details do you think they have to share that they are deliberately keeping from each other? Izzy telling Edward about Stede in detail is literally the first thing that has happened to either of them in who knows how long that the other wasn't right there for and wouldn't be expecting to hear about as standard ship business.

[dixons-sunshine]

Hazelnut | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Daryl didn't know exactly what he expected when his group settled into Alexandria—maybe some snobby, incompetent inhabitants who couldn't stand their ground if something were to happen or people who would turn on him and his group at any given moment, but definitely not a little girl who basically attached herself to his hip. And he definitely didn't expect to find himself drawn to the mother of that little girl.

Genre: Fluff, angst but not a lot.

Era: Alexandria, pre Saviour war. (Timeline is kinda wonky. Saviours kinda don't exist in this? I don't really know.)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death, child abandonment, mental abuse, mentions of drugs and alcohol, single parenthood, sexual content but not smut.

Word count: 8k

A/n: This was such a cute idea that @louifaith had! I tried my best, but it honestly sucks. I'm not really happy with how this turned out, but I hope you like it! Also, definitely go check out @celtic-crossbow 's version! Pure perfection, honestly.

As always, my requests are open for any TWD requests, and now for Scud Frohmeyer as well!

—

“You have to lighten up, Daryl. How do you expect to make any friends with that 'leave me alone' attitude of yours?”

Daryl grumbled to himself as he continued tinkering with his crossbow. The hot late afternoon sun was relentlessly beating down on the community as its inhabitants continued about their tasks. Daryl had been observing silently everyone from the porch steps he was sitting on, enjoying the moment of solitude he had, but Carol had other ideas.

“Daryl,” Carol started, crossing her arms as she descended down the steps. She turned around to face Daryl, her voice stern. “It would do you good to socialise a bit.”

“I talked to Tobin when we finished up with the construction of the new walls yesterday,” Daryl replied nonchalantly, keeping his eyes focused on his crossbow instead of the stern woman in front of him.

“That doesn't count. That's work talk. I'm talking about actual socialising. Like, striking up a conversation with someone that isn't in our group or someone you have to talk to for work.”

“I dun' need to. Y'all are the only company I need. Ain't gon' waste my time tryin' to make buddies with people who dun' even like me,” Daryl responded with a sense of finality, gripping his crossbow and getting up. “Now get off my back, woman.”

“Where are you going?” Carol called after him, watching the archer walk away from the house.

“Somewhere,” he replied shortly, ending the conversation effectively.

Slightly irritated, Daryl walked with no particular destination in mind. He passed by some people who sent him friendly greetings and small waves, which he returned half-heartedly. After a while of mindlessly walking about, Daryl stopped in front of a makeshift park of sorts. It was a small area surrounded by grass and had a big tree towards the edge. He moved to sit on the grass underneath the shade of the tree. The few kids in the community loved to play in this area, but it was deserted for now; the perfect place for the archer to relax for a while.

Daryl went about sharpening his knife for a while. The mediocre task kept his mind busy, busy enough to ignore the parents and kids who arrived, busy enough to ignore the wary stares the parents threw his way. Daryl simply shook his head—even after two months, there were still people who were wary of him and the rest of his group. Even after everything they did and sacrificed to ensure the community's safety.

“Mistah lonely?”

Startled, Daryl's head shot up and his eyes locked with those of a little girl who looked no older than three years old. The girl looked at him with curiosity written all over her young face, eyeing the knife in the archer's hands with wonder. She tentatively reached forward to touch the knife, her fingertips close to making contact with the cold metal of the knife.

Daryl jerked the knife away and out of reach of the young girl. “Dun' touch tha',” he barked coldly, standing up to keep the knife out of the young girl's reach.

“Sharp mife?” the girl questioned, moving closer towards the archer. She reached up to grab his arm, trying to reach the knife.

Daryl frowned at the girl. He gently pried his arm away from the girl's grasp and took a step back, unnerved by the soft touch of the child's hands. That didn't seem to deter the girl, however.

“Mistah use sharp mife?”

“Scram, kid. Go back to yer mama.”

“Mama?” the girl asked, her eyes lighting up at the mere mention of her mother. “Mama! Get Mama!”

“Wha'? No, tha' ain't—” Daryl started, but was abruptly cut off when the girl took off and ran as fast as her little legs could carry her. Daryl raised his eyebrows as he watched the girl's retreating figure, confused by the interaction he just had.

Well, he thought, at least that's the end of that. However, as Daryl gathered his crossbow and sheathed his knife, he inwardly groaned at the sound of the little girl's voice calling out to him.

“Mistah! Mama here!”

Daryl turned and looked at two approaching figures. The young girl was holding a woman's hand, leading the woman over to him. The woman was laughing lightly, allowing herself to be pulled by the little girl.

“Come, Mama!” the little girl giggled, excitedly tugging your hand harder.

“Okay, okay! No need to rip my hand off,” you laughed, soon coming to a stop in front of Daryl.

Daryl looked at you with a frown, scowling slightly. His eyes darted between the excited little girl and you, slightly taken aback by the friendliness you radiated. Despite everything he's done for the community up until that point, only a few select Alexandrians—mainly Aaron and Eric—didn't show him any contempt or wariness. Yet there you were, smiling up at him and looking as pretty as a picture.

“Mama,” the little girl excitedly told him, pointing up to you. She smiled at you, dimples forming on her chubby cheeks.

“I'm Y/n. You must be Daryl?” You introduced yourself, extending your hand for a handshake.

Daryl looked at your hand, not moving to take it. However, just as you were about to lower your hand awkwardly at his dismissal, the little girl stepped forward.

“Like this, mistah,” she instructed, taking the archer's hand and putting it in yours.

Daryl flinched at the contact and quickly withdrew his hand, looking at the little girl with a small frown. He looked back at you, chewing on his bottom lip nervously.

This was the worst random social situation he's ever been in.

“Sorry,” you apologized, giving him a sheepish smile before turning back to your daughter. “Hazel, we don't touch people unless they say we can, alright?”

“Sorry, Mama,” Hazel apologized half-heartedly, not fully understanding what you were saying. She turned back to look at Daryl. “Sorry, Dar.”

“Daryl,” the archer corrected her, talking for the first time since you had approached him.

Hazel looked up at him in confusion. “Dar,” she repeated herself, a look of concentration on her face.

“No, 's—nevermind. Forget it,” Daryl grumbled, shifting his weight from his one leg to the other. He looked back to you again and noticed how awkward you looked, your lips pursed as you avoided his eyes.

“Sorry. She has trouble with the pronounciation of some words and names. I'm working on helping her with that,” you explained.

Daryl noticed the defensive tone in your voice and raised his eyebrows questioningly, yet he refrained from questioning why. “S'alrigh',” he mumbled, awkwardly fiddling with his crossbow that was slung over his shoulder.

“Okay,” you said, gathering Hazel up into your arms. “Well, it was nice meeting you, but I have to get going. I have to get this gremlin ready for dinner. Sorry for bothering you.”

With that, you turned around and retreated back towards the houses, Hazel happily babbling in your arms. Daryl watched your retreating figure with a sense of uneasiness. In that short interaction, he found himself unexplainably drawn to you. He didn't know you, but some part of him wanted to get to know you.

However, as quickly as that thought entered his mind, he just as quickly disregarded it. He didn't need to get attached to any more people, especially people who couldn't protect themselves in this harsh world they lived in. In the end, everyone he cared about died or left, so it was better to spare himself the inevitable pain and keep you and your daughter at an arm's length.

Something told him that it would be easier said than done, however.

—

The next morning, Daryl found himself working alongside Aaron. The two of them were busy carrying large pieces of metal to the wall they were busy fortifying, Aaron making casual small talk while Daryl simply hummed in acknowledgement. Once the last piece of metal was added to the already existing pile, the two men wiped the sweat from their foreheads and took a drink of water, before walking over to Aaron's house. Aaron took a seat on the porch steps while Daryl remained standing on the grass.

“So yeah, that's how I met Eric,” Aaron told him, concluding his story.

“Story straight out a damn romance novel,” Daryl replied sarcastically, eliciting a laugh from Aaron.

“Yeah, yeah. Make fun of it all you want. Everyone always does.”

“Nah, 's a good story. Pretty cliche with the whole spillin' yer coffee on his shirt bit, but 's still a good story,” Daryl assured him. “Now c'mon, didn't ya say somethin' 'bout havin' a part fer my bike?”

“Dar!”

As if materializing out of thin air, Hazel excitedly bounded down the porch steps and threw herself against Daryl, clinging to his leg in a hug. Caught off guard, Daryl stumbled a bit but regained his footing, his eyes darting down to look at Hazel. His eyebrows raised in surprise before he gently pried the girl from his legs, not used to any kid other than Judith clinging to him like that.

“Kid, what are ya doin'?” he questioned, taking a step back from her, but it was to no avail. Hazel simply smiled up at him before throwing herself at him again, clinging to his leg like a monkey.

Aaron chuckled. “I see you've met Hazel. She's quite the character, huh?”

“Wha's she even doin' here?”

“Eric asked to babysit her. He loves having her over, and her mom said yes.”

Hazel giggled against Daryl's leg, turning her head to look at Aaron. “Hi, Rin!”

“Hey, Hazel,” Aaron chuckled fondly, sending the girl a small wave.

“Rin?” Daryl questioned, placing one of his big hands on the little girl's head, accepting his fate of being clung to for now.

“She can't say my name properly,” Aaron explained. “She has trouble with pronouncing some things.”

“Yeah, her mama said somethin' 'bout tha',” Daryl said without really thinking about it.

“So you've met her?” Aaron asked, leaning forward with slight interest. He had a small smirk on his face, one that Daryl couldn't understand.

“Briefly. Hazel practically dragged her over to meet me yesterday,” Daryl replied, looking down at Hazel when he felt her grip loosen on his leg.

Hazel looked up at him and raised her arms, looking at him expectantly. “Upsies,” she said, jumping slightly on her toes. “Dar, upsies!”

To his utter surprise, Daryl found himself leaning down to pick her up. The act hadn't even registered in his brain until the small girl was already in his arms, her small, chubby hands gripping at his shirt as she giggled. The small sound of her laughter made the archer's heart fill with an unexpected fondness, taking him by surprise. It was the same type of fondness that filled his heart whenever he coaxed a laugh from Judith, and yet it was completely different at the same time. He couldn't explain it.

“She seems to like you, Daryl,” Aaron laughed, standing up from his position on the porch steps. “Not a lot of people can say that about her.”

“Wha' do ya mean?” Daryl found himself asking, confused entirely by the man's revelation. From the limited interactions that the archer has had with the young girl up until that point, he naturally assumed that Hazel was this way with everyone. What would make him special enough to the little girl, who just met him, to make her treat him differently than she would others?

Aaron motioned for Daryl to follow him into the house, and he obliged, silently entering the pristine house while still carrying Hazel in his arms. The girl took a great interest in his hair, playing with it to entertain herself.

“From what Y/n told us, she was with a group before she got here who treated her and Hazel badly, and Hazel hasn't fully regained her trust in adults yet,” Aaron explained.

Daryl frowned. “Badly, how?”

“She wouldn't say, but it took forever for Eric and I to gain Hazel's trust. We even tried to bribe her with candy but she wouldn't budge. But she seems to trust you and you say you only met her yesterday?”

“Yeah. She approached me at tha' makeshift park the kids play at,” Daryl nodded, rubbing a hand over Hazel's small back unconsciously, shifting her in his arms slightly.

“Then you're definitely special, buddy. This kid doesn't trust easily,” Aaron declared, sitting down on a chair in the dining room.

Daryl followed his lead, sitting across from him on a chair while still holding the small girl firmly in his arms. Hazel's attention shifted from his hair to the loose threads on his sleeveless shirt, playing with them to keep herself busy.

“They were with a group 'fore this? How long have they been here?” Daryl questioned, interested in knowing more about you.

“Yeah. Hazel and her mom haven't been here all that long. I actually found them a couple of days, maybe a week, before I found you all. From what I know, Y/n and Hazel had been on their own for a while before I found them. Y/n almost killed me the first time we met. She thought I was gonna hurt them. It took me and Eric a while to convince her to come back with us, but even then she refused to let her guard down. She was kind of like Rick when we first met, except she didn't tie me up or force me to eat apple sauce.”

Daryl hummed, hissing slightly when he felt Hazel tug at his hair rather harshly. He brought one of his hands up to pry her hand away from his hair, subconsciously rubbing his thumb over her small fist.

“Tha' hurts,” he said softly, surprising himself by the gentleness of his voice.

“Sorry, Dar,” Hazel apologized half-heartedly. She yawned before laying her head on his shoulder. She wrapped her small arms around his neck, nuzzling her head into his neck.

Daryl felt his heart swell with fondness for the second time that day. He gently rubbed her back. From his experience with Judith, that small action could lull a small child into slumber, and he hoped that proved to be right with Hazel.

“You're good at that,” Aaron commented, a smile on his face as he watched that small interaction between the big, 'scary' man and a small, innocent child.

Daryl looked at him, confused by the look the man was sending him. “Good at wha'?” he asked.

“That,” Aaron repeated himself, motioning to Hazel. “Were you a dad before all of this?”

Daryl stiffened at the question. “Nah,” he shook his head, adjusting Hazel in his arms again. “Not the type of guy who could've started a family back then.”

“And now?” Aaron asked, unaware of Daryl's inner turmoil.

Daryl inhaled sharply. “To start a family ya need a partner,” Daryl started, slightly rocking the small girl in his arms. “I ain't got a partner, and there ain't exactly women linin' up to be with me. So kids ain't somethin' I see in my future.”

“It could still happen, you know? You might meet someone. Hell, you know what? I know you'll meet someone.”

“A lot of confidence fer somethin' tha' might never happen,” Daryl grumbled.

“Never say never, Daryl,” Aaron replied, giving the man a small smirk. “Never say never.”

—

“Mama! Mama!” Hazel called through the house, excitement clear in her voice.

You smiled at the sound of your daughter's voice, glad to be able to see her again after a whole day of being alone at your small house. The sun was setting, the stars starting to twinkle in the sky and you were almost done with dinner. Eric had told you that he would bring Hazel back before sunset and you were starting to get worried, but thankfully she was okay.

You walked into the living room and hunched down to pick up the small girl that ran into your arms, hugging her tightly to you as you placed kisses all over her face. She giggled at the sensation and pulled back, grabbing your hand and excitedly pointing towards the door.

“Mama, Dar here,” she said, smiling widely before turning towards the door.

You followed her line of sight and locked eyes with the archer. You stood up and gave him an awkward smile, painfully aware of the awkward encounter you had with the man the day before. Daryl seemed to mirror your unease—he nervously shifted his weight from one leg to the other, ducking his head to avoid your gaze.

“I see that, sweetheart,” you replied, keeping your eyes locked on the man before you.

“I played with Rin and Eric. Dar played too!” Hazel happily exclaimed, clapping her hands in excitement as she looked up at Daryl in awe.

“Did he, now?” you asked rhetorically, marvelling at the sudden and unexpected change of character for the quiet man. Just the day before he'd shrugged Hazel off and seemed to want nothing to do with her, yet now your daughter was claiming that the huntsman had spent time with her that day. It didn't make sense.

“Yeah! So fun!” Hazel laughed happily, waddling over to Daryl to seemingly hug his leg again.

Daryl, who had been hugged multiple times that day by the toddler, instinctively crouched down to have her hug his side instead of his leg. Hazel wrapped her small arms around him and nuzzled her head into his neck, and Daryl couldn't help the small smile that spread across his face. One day had been more than enough for him to grow fond of the small girl, and he cursed himself for letting his guard down enough for that to happen, but the damage was already done; that little girl had already wormed her way into his heart.

“I'm glad you enjoyed yourself,” you smiled at her, watching the interaction between the archer and your baby girl. “Baby, why don't you go get changed into your blue PJ's, huh? You're a big girl now, right? Think you can get changed without mama's help?”

“Yeah!” she exclaimed happily, pulling away from the hug and giving Daryl a smile, dimples on display. “Bye, Dar!”

“Bye, Hazel,” Daryl greeted her quietly, watching the girl waddle to the stairs and begin to climb them carefully. He then hesitantly shifted his attention to you, but instead of seeing that wariness he'd grown accustomed to other parents giving him, one that he expected you to give him after his encounter with you the day before, there was a look of curiosity and wonder in your eyes.

“Thanks for bringing her home,” you thanked him, offering the archer a small smile.

Daryl ducked his head. “Ain't nothin',” he replied, shaking his head.

“So, you spent the day with her?” you started, looking at him questioningly. “By the way you looked uncomfortable around her yesterday, I would've thought you'd avoid her at all costs.”

“I was spendin' the day helpin' Aaron. He invited me to his place 'cause he had a part I needed fer my bike and Hazel was there. She wouldn't let go of me after she saw me,” Daryl explained, fiddling with his hands.

“So she basically forced you into spending time with her?” you asked with a small laugh, your eyes crinkling in amusement.

“Pretty much,” Daryl joked, his lips involuntarily twitching into a small smile.

You laughed lightly and Daryl chuckled softly, admiring the way your eyes seemingly sparkled. The dim light of the living room gave you a golden glow, and Daryl found himself admiring your beauty. The unnerving thought struck him at full force and he tried to shake that thought from his mind—he couldn't let his mind go there. He wouldn't let his mind go there. He had to keep you at an arm's length. It was bad enough that Hazel broke through his barrier in a day, so he couldn't allow her mom to do the same, too. More attachments wasn't something the archer needed.

“Well, Hazel seems happy. I think you just became her best friend, whether you like it or not,” you told him playfully.

“I have a feeling tha' I ain't got much say in the matter.

“Nope,” you laughed. “But thank you. She hasn't looked that happy in a long time.”

“Glad I could help,” Daryl replied, a small smile on his face. “Sorry fer bein' a dick yesterday.”

“It's fine. We shouldn't have bothered you.”

“Ya weren't botherin' me. I jus'... Wasn't in a good mood, 's all. 'M sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” You gave him a sweet smile before turning around. “Wait here. I'll be right back.”

Daryl frowned in confusion but didn't say anything. A few minutes passed until you reentered the living room, a lunchbox in your hand. You promptly handed it to him, and Daryl could feel the heat radiating off the bottom.

“Wha's this?” he asked, giving you a questioning look.

“Stew. I made more than Hazel and I can finish, so I figured I'd give you some. And before you say anything, just take it. Consider it a thank you gift.”

Daryl pursed his lips but nodded, resisting the urge to deny your 'gift'. “Thanks.”

“No problem at all,” you reassured him, looking up at him with a smile that made his heart flutter uncontrollably.

Daryl ducked his head, willing the blush on his face to go away. “I should get goin',” he mumbled, avoiding your eyes.

“I'll walk you out,” you replied, walking with him over to the door.

Daryl stepped out of your home and turned to you. He gave you a nod and turned to walk away, but stopped when he heard you speak up.

“I hope you realise that she isn't gonna let you off the hook. You're going to be stuck with her now. And my daughter and I are a package deal, so you're going to be stuck with me, too.”

For some unknown reason, Daryl didn't mind that thought at all.

—

“Easy, Hazelnut. Ya dun' wanna hurt yerself, do ya?”

The toddler giggled, her small hands toying with the arrow in her hands. “Sorry, Dar.”

Daryl smiled at the small girl, bringing one of his hands up to ruffle her hair, successfully coaxing another laugh from her. “I know ya are. Jus' try to be more careful, alrigh'? I dun' want ya gettin' hurt.”

“No boo-boos. Boo-boos hurt,” Hazel replied, gingerly handing the arrow back to the archer.

“They do,” Daryl agreed, taking the arrow from the girl. “Tha's why ya gotta be careful, alrigh'? Dun' want anythin' to happen to someone as sweet as ya, Hazelnut.”

Hazel giggled and nodded. “No boo-boos.”

“No boo-boos,” Daryl repeated, smiling fondly at the young girl.

Two months had passed since Daryl initially met you and Hazel. In those two months, Daryl had found himself becoming intertwined with your lives, a constant presence for you and your daughter.

The archer hadn't asked you what had happened to Hazel's father yet, and he wondered when he could be permitted to ask that. However, Daryl knew that there could only be two plausible explanations; either he was dead, or he willingly left. The huntsman really hoped it wasn't the latter. No person should be left to raise a kid on their own.

However, as Daryl's love for the young girl grew, so did his feelings for you. It got to the point where he had started wishing that he was Hazel's dad, that he could've been there during your pregnancy and watched your belly grow. He would've worshipped your body and been there for you every step of the way. However, as much as he wanted that, that was a dream that couldn't be a reality, so he settled on being Hazel's best friend.

“The two of you look like you're having fun. Mind if I join?”

Daryl's head snapped up at the sound of your voice. His eyes met yours and his heart skipped a beat, that sweet smile of yours making butterflies swarm around in his stomach.

“Mama!” Hazel exclaimed happily, hurrying down the porch steps to fling herself into your arms.

You laughed, picking her up and placing a kiss on her forehead. You looked at Daryl and sent him a smile. “Hey, Daryl.”

“Hey,” he greeted you quietly, fiddling with the arrow in his hands.

“Mama, play with us!” Hazel giggled, wiggling in your arms to be put down.

You lowered her to the ground, watching her climb up the porch steps and clamber into Daryl's lap. Daryl lowered the arrow and wrapped his arms around her, placing a small kiss to the side of her head. You smiled at the interaction, your heart speeding up against your will.

“I can't, baby. It's time to go home. It's dinner time,” you told her.

Hazel frowned and nuzzled her head into Daryl's neck, a whimper building up in her throat. Instinctively, Daryl started rocking her back and forth, rubbing her small back and shushing her quietly.

“S'alrigh', dun' cry. Ya will see me again tomorrow, alrigh'?” he whispered into her ear, his heart breaking at the sound of her sniffles. When he felt her nod, he placed one final kiss to the side of her head before placing her back down. “Why dun' ya go say bye to Jude?”

Hazel looked at you expectantly, and you nodded. “Go ahead, baby. I'll wait for you.”

Hazel ran into the house, leaving you and Daryl alone on the porch. The archer stood up and walked down to meet you on the grass, pushing his hands into his pockets as he looked at you through his hair.

As you looked at him, it took all of your willpower to resist the urge to brush his hair out of his face and cup his cheek. Not trusting your own hands, you crossed your arms and looked up at the huntsman, giving him a small smile.

“This is the first time ya have come to pick her up. I usually bring her home. 'S somethin' wrong?” Daryl asked, searching your eyes for an answer.

You shook your head. “No, nothing's wrong. I just figured that I could come pick her up for a change. Spare you the walk back to my place.”

“It ain't that far,” Daryl pointed out, motioning down the street. “Jus' a couple of houses down.”

“Yeah, I know, but...” you trailed off, unsure if you should lay your problems onto him.

“But wha'?” he questioned, suddenly on edge. Had you changed your mind about him? About him being around you and your daughter? He really hoped not.

You hesitated for a moment. “It's nothing. Just some mom's around the community who like to be judgy.”

“Wha' are they sayin'?”

“That I'm a bad mom for not taking the time out of my day to pick up my own daughter. That I'm smearing my responsibilities onto other people. Just thought I'd start proving them wrong.”

“Hey, yer not a bad mom. I like bringin' Hazel home at the end of the day. Tha' way I know she's safe.” He also liked it because it meant he got to see you being all domestic, hugging your daughter tightly and sending him beautiful smiles, inviting him to stay for dinner each time. He always declined, not wanting to be a burden, but your offer never waned.

You smiled at him, but it didn't quite reach your eyes. Daryl instantly noticed it and placed one of his hands on your shoulder, taking you by surprise. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and your skin flushed where he touched you.

“Dun' let them convince ya yer a bad mom. I ain't ever seen a better mom than ya. How many mom's here can say tha' they kept their kid alive out there in the real world? Tha' despite everythin', their kid came first and tha' they would kill fer them?”

“How did you know I wasn't here from the start?”

“Aaron told me he found ya and Hazel on yer own not too long before he found us. The fact tha' ya kept her alive on yer own for tha' long proves to me tha' yer the best fuckin' mom under the sun.”

You smiled at him and placed your hand over his that was still resting on your shoulder. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“No problem,” he replied, holding eye contact with you. His hand lingered on your shoulder for longer than necessary, and he gazed deep into your eyes.

Your heart sped up and stopped beating at the same time, noticing a shift in the archer's emotions. However, before either of you could do anything else, Daryl snapped out of it and withdrew his hand, taking a step back.

You cleared your throat and ducked your head, your face heating up. Luckily, Hazel ran out at that moment and bounded down the stairs, throwing herself into Daryl's side and clinging to his leg.

“Bye, Dar!”

Daryl pressed Hazel tightly to him. “Bye, Hazelnut.”

Hazel unwound her arms from around him and moved over to you, extending her arms to be picked up. You did just that, holding her tightly to you. You turned to Daryl and offered him a small smile.

“You know, my offer still stands. You could join us for dinner.”

Daryl was about to decline your offer again, but Hazel cut him off.

“Yes! Please, Dar!”

In that moment, Daryl found that he wouldn't be able to say no. He gave you both a small smile and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

You smiled broadly. “Great! Come on, then.”

“Dun' I need to change?”

“No, you're fine, don't worry. You can come as is.”

“Alrigh',” Daryl nodded. “Let's go.”

—

“Could you maybe get Hazel settled into her highchair? I'll be right out with the food.”

Daryl nodded and watched you retreat from the dining room into the kitchen before turning around. “Hazelnut!” he called, hearing the toddler's footsteps come into the dining room.

Hazel stared up at the archer with a huge smile, her arms extended to be picked up. Daryl smiled softly at the girl and leaned down to pick her up, placing her in her highchair. Once he was sure she was settled and wouldn't fall off, he got settled in the chair next to her, listening to Hazel's happy babbling.

Soon enough, you reentered the dining room with a pot of spaghetti and meatballs. The aroma of the meal made Daryl's mouth practically water. The last time he'd eaten spaghetti was when Aaron had invited him, and that was a good couple of months ago.

“It smells fuckin' good,” Daryl said without thinking, and instantly regretted his choice of words.

“Fuck,” Hazel repeated happily, completely oblivious to the horrified look that spread over Daryl's face, and the amused one that spread over yours.

“Nah, Hazelnut, dun' say tha'. Dun' ever say tha',” he told her hurriedly, his heart beating faster at his mistake.

“Fuck,” Hazel giggled.

“No, I jus' said—” Daryl started, shooting you a worried look. However, he calmed down when he saw your amused smile. “Wha's so funny?”

“You,” you told him, laughing lightly while serving everyone some food. “Don't look so worried. I'm not gonna bite your head off because of one slip up. If I had a penny for every time I accidentally slipped up since she was born, I would've been able to buy a yacht in the old world. You're good, don't worry.

“Okay, but we can't have her goin' around sayin' tha', though,” Daryl said, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

“You're right about that,” you started, turning to look at Hazel. “Baby, you can't say fuck, okay? That word belongs to Daryl. Until he's ready to share that word, you can't say that, alright?”

“Okay, Mama,” Hazel replied, starting to eat her food rather messily.

Daryl chuckled softly at the girl before turning to his own food. He started eating as well, the flavours of the delicious meal melting on his tongue. He wanted to gulp it all down but he resisted the urge, instead eating with a decency he never knew he had.

The meal was mostly spent in silence, save for Hazel's happy babbling and the occasional input from you or Daryl. Daryl did, however, sneak glances at you when you weren't looking, admiring your beauty and the soft, loving way you acknowledged your daughter and the tenderness you used when you wiped her face clean of the sauce.

Unbeknownst to the archer, you had also been sneaking glances at him. Admiring his gentleness with your daughter, the way his eyes softened and the quiet chuckles he would let out whenever Hazel did something amusing, or the small smiles he gave you. It was amazing how important Daryl had become to you and Hazel in a span of a few months. The big, gruff, quiet man with a heart of gold, who had invaded your thoughts and your heart.

The meal was soon done and Hazel's eyes were beginning to droop. You noticed it and got up to take her out of her highchair. She instantly layed her head down onto your shoulder and closed her eyes, and you placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

“You tired, baby?” you cooed, rubbing her back gently. When she simply responded by nuzzling her face deeper into your shoulder, you laughed fondly and turned to Daryl, sending him an apologetic look. “Sorry, I should probably get this little rascal to bed. You can stay here, I'll be right back.”

However, as soon as you said that, Hazel interjected. “Dar tuck me in with Mama?” she asked innocently, lifting her head up to look at Daryl.

Daryl looked surprised. He locked eyes with you, his heart fluttering at the smile you sent him.

“If Daryl's okay with it,” you whispered.

“Yeah, 'course,” Daryl replied, nodding his head.

You motioned for him to follow you upstairs and he obliged. Together the two of you descended up the stairs and into Hazel's bedroom. Daryl stopped in the doorway, not wanting to overstep any boundaries, but you had other ideas. You gently took his hand and led him into the room, only letting go of it to tuck your daughter into bed. Daryl subconsciously placed his hand on your shoulder instead, watching place your little girl into bed.

Hazel was already half asleep when you put her into her bed. She instantly curled up into her pillow and let out a big sigh, her eyes opening only slightly. In her view, she saw you, her mom, the woman who always protected her when the two of you were living on the road outside the walls, and always loved her despite her shenanigans. And Daryl, the man who at first had been kind of mean, now always there for both her and her mom. The man who started to feel like a daddy to her.

“Night, Mama. Night, Daddy,” Hazel mumbled, her eyes closing and she drifted into slumber. In seconds, she was out cold.

Time froze for a moment. Daryl's eyes widened and his heart practically pounded out of his chest. There was no way that he had heard it right. There was no way that Hazel had just called him dad. There was no way that Hazel trusted and loved him enough in those few months to see him as her father. She couldn't, could she?

He turned to look at you and noticed the unreadable expression on your face. You didn't address what she had just said, however, and Daryl was too nervous to bring it up himself.

“We should probably let her sleep,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” Daryl agreed and followed you out the door.

Together, the two of you descended down the stairs and back into the dining room. You turned to look at Daryl and motioned towards the living room.

“You can wait in the living room. I just wanna put the dishes in the sink and then I'll join you.”

“Nah, let me help,” Daryl protested, moving over to grab all the dishes.

Before you could protest, Daryl walked into the kitchen. You quickly followed behind him and watched him put the dishes in the sink, but before he could start washing them, you quickly stopped him.

“No, it's okay. I'll wash them tomorrow,” you assured him. “Do you want some wine?”

Daryl nodded and hummed, silently observing as you grabbed two glasses from the cabinet, as well as a bottle of wine. You placed the glasses on the counter before popping the the bottle open, pouring the two of you each a glass of wine. You handed him the glass and propped yourself onto the counter, letting your legs swing below you.

Daryl leaned against the counter and took a sip of his wine, humming in approval at the taste. “S'good. Thanks.”

“It's nothing, really. I've been wanting a reason to open the bottle for a while now.”

“Ya can't jus' drink it whenever ya want?” Daryl questioned, taking another sip from the glass in his hand.

“I could, but I prefer not to. I don't want to be like—” you started, but abruptly stopped. You hurriedly took a sip of your wine, welcoming the taste in your mouth.

“Like who?” Daryl asked, frowning at the uncomfortable look on your face.

You hesitated for a long moment, not sure if you should tell Daryl about your past problems. You were afraid that Daryl would look at you differently if you revealed anything. However, as you looked into his eyes, you only saw care and concern, so you found yourself confiding in him.

“Hazel's father,” you said, pursing your lips at the thought of the man you hated more than anything.

“Wha' was he like?” Daryl asked, placing his glass down on the counter. He turned his full attention to you, his eyes trailing over your face for any shift in emotion.

“He was a fucking asshole,” you spat angrily, clenching your jaw in anger. “He was a raging alcoholic and a frequent drug user. He didn't even stop when Hazel was born. If anything, it got worse. I tried so hard to get him sober, but nothing worked. He always yelled at me and threatened to hurt Hazel whenever I brought it up. And then one day, when I woke up, he was just... Gone. No note, no phone call, nothing. Hazel was barely one year old.”

Daryl frowned deeply, anger bubbling inside him at the thought of someone hurting you and Hazel so badly. He clenched his fist and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

“Not too long after that, the world went to shit. His sister came to pick us up and took us to her camp, and that's where I saw that asshole again. He treated Hazel so badly and got the other people in the camp to be mean to her. Hazel didn't even do anything wrong, but they all ganged up on her. Thankfully it never got physical, but that really scarred her. It went on until the camp got overrun, and all of those fuckers got what they deserved. The only reason Hazel and I got out was because his sister helped us. She sacrificed herself for us. After that, Hazel and I were on our own for more than a year. I'm surprised that I managed to keep us alive for that long on my own, but I managed. And then Aaron and Eric found us and the rest is history.”

Daryl was speechless. It angered him that someone would hurt you like that, would hurt little Hazel like that. And the fact that you had to survive on your own for that long... It amazed him. He wished that he could've found you earlier and have protected you and Hazel from all those horrors, but there was nothing he could do to change the past. He could only ensure that nothing ever touched you in the future.

“Yer a strong woman. The fact tha' ya went through all tha' and managed to keep Hazel alive and love her unconditionally proves tha'. Yer amazing and I hope ya know tha'.”

You were taken aback by the sudden confession, but soon a smile spread across your face. You hopped off the counter and stood in front of him, almost chest to chest. You looked up at him, your faces close enough to close the remaining distance between your lips.

“You're amazing too. I don't think you realise how much you mean to Hazel, how much you mean to me.”

With that, you closed the remaining distance between your lips. You pressed your lips against his softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. After a moment of shock, Daryl kissed you back feverishly, pulling you closer by your hips. You gasped against his lips, allowing Daryl to slip his tongue into your mouth. You moaned into his lips and pressed yourself harder against him, eliciting a groan from the man.

As soon as you pulled away for air, you tugged Daryl by the lapel of his vest. “Wanna take this to my room?” you whispered, breathless from the ravenous kiss.

“Wha' 'bout Hazelnut? Won't she wake up?” Daryl asked, pressing his forehead against yours.

“No. She's out cold. The chances of her waking up are basically nonexistent.”

Daryl let out a deep breath and nodded, allowing you to pull him up the stairs. The two of you soon stumbled into your room, hurriedly closing the door and pawing at each other's clothes. However, when you reached for Daryl's shirt, he stopped you, a pained look on his face.

“What's wrong?” you asked, a worried look on your face. “Did I do something wrong?”

Daryl shook his head. “Nah, ya didn't do anythin'.”

“Then what's wrong?” you asked him gently, cupping his cheek in your hand. “Talk to me. I won't judge.”

Daryl inhaled sharply. “I didn't have a good childhood,” was all he said before slowly removing his shirt.

Your eyes hungrily trailed over his body, your hands reaching forward to press against his chest. You didn't understand what Daryl was talking about until you got a glimpse of his back in the mirror in your room. The scars on his back were jagged, and you instantly knew what they meant; someone had hurt this perfect man before you, and you felt so angry.

You walked behind him. “May I?” you whispered, your hands hovering over his back.

Daryl hesitantly nodded. You softly ran your fingers over his scars, your touch feathery light. The archer shivered involuntarily, closing his eyes at the feeling. Before meeting you, the only feeling that he would ever associate with his back was pain from his father's cruelty, yet there you were, tracing over his scars as if they were priceless paintings in a museum.

Soon your fingers were replaced with your lips, and Daryl's eyes flew open. Your lips softly kissed over his scars, trailing down to the last scars on his lower back. When you were done, you turned him around to face you. You gently cupped his cheek, a small smile on your face.

“You're perfect to me, Daryl. You're so sweet, kind and caring. Hell, my daughter called you dad. That says plenty.”

“'M perfect?”

“You're perfect.”

That was all you had to say for Daryl to pull you into another fiery kiss. The two of you soon toppled onto your bed, spending a night filled with passion together.

That next morning when Hazel woke up and walked into your room, she was pleasantly surprised to find Daryl sleeping there, holding you, her mama. She was, however, confused that when she woke the two of you up, you clutched the sheets to your bodies and refused to let her climb under them with you like you normally would do.

—

Two years later...

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Hazel. Happy birthday to you!”

You and Daryl cheered as Hazel blew out the candles on her homemade cake. Hazel laughed as she struggled to blow out the last one of the five candles on the cake, eliciting soft chuckles from you and Daryl. When she finally managed to blow it out, you and Daryl handed her each a gift. She clapped her hands excitedly. She got up from her seat and ran to hug you and Daryl, which you both returned.

“Thank you, Mama. Thank you, Daddy,” she said with a big smile, eyeing the wrapped gifts on the table.

“Dun' thank us yet, Hazelnut,” Daryl responded with a smile. “Go ahead and open 'em.”

Hazel hurriedly opened each of the gifts and gasped with delight, holding up a colouring book, new crayons and a new doll. She giggled in excitement at the gifts.

“Can I go show these to Judith? We can colour and play dolls together now!”

You laughed and nodded. “Sure, baby. Just be good for Michonne and Rick, okay?”

“Okay!” she agreed and took off in a run, throwing the front door open and disappearing out of it.

“I can't believe she's growin' up so fast,” Daryl mumbled, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He rested his chin on the top of your head.

“I know, right? She'll be moving away from home soon enough,” you joked.

“Hmm,” Daryl hummed, chuckling at your joke.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, turning around in the archer's arms. “I got something for you, too.”

“Fer me?” he asked in confusion, frowning slightly. “Why? It ain't my birthday for another couple of months.”

“I know, but this can't wait that long. Here,” you said, handing him a small box.

Daryl gingerly took the box from your hands and opened it. His eyes widened at the item inside, picking it up and looking at it. After examining it for a couple of moments, he confirmed that his mind wasn't playing a trick on him—it was a positive pregnancy test.

“Yer—Yer pregnant?” he asked, a smile spreading over his face.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, nodding your head. A laugh escaped you when Daryl picked you up and spun you around, before he placed you back on the ground and pulled you into a kiss.

When he pulled back, he leaned his forehead against yours. “Hazelnut's gon' have a baby sibling. We're gon' have another kid.”

“We are,” you agreed, closing your eyes. “I love you, Daryl.”

Daryl placed a gentle kiss against your forehead. “I love ya too. And I already love tha' little peanut in yer belly.”

“Hazelnut and Peanut, huh?”

“Yeah. Our two babies. Our own little family,” Daryl said, placing his hand on your stomach, over the life that was growing there.

“We have Hazel to thank for this. If she didn't instantly like you back then, this might never have happened,” you told him, placing your hand over his.

“Remind me to thank her when she gets back later. But fer now, let's enjoy our alone time,” Daryl replied suggestively, tugging you with him as he walked backwards towards the stairs.

“I like that idea.”

[tripleyeeet]

IN UNFAIR HANDS WE'RE DEALT (9)

SUMMARY: With the battle of Moonrise quickly approaching, you and Astarion take a moment to yourselves.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,949

WARNINGS: Spoilers for Act 2 (henceforth there will be spoilers in all chapters here on out), angst, lots of hurt/a little comfort as a treat, descriptions of dissociation, mentions of death, untimely flirting probably.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter killed me so... be kind. :')

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

There’s an impending doom that hits your chest mid-conversation. 

As you sit alongside your peers, discussing with Jaheira the plan of attack on Moonrise, you can feel the depths of your mind begin to drift. Slowly but surely, moving through the air to focus on Astarion’s face engrossed in the details of your infiltration. It makes you narrow your eyes in frustration. Seeing the interest in his own as she explains the designated route, marking down the paths she deems safer than others while he slowly nods his head.

You’re not sure why but seeing him like this —so invested in something you know will probably end in suffering, makes you sick to your stomach. As if, your body’s reacting to some sort of inevitable, internal prophecy that no one else can feel. All at once it takes over, erasing the previous hours of the day you once found enjoyment in. Coating such memories in a shadow of doubt that makes you wonder if this is the last time you’ll feel this. The pleasantries of being alive without consequence. The overwhelming sensation of warmth that blooms throughout your chest each time you look towards the pale-skinned elf. 

As you sit there, half-listening to the exchange that goes around the table, there’s a feeling of selfishness that follows behind such thoughts. A sliver of fear that quickly takes over, forcing you to wonder what would happen if you were to pull Astarion aside and ask him not to go. 

“So, we leave tonight.”

Unsurprisingly, it’s Wyll who furthers your anxieties. Bringing up the inevitable in such a casual way that, as he speaks, you find yourself turning to face him, watching unimpressed as he stares at the map splayed out in front of you, pressing a finger to your destination. On the parchment, it’s circled in red. Symbolically marked in a blood that’ll inevitably be split. 

Swallowing hard, you turn back to Astarion not long after, catching his eye; causing his expression to shift from focused to curious, immediately offering you a direct line to his thoughts if you need it. 

Without protest you take it, forcing back question after question until you settle on a single one, raising your brow in the process. 

Are we sure this is a good idea?

Your tadpole wriggles in response. Ebbing and flowing behind the sclera of your eye as you listen to Astarion’s sigh rattle through your brain. No, but it’s the only idea we’ve got. 

So far. 

His lip twitches. You blink. Both of you refuse to break eye contact even when Lae’zel brings up the fact that you’re all incredibly low on supplies. 

I’m sure our valiant Blade of Frontiers will come up with something.

You have to resist the urge to snort as you look away, allowing yourself to accept Astarion’s reassurance in the form of a badly timed joke and an ever-so-subtle tap to your thigh with his pinky. Both of which make your heart swell through the negativities that take up far too much space. 

“Don’t worry about supplies.” Jaheira clicks her tongue, pulling back your attention with the wave of her hand. “Give us a list and we’ll gather everything up while you rest for your journey.” 

It feels uncharacteristically kind of her to allow you more time to breathe. But it’s also something you don’t take for granted as you all disperse into your own spaces, attempting to ease your minds against the oncoming battle you’re less than certain you’ll return from. 

Letting out a heavy breath after your exchange, you find yourself wandering through the camp, feeling Astarion’s presence trailing behind as you move up the stairs of the Inn, finding refuge in your previously shared room. Once there, you kick off your boots and fall carelessly onto the bed, hands quickly moving to your temples as you stare at the ceiling, feeling the space beside you shift. 

“I’m not really in the mood for…”

Trailing off, you’re not sure what you’re meant to say. Or how you’re supposed to divert Astarion away from your racing thoughts after relying so heavily on him. Because at this rate, it’s been months of constant reassurance. Weeks of support, both reluctant and not. Days and hours and minutes of a growing tenderness that you’re undeniably thankful for, even now as you deny him your thoughts. 

Since the beginning of your journey, he’s been there in some capacity, distracting you from the growing wound inside your head. Forcing back all the terrible aspects of your shared reality so that he can take over the front. 

Somehow in such a short time frame, he’s managed to consume your every waking thought. Whenever you wake he’s the first thing you think of and before you sleep it’s not uncommon to find yourself dreaming of a life after all of this is over. A life where you’re together and happy and free of all the bullshit. 

And it scares you if you’re honest. Terrifies you to the point of obsession, filling you with an endless sense of unease even as you crane your neck to share his gaze, realizing he’s still there, despite it all.  

“For what?” 

You motion between the two of you, frowning. Unsure how to explain the feeling in your gut that roughly creeps through your organs, laying waste. “Being cheered up.” 

Despite your somewhat cryptic response, somehow his face is still as stone. An unwavering set of features that hold no obvious purpose as you stare at one another, unable to express anything other than exhaustion as he huffs at your defiance.

“You’re being rather obtrusive.”

“I know.” 

“Why?”

As if by design, your hand slots perfectly against the plush of his cheek. Gently, you stroke your thumb against the coolness of his skin, forcing yourself to smile despite feeling like you’re falling apart, knowing this may be the last time you find yourself together. 

“I don’t want to go. Not with you.”

Almost immediately he opens his mouth, ready to provide you with some sort of offended quip before he remembers that isn’t what you want. “I’m afraid we don’t have much of a choice, my love.” 

“I wish we did.”

You can tell then that he understands what you’re saying. Based on the sombre expression that follows your words and the way he tugs at your waist, maneuvering you further into the bed. Quickly, it becomes apparent that your feelings are shared. That when he looks back at you, taking in your words, he’s not only aware of the implications but feels them himself.

“Another unfair hand dealt, I suppose.”

All you can do is snort in response, allowing your eyes to roll around, remembering the hold he has on you. How regardless of everything you’ve been through he’s managed to attach himself to you like a ship’s anchor; always keeping you steady. Grounding you at every rough turn through the waters of your journey. 

“You know if you die I’m coming with you, right?” 

It’s a rather terrible joke. One that has him immediately laughing before he realizes there’s a hint of truth hidden inside. Then he looks at you as if you’ve just ripped the already cold, dead heart right out of his chest. “You can’t be serious.” 

“What if I am?”

He pauses for a moment, leaning back to get a good look at your face, picking apart each and every feature with narrowed eyes. “Well, firstly I’d question your sanity.” 

“I’m surprised you don’t already.”

“Then I’d tell you it’s not worth it.”

“Says you.”

He doesn’t laugh or smile. Instead, he just continues to stare, stroking the fabric that covers your side in slow, unsteady motions. “Darling, I’m aware that dying alongside a lover after they’ve fallen is typically viewed as a romantic gesture but for the love of Gods if you even think of doing such a thing—”

You go to protest but he cuts you off, squeezing your side. 

“—I’ll haunt you till the end of your days. And not in a sexy way.”

You raise your brow. “There’s a sexy way to haunt someone?”

In response he releases a humoured, heavy breath, shaking his head. “You know for someone who claims they don’t want to be cheered up you suddenly seem rather perky at the thought of me following you beyond the grave.” 

It’s because it’s you, you want to say but instead, you just grin and kiss his cheek, allowing yourself to further indulge in his company. To feel his touch wrapped tightly around your frame as the seconds turn to minutes and the minutes quickly shift into hours that pass by like whitecaps crashing against the shoreline each time you take a breath. 

By the end of it, you’re gasping for air. As time inches closer to your departure, there’s this breathlessness that coats your lungs, forcing you to suck the air Astarion breathes through shared kisses filled with desperation, knowing this is it. The calm before the storm. That final step before you’re at the edge of the cliff, staring down. 

It distracts you enough to make the moments shared feel less real —foreign in a way that has you feeling completely separate from your body, wandering past the Inn, across the expanse of the cursed lands with cautious feet. 

Beneath Astarion’s hands, you may be still as a board but somehow you’re also drifting through the darkness, following Jaheira’s path with tightened fingers that wrap around your blade, prompting Astarion to stop.

All at once his movements freeze, parting gently to showcase knitted brows that glance between you and your roughly placed hand. 

Your hold is tighter than expected, your nails digging between the fabric of his shirt, pushing through to just barely hit his skin. Without hesitation it forces him to carefully reach over and grab them, coaxing them out of his arm to the space between, hushing you through the silence, knowing that your mind is loud. 

“It’s going to be fine,” he tells you. Then his thumb runs along the course of your index finger, applying pressure to each joint as he moves up; becoming that anchor once again as you blink away the surrounding forest.

“You don’t know that, though.”

Fully encapsulating your hand, he digs his thumb into your palm, pressing away the stiffness that collects as you roll onto your back, staring at the ceiling. “True but that’s never stopped our blinding optimism before, has it?” 

You snort. “You and I both know I’ve never been an optimist. That’s Karlach’s job.”

“Fair. But you’ve also never expressed any doubt before,” he points out.

That’s because the circumstances have changed, you think, feeling the creature behind your eye wriggle in response, igniting within you a sensation of dread. Of a weight carried throughout your stomach that has you swallowing hard and abruptly sitting up, realizing why. 

It’s because you’ve grown used to what you have. To you and Astarion and the rest of your friends who patiently sit, waiting for the hour to strike. After years of abuse and solitude, you’ve managed to find the one thing you’ve never thought possible: a family of sorts to call your own. A party of confidants ready to roll into the gaping mouth of battle.

Standing up from the bed you feel your chest begin to tighten at such a discovery —both at the thought of gaining and losing such loved ones. Ultimately, it’s a bittersweet moment. One that has you fighting for air like before as you palm the sockets of your eyes and laugh. 

“What the hells is wrong with you?”

It’s a question said without malicious intent. The kind that sounds snarky but that’s truly filled with a curiosity that forces Astarion to sit up from the bed, watching as you rub your face. 

“I think I’m freaking out, a bit,” you admit, stifling back chuckles that half-catch in your throat as you turn back to face him. “I don’t want to lose anyone.”

You know then that he wants to lie to you and say that you won’t. That, as previously mentioned, everything’s going to be fine and that you’ll win the war without a scratch. Even though both of you know, that’s not the case. Not this time. Not with the growing size of the Absolute and the thickening plot. 

Because at this point you know very little about the world revolving around you and yet, you’re still rushing into it. Taking the cards you’ve been dealt and slamming them on the table, hoping they’ll work out in your favour. It’s all you’ve ever done this entire journey. Every fight fought, every person met —all of it’s come at the cost of blind luck. Of a dice roll and prayer filled with a hope that you’ll survive the day to come.

Deep down, you know that none of you should’ve survived up to this point. One by one you should’ve died and moved on but somehow the Gods have smiled upon you enough to allow you a moment of peace to persist. To travel across the land, surviving every encounter. To experience a life you never thought possible. 

To be with the man you think you might be in love with. 

“If I don’t make it—“

The words catch in your throat just as Astarion’s jaw begins to shift. Carefully clenching his teeth as he grips the sheet beneath him, making you frown and wander back over. 

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.” 

You move your hand into the space between you, raising your pinky into the air with narrowed eyes, watching him look at you with annoyance. 

“A pinky swear?” Shaking his head, he looks up at you in disbelief, taking in the way you grin through the sadness and wiggle your finger, forcing him to look back down. “Darling, you can’t be serious.” 

“Yes, I can.” 

“You’re telling me you want me to swear on this delicate little thing that I won’t perish in the heat of battle?”

“Yes, was that not clear?”

“No, it was, I’m just—“

“Just swear on the damned pinky!”

He takes it instantly, the shock of your outburst causing his eyes to widen as you let out a breath of relief. 

“Now swear that if either of us die, we don’t do something stupid.”

For a moment there’s a brief pause but then it’s quickly followed by Astarion clearing his throat. “Okay, but what exactly classifies as stupid? Because with such vague terminology the options seem a bit endless.”

Thinking about it for a moment, you ponder the options, allowing yourself time to really explore the results of your oncoming fight. 

Because at this rate, anything could happen. You could all perish under the Absolute’s reign. Be taken into custody and forced into servitude like so many have. Hell, you could even survive this whole thing by the skin of your teeth. Lose a couple of limbs or something —truly anything is possible. 

“Promise me that if I die you won’t.” 

It’s a statement that hangs in the air for ages, collecting dust as both of you nervously stare, shifting and swallowing —forcing yourself to feel just how heavy this moment is. 

Quicker than anticipated, it consumes your every thought, causing the tadpole to slither to your eye’s edge, prodding at the skin behind, knowing it’s Astarion calling to you. Asking for permission to see what’s on your mind as you blink away, focusing on the position of your hands as you allow him access to your thoughts.

It takes no time to offer them over. To show him all your wishes and doubts and ideal outcomes. Letting him explore, you allow yourself to take a breath and close your eyes, strengthening the hold you have on his finger as he wanders through your membrane. 

I promise I won’t off myself in your honour.

Silently, you thank him, smiling to yourself as the thought is pushed towards him. Good, because I plan on haunting you. Sexily. 

You hear him hum in amusement. “You’d make a very alluring phantom.” 

“I would, wouldn’t I.” 

“You’ve got the moan for it.” 

Reaching to punch his chest, you open your eyes, scrunching up your face. “Shut up, you harlot.”

“Fine, but only if you promise to give me a proper burial if I die. One with lots of gifts. And flowers.”

“Flowers?” You raise your brow almost humorously before the image of a grave marked in his name appears. 

It’s the last thing you want to think about. And immediately Astarion feels you start to shift, prompting him to pull you to his lap. “We’re going to be okay, love. You and I we’re, uh, we’re good —we make a good team.”

Team. 

It’s a word that rattles through your head violently, wishing deep down it was something more. Something caring and intimate and perhaps tailored to better represent the feelings that he stirs within you. 

Having experienced as much as you have together it’s obvious that you’re something else entirely. A friend or a partner —something more personal. 

Sure, together you do make a fairly decent team. In battle, you flow alongside each other beautifully, anticipating every need or want without so much as a thought. And everywhere else, you’re just as fitting. So it’s no wonder he views you as such. 

But still, there’s something missing in his words. A sentiment or belief that has you forcing out a smile, hoping that deep down he loves you all the same as your tadpole wriggles for him one last time, and the knock upon the door calls for you to leave. 

-

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[morallyinept]

Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 15

Summary: Heading away on a work re-location, Frankie embarks on a flight, but unbeknownst to him, his life is about to change forever. For starters, he will need to fight for it; harder than he's ever fought for anything else before.

Marooned on an isolated island in the middle of the ocean, still recovering from an addiction, his chances of survival are bleak; but he’s not alone on the island, and soon he’s running towards a different kind of life - a life with fellow survivor, Jude, fighting right beside him every step of the way.

And if they can both survive the island together, they can survive anything, right?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC Jude

Chapter word count: 9.3k

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: Was being rescued real or just a dream? Smut in this chapter. Mentions of death/addiction.

Enjoy! 🖤

Chapter 14

Captain Sandy Eccles and First Officer Mark Kowalczyk sit in the cockpit of their Airbus A380, preparing their journey from New York to Madagascar. 

Sandy settles into his seat at the controls, papery fingers dancing across the instrument panel as he initiates the pre-flight checks. Mark, meanwhile, takes up a position beside him, double-checking each step of the process to ensure nothing is overlooked.

"Flight control surfaces checked," Sandy announces, his brisk voice calm and authoritative. "Elevator, ailerons, and rudder are all responding within normal parameters."

Mark nods in acknowledgment, his eyes scanning the various gauges and displays before him. "Hydraulic systems pressure within limits," he confirms, his tone focused and precise. "No anomalies detected in the engine indicators."

As they make their final preparations in the cockpit, a cheerful voice greets them from the doorway.

"Good morning, Captain, First Officer," says Emma, one of the senior cabin crew members, with a warm smile. "I thought you might like a pick-me-up before we start boarding."

In her hands, Emma holds a tray with steaming cups of coffee and a small basket of pastries.

Sandy’s face lights up with appreciation. "Emma, you're a lifesaver, doll," he exclaims, reaching for a cup of coffee. "Thank you so much."

He observes the coy looks exchanged between Mark and Emma who both seem to blush simultaneously and smile before she heads out and closes the cockpit door behind her. 

“When are you going to quit making moon eyes and ask her out?” Sandy muses as he sips at his coffee.

Mark's cheeks flush even more pink as he shakes his head smiling. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yeah.” Sandy quips. "It's that obvious."

Mark chuckles as ground crew members bustle about below them, preparing the aircraft for boarding. Sandy and Mark take a moment to soak in the tranquil atmosphere and enjoy their breakfast.

The crew complete their final preparations for boarding, and Sandy and Mark continue their meticulous checks, verifying the functionality of crucial systems such as communications, navigation, and emergency equipment.

"Emergency exits are armed and cross-checked," Sandy announces, his gaze sweeping over the overhead panel. "Cabin pressure and oxygen systems confirmed operational."

Mark nods again in approval, his attention shifting to the weather radar display. "Weather radar functioning normally," he reports, his voice carrying a note of vigilance. "Keeping an eye on storm activity along our route. There’s a small swell over north-east Africa. Nothing to get too excited about."

With the pre-flight checks completed and the aircraft ready for departure, they find a brief lull in the hectic pre-departure activities to indulge in a conversation about their upcoming destination.

"Madagascar, huh?" Mark remarks, glancing at Sandy with a relieved smile. "Ever been there before?"

Sandy nods. “Several times. It never gets boring. You?”

“First time. Got a layover.”

“Has Emma got a layover too?”

Mark turns away trying to stifle a brewing grin.

“Mmm-hmm.” Sandy says, flicking controls with a smirk. “Enjoy it together. It’s paradise at this time of year. Stifling... with the heat.”

Several hours in and the flight has been smooth sailing as they cruise high above the Atlantic, but ahead looms a growing storm system, visible on the radar as a swirling mass of red and yellow.

And Sandy can see the darker clouds miles out in the distance.

He glances at Mark, his trusty co-pilot, and adjusts his headset over silver streaked hair. "Looks like we've got some weather ahead. Let's start planning a deviation. Those clouds are looking pretty gnarly."

Mark nods, his expression focused. "Agreed. We'll need to navigate around the storm to avoid the worst of it. The width is reported at one hundred and forty miles.”

“Hurricane?” Sandy queries.

“Possibly. I'll contact air traffic control for updated route instructions."

As Mark radioes air traffic control, Sandy studies the storm on the navigation display. He recognizes the signs of a significant cell but remains calm and focused, his confidence bolstered by his past experiences navigating similar weather systems.

"We'll need to deviate round to the south of the continent to skirt the edge of the storm. Once we're clear, we can resume our original course." Sandy says. 

"Roger that," Mark replies, jotting down the revised route on his flight plan. "I'll inform the passengers about the deviation and reassure them that it's just a precaution."

Sandy nods as Mark speaks into the intercom. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your First Officer speaking. We've encountered some rough weather ahead, so we'll be deviating from our planned route to avoid the storm. This’ll tack on about an extra hour of flight time and we apologise in advance for the delay. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened, and we'll do our best to keep the ride as smooth as possible."

Back in the economy cabin, both Frankie and Jude, unknown strangers at this point, don't hear the announcement, both have their headphones in; Jude being blasted with rock anthems and Frankie absorbed into a film he isn’t all that interested in. 

With the new route set, Sandy and Mark begin the process of adjusting the aircraft's heading to avoid the storm. As they descend to a lower altitude, the turbulence increases after a little while, causing the plane to jostle and sway.

Sandy grips the control yoke firmly, his eyes fixed on the horizon. "Storm’s got a damn wide berth. Hang on, Mark. It's going to be a bit bumpy."

"We've got this. Just a little further to go round." Mark reassures. "Nice and easy."

Despite their best efforts, the storm's intensity grows, and the turbulence becomes overwhelming. A powerful downdraft slams into the aircraft, causing it to lose altitude rapidly.

Alarms sound on the controls and Mark gasps realising a turbine has malfunctioned.

“Fuck.” Mark's heart races as he quickly scans the engine indicators. "Turbine two is showing abnormal readings," he reports, his voice tense. "Looks like it's malfunctioning due to the sudden change in airflow."

Sandy weighs their options. "We need to shut it down before it causes more damage. Initiate the emergency shutdown procedure for turbine two."

With a sense of urgency, Mark follows the established protocols, shutting down the malfunctioning turbine to prevent further complications. The aircraft shudders again as the remaining engines strain to compensate for the loss of power.

"Emergency checklist initiated," Mark confirms, his voice steady despite the chaos unfolding around them on the control panels. "Shit. It’s not working!”

"We're losing altitude!" Sandy shouts, struggling to regain control of the plane.

"Mayday. Mayday. Mayday-" Mark begins radioing into air traffic control.

A loud explosion is heard on the left side of the plane.

Sandy frantically adjusts the controls, trying to stabilise the aircraft with Mark. Despite their best efforts, the aircraft continues to falter, its descent becoming increasingly erratic.

"I can't hold her! We’re going down! Brace for impact!" Sandy bellows over the screech of the failing engines. 

“Brace! Brace!” Mark yells into the radio, his shrill instruction echoing around the aircraft. The faint sounds of screaming can be heard from the cabin.

With a deafening roar, the plane strikes the surface of the ocean, its wings shattering upon impact and fuselage torn apart. Water floods into the cockpit as the aircraft begins to sink beneath the choppy waves.

Sandy is killed instantly upon the impact of nose diving, and Mark fights against the rising water, desperately trying to free himself from his seat. But it’s no use. 

He drowns, unable to escape his fate, moments later. 

After just over a year on the island; one year, one month and ten days to be precise, (or if you want to get real into the numbers to work it out, I’ll save you the trouble - it’s four hundred and five agonising days) with it just being the two of them, the hustle and bustle of people suddenly swarming around them can be too much to bear. 

It’s a natural reaction, after spending copious amounts of time in a peaceful place with no noise except the soft conversation of the person beside you, that any loud noises or crowds will alarm you. 

Jude watches Frankie for a brief moment, like all the hysteria around her has fizzed away and she’s studying him under a microscope. Watching how he becomes bewildered and a slight panic rises up inside of his wide brown eyes, taking them over, and then disappears as quickly as it comes. 

And then he's alert once more, like he’s just woken up and knows where he is all over again, a sudden spark of remembrance breaking through the dark dementia-like cloud swirling inside his mind.

Frankie will be ghostly still until a small movement, a sudden jolt in his back like he’s hiccupped, will convince her he isn’t a robot sitting rigid on the chair next to her in the ship’s main control room as they wait to dock on the mainland.

They’re dry and dressed in ill-fitting Navy gear; grey sweatpants and sweaters that are a little too long in the arms and swamp their malnourished frames. It feels strange to have shoes back on her feet as Jude looks down at the plimsolls with laces tied in a neat, floppy bow at her ankles.

Frankie holds a warm cup of coffee inside of his right hand that he sips slowly; the other is firmly interlocked with her fingers inside her lap. The bitter aroma of it filters into his nose and it’s a scent he savours for a few moments, even if it tastes like watered down shit, waiting for the familiarity to register, before he sips it and licks the sharp residue off of his lips. 

Jude reaches forward and wipes away a drip of coffee caught inside his bushy beard fibres, shining at her like a brown diamond, and smiles. She tugs on his beard gently. 

“I’m going to miss this.”

“I’m fuckin’ not.” Frankie chuckles. “It’s coming off the first chance I get.”

She purses her lips and makes a sad face as he rolls his eyes, smirking as he drinks his coffee some more, bewildered that he’s drinking coffee again at all after drinking tasteless rain water for so long. 

A swill of officers are on deck, chattering and the sounds of radio exchanges with tinny voices is heard somewhere in the distance, ebbing around them. 

Frankie looks back and forth at Jude with an expression that is mostly unchanging during the journey back to land.

It begins to creep her out a little bit the more she sees it; making prickles rise on the back of her neck. He suddenly has a way of making her nervous for absolutely no reason at all each time she glances up at him hunched over the coffee cup unmoving and looking like he has no idea where he is again. 

Through the rhythmic hum of the engines filling the air, she finds herself struggling to comprehend the reality of their situation herself. It all feels like a dream - a hazy, surreal blur of events that she can't quite wrap her mind around.

They've been rescued, she reminds herself, her heart pounding in her chest as she gazes out at the vast expanse of ocean stretching endlessly before them. After days - or was it weeks? - in the aftermath of the tsunami, they've finally been found, plucked from the brink of oblivion by the steady hand of fate.

But despite the overwhelming evidence of their salvation - the towering masts of the ship, the crisp uniforms of the crew bustling about their duties - Jude can't shake the lingering sense of disbelief that clings to her like a stubborn shadow.

It all seems too good to be true, too improbable to be real. She pinches her arm again and feels nothing but a terrifying numbness to it.

Wake up...

Frankie notices and glances down at her squeezing her skin between her nails. 

“Hey,” he says, releasing her grip. “Jude. It’s really happening.”

His eyes draw her in, ground her feet to the soft vibrations of the ship cutting through the waves, drawing ever closer to the distant horizon where the promise of land awaits, she finds herself clinging to his hand tighter, her fingers white-knuckled with tension.

Each passing moment feels like a lifetime, each mile bringing them closer to a destination that still feels impossibly far away.

But then Frankie flinches again, like music blasting through earphones loudly into his ear canal unexpectedly as the captain approaches them.

“We’re almost there, not much longer now. We’ll escort you guys to the American embassy. I’ve had a chat with them about you. They’re going to help you get home.” He announces clearly. 

“Thank you,” Jude replies, timidly, the sound of her own voice seeming too loud to her as her thoughts try to arrange themselves into some sort of comprehension.

“Where’s ‘there’?” Frankie questions the captain.

“South Africa, Cape Town, Sir.”

“I’ll be back. Drink some of this shitty coffee.” Frankie smiles at her, as he pushes the cup into her trembling fingers.

"I hate coffee..." She smiles, weakly.

"I know." Frankie squeezes Jude’s hand and then follows the captain.

Frankie hovers beside him looking out at the large windows in the vast control room.

“Captain. You said we were found amongst a group of islands?” Frankie asks him carefully.

“Yes Sir, the Prince Edward Islands.” He points to the satellite at two large, land-shaped clusters. “Those are the mainland islands, but we picked you up on a smaller rock scattered further out. There are lots of them. The islands have been previously used for penguin conservation. No-one inhabits them anymore though.”

“I think someone did at some point.” Frankie concludes.

“What do you mean?” The captain asks. 

“There was evidence of someone being on that island long before us. There was a man-made structure built, like a shelter? We found a switchblade and rusted tin cans. And remains…”

The captain nods thoughtfully. “It could have been someone from the conservation team, or maybe someone like yourselves who got stranded for a while? Fishermen get stuck out here on a regular basis if the tide turns. But there haven’t been any reported people missing to my knowledge for years. We’re out here a lot, supporting the territories. We have our base at Port Elizabeth.”

Frankie thinks for a moment. “Your officer in the boat, he said he looked for us. I’m wondering how far off course the plane was when it crashed,” Frankie says, folding his arms around himself as he looks out the window at the empty sea presented before him.

The captain turns to him. “Most searches are conducted in and around the immediate area where the plane drops off of radar-”

“Yeah, I know. I-I used to fly. Army. Retired.” Frankie explains tentatively.

“Ranking?”

“Captain.”

The captain salutes at Frankie out of respect for an equal. “Your training kept you alive. Might’ve been a different story if you were just a regular civvie.” 

As Frankie stands on the deck of the naval ship, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, he can't help but reflect on the harrowing journey that brought them both to this moment.

Despite the overwhelming odds stacked against them, they had survived - against all logic, against all reason. And as he looks back on their time adrift at sea, trapped on the island, enduring the forceful brunt of the tsunami, he realises that the captain is right; it probably was his training in the army that had kept them both alive for so long.

In the face of danger, his instincts had kicked in, guiding Jude through the treacherous waters with a steely determination born from years of discipline and resilience.

Whether it was rationing their meagre supplies, building shelter, or weathering the brutal storms that swept across the ocean, he had drawn upon the skills honed during his time in the military to keep them safe, to keep them alive.

But it wasn't just his training that had seen them through - it was also the unwavering bond forged between them in the crucible of adversity. Together, they had faced the raging tempests and the relentless swells, standing side by side against the onslaught of the island’s fury.

And in those moments of darkness, it was their shared strength, their shared determination, that had sustained them when all hope seemed lost.

“Crews were out here, including us supporting them, scouting for wreckage for weeks. We found some, but of course you have to remember the ocean is vast; debris can travel in all sorts of directions on the current, and can travel at different speeds. It’s impossible to search the entire ocean for survivors, especially when we didn’t find any at all in the immediate vicinity where the plane went down.” The captain swallows and Frankie watches distantly as his Adam's apple bobs in his throat like a forlorn knot. 

“I’m sorry that you guys weren’t found sooner, I really am. We were convinced everyone on that plane had perished, all the evidence we found suggested it. You guys drifted so far from the crash site, that it’s a pure miracle you survived.”

“A miracle.” Frankie snorts.

“What else could it be?” The captain queries. 

Frankie doesn’t answer. Instead pondering it quietly to himself as he stares back out at the ocean as an officer approaches the captain diverting his attention. 

Emotionally sterile and just gazing out at nothing; seeing nothing even though a dark land shaped mass is visible on the horizon now.

There's a surge of hope - a flicker of excitement igniting deep within his chest at the prospect of finally reaching solid ground after so long being lost.

But alongside the hope, there's also a twinge of apprehension - a nagging doubt curling into something fretful that whispers in the back of his mind, reminding him of all they've endured and the uncertain future that lies ahead.

Frankie looks down at his hands to find them shaking again. Fingers trembling with a mind of their own.

He squeezes them into tight fists, nails cutting into his palms, and willing himself to calm down.

When the ship docks, Frankie and Jude are escorted to a Navy vehicle and driven inwards from the coast towards central Cape Town. 

Jude looks out the window, observing the colourful, loud world that has left them behind for so long. The dusty streets, the aromas from food stalls as they pass bustling markets making her stomach growl with the infusion of spices tickling her nose as they waft in through the windows of the car.

The yells and sounds of people crowded in the streets make her ears ache. The rumble of passing cars reverberates heavily through the air, their engines growling as they prowl the bustling streets. The screech of brakes and the blaring of horns add a discordant note to the air and she practically jumps out of her skin every time it happens.

She feels a gentle squeeze around her hand and looks across the seat at Frankie as he holds his arm out and she shifts closer to him, into the safe embrace of him, ever wearing that cautious gaze in his furtive eyes.

“Who are you going to call?” Jude asks him dreamily, as they both stare emptily at the scenery whizzing by them in a blur.

“Ghostbusters,” he remarks with a sardonic grin and then shrugs. “Fuck, I don’t even know…”

Despite being rescued, a pang of anxiety claws at his starving gut as he comes to a sobering realisation - he doesn't know any numbers off by heart to call anyone and let them know he's safe.

In the chaotic aftermath of their rescue, amidst the flurry of activity and the rush of emotions, he hasn't given much thought to the practicalities of reaching out to loved ones. Now, faced with the stark reality of his predicament, he feels a surge of panic rising within him. How will they know he's alive? How will they know he's safe?

Will anyone even care to know?

“You gonna call your mom?” He asks, swallowing down the bile. 

“I bet she won’t believe it’s me really calling her.” Jude says with a weak smile birthing out on her face.

It seems an incredibly daunting thought; the anticipation to call and hear her voice is overwhelming, surreal even. Like it will never bloom into fruition because the pain of saying the words out loud - explaining where she’s been for the past four hundred and five days - is unbearable to even begin unravelling apart to make sense of for herself, let alone another hysterical person on the end of a phone line.

As the Naval car rumbles along the busy streets, inching its way towards the embassy, Frankie and Jude find themselves momentarily halted by traffic jamming up. The sounds of honking horns and distant chatter fill the air, mingling with the stifling heat of the evening.

In the midst of the commotion, a young African boy on a battered moped pulls up beside them, his eyes wide with curiosity as he peers in through the car window.

His dark skin is coated with a sheen of sweat, and his gaze, filled with a mixture of wonder and innocence, falls upon them both, taking in their appearances with a mixture of awe and confusion.

Frankie can feel the weight of the boy's curious stare, a silent observer to their dishevelled state - clothes too big, hair wind-tossed, faces etched with exhaustion and relief. Frankie meets the boy's face, struck by the depth of emotion reflected in those big, expressive eyes.

There's a silent exchange between them - a moment of connection that transcends language and culture, bridging the gap between their worlds with a simple glance.

For a brief moment, time seems to stand still as they lock eyes with each other, their worlds intersecting in this fleeting moment of shared humanity amidst the chaos of the city streets. There's something oddly poignant about the encounter, a silent acknowledgment of the fragility of life, the universality of human experience.

The boy doesn’t know about Frankie and Jude’s life-altering struggles, that they’ve been lost for so long, and yet he smiles at Frankie, offering a mouth full of chipped and wonky teeth. 

But as quickly as it begins, the moment passes, the boy gives Frankie a shy smile before revving his engine and disappearing into the throng of vehicles. 

His eyes, already weary from months of uncertainty and hardship, begin to sting with unshed tears, and a lump forms in Frankie’s throat as he struggles to contain the overwhelming swell of feeling.

In that brief exchange, something profound has shifted within him - a stirring of empathy and compassion that cuts through the layers of cynicism and weariness that has come to define his existence. It’s as if the innocence and wonder reflected in the boy's eyes has pierced straight through to his soul, awakening a dormant part of himself that he has long believed to be lost.

Blinking back the tears that threaten to spill over, Frankie turns away from the window, unable to shake the weight of the moment.

Jude reaches up and kisses his neck, feeling his beard tickling her cheek.

As the Naval car inches forward once more, carrying them ever closer to safety and sanctuary, Frankie finds himself grappling with a newfound sense of vulnerability, a rawness of emotion that he has long buried beneath layers of bravado and stoicism.

Frankie looks down at Jude nestled against his chest and kisses the top of her head.

The Navy officers escort them into the American Embassy in Cape Town; a large and formidable white building with heavy security and armoured vehicles. The American flag is flapping around in the breeze and Jude looks up at it, feeling a sense of familiarity and deep seated relief to view the stars and stripes waving back at her.

They’re escorted to the consulate main building where a representative for The States meets them and shakes their weary, calloused hands as he regards them over the rim of his thin spectacles carefully. 

“Wow, you guys have really been through the ringer, ain’t ya?” He says with a Southern twang, motioning for them to sit and regarding their dishevelled, malnourished appearance with some appal. “I’m Jake. I’ll be assisting ya’ll whilst ya here with us.”

“How long will that be?” Frankie enquires, anxiously. He scratches at the back of his head, his cap still firmly planted on top of his scraggly curls that reach down to his shoulders.

“Hopefully not long at all. Take a seat, make yourselves comfy there.” Jake motions to the chairs again; watching as they sit on the edges tentatively like the chair will swallow them whole. 

“What’s going to happen to us now?” Jude asks. “We just wanna go home.” She explains trying to stifle a swamping yawn.

The thought of finally returning home feels like an alien concept. It's a notion that seems both tantalisingly close and impossibly distant, like a dream she's afraid to fully grasp for fear of it slipping away.

“And we’re going to get ya back there for sure, ma’am. We need some details from ya so we can get ya some new passports and check a few things out. Now, I hear you’re ex-military, Sir?” Jake says, addressing Frankie directly.

Frankie nods and slumps back in the chair.

“Well, that works in your favour. We can get ‘em to help escort you guys home, through the back door as it were.”

Frankie smiles through tight lips as Jake clears his throat.

“Back door?” Jude queries, confused.

“Without much of a hubbub. You guys’ll make international news soon enough.”

The thought fills Frankie with a potent mix of anxiety and apprehension, as it does with Jude. The thought of their faces splashed across television screens, of their harrowing ordeal dissected and analysed by strangers, sends a shiver down Frankie's spine.

It's a stark reminder of the scrutiny and judgement that awaits them on the other side of this journey - a world that seems increasingly foreign and hostile with each passing moment.

“What happened to the plane?” Frankie braves. “Do you know why it came down?”

Jake pauses and clasps his hands together on his desk. “Yeah, I remember the story. Was mechanical failure from the storm. The engines failed I think, from what I remember. It was all over the news worldwide, social media and all that kind of stuff. I don’t really understand that Instagram thing myself, but they never found any survivors.” Jake explains.

He pulls out his iPhone, taps onto the screen then hands it to Frankie. It’s a Google search page of all the headlines and images from the crash.

Frankie scrolls through them with an unsteady finger. He stops when he sees a headline with his own face and name listed as one of Flight 816’s missing passengers. An old army photograph of him in his sandy combat gear, eyes squinting in the sun. 

Frankie turns the phone screen to Jude and looks back at her with worrisome, dull peepers. 

“Shit...” She mutters skimming the article. She hands the phone back to Jake and he puts it on the desk. 

“We’re going to put ya guys in a hotel not too far from here, give you some comfort and ya’ll can get some rest. Before that we’re going to get ya checked over with a couple of doctors, make sure you’re healthy, that kinda thing.”

“Can we make some calls?” Jude asks him eagerly.

“Of course ya can. I’ve no doubt ya families will be keen to hear from ya. I imagine it will feel like a miracle to them, huh? To have ya back after all this time?”

Jude gulps as her fingers knot in her lap.

“Listen guys, I can’t imagine what y'all have been through. But we’re going to getcha home, we’re going to help ya as much as we can, okay?”

“Thank you, Jake.” Jude says to him, offering him only a glimmer of a small, worn out smile. 

“Ya need anything, ya let me know.” Jake opens a file on his desk. 

“A razor would be a great start.” Frankie clarifies.

Jude smiles at him and nods in agreement.

“Y’all will have everything ya need, don’t worry. Alrighty here, let’s start with ya full names, shall we?” Jake picks up a pen. He looks at Frankie and waits for him to answer. 

“Catfish,” Jude replies rather deadpan. 

“Hmm?” Jake asks, eyebrows raising.

She giggles, almost like a snort that hiccups out of her, and Jake looks at her slightly bemused.

She can’t help but laugh out louder until she can’t stop. Real gut rolling belly laughs that erupt out of her mouth and Frankie joins in too, snickering until eventually he can’t contain it and lets out a loud hawhawhaw that continues to roll out from him, until he clutches his stomach like he’s doubled over in that crazed laughing pain.

Jake observes them both bewildered. “Y’all wanna let me in on the joke?”  

They both undergo a medical at the local hospital as soon as they wrap up the formalities with Jake, escorted by a representative from the consulate to translate for them where needed.

A lot of hustle and bustle through their exhausted state, when all they really want to do is to eat, sleep and call their loved ones. 

The delay is starting to get to them as they exchange tired and impatient looks between themselves, gripping each other’s hands and squeezing when it starts to get overwhelming.

They’re separated temporarily as they’re examined; a feeling that neither of them want to get used to.

A palpable sense of unease settles over Frankie like a heavy shroud. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, he finds himself separated from the familiar presence of Jude - the one constant in an ever-shifting sea of uncertainty.

Frankie clocks Jude’s furtive, panicked gaze back at him as she’s ushered behind a curtain and feels the pang of anxiety hit her gut too, making her stomach all swirly like the ocean current that has tried - and failed - numerous times to drown them both.

With each passing moment, Frankie finds himself growing increasingly restless, the minutes stretching out into an agonising eternity as he waits anxiously for her return.

The sterile surroundings only serve to amplify his sense of isolation, the stark fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows that dance mockingly across the walls.

Frankie sits on the examination table in another bay as the doctor asks him about his general health and prods gently at his stomach and over his ribs. He listens to his heartbeat and takes a swab from his mouth. 

In the other bay, a similar process ensues with a female doctor who takes blood, swabs and asks a barrage of personal questions to Jude. 

“What have you been eating on the island? Have you been ill at all whilst there? When was your last period?”

“Period?”

Jude’s mind cast back to the blood trickling down her legs in the sand and the gut wrenching pull in her stomach reminds her of the unexpected loss all over again, like a wave smashing into her.

“Urm... I can’t really remember, maybe seven months or so, maybe less? I’m sorry, it’s all so…” She searches back in her mind against the blank void of time, unsure exactly when it was that she’d had her last one on the island. 

It’s not really something you consider at first, bleeding monthly on a deserted island with no sanitation products to hand. But when it’d happened a few weeks or so into first being stranded there, the heavy belly cramps registering deep in her uterus, and discreetly keeping it from Frankie’s awareness, she’d used dark strips she’d torn off a t-shirt and rolled it up inside her panties. It felt like she was living in the dark ages before tampons even existed. 

But out in the middle of nowhere Jude had to adapt and she hid the evidence well from him. Or at least if he did know, he was good not to mention it and add to her embarrassment.

But then she realised, that slow unsettling feeling creeping over her shoulders, one day on the shoreline washing out her hair, that she hadn’t had a period for some time after they’d started sleeping together.

Dawning on her then that they’d been pretty reckless, but when you’re in the throes of passion and wrapped up in one another, practicality flies out the window. But the months had worn on and there was no real repercussion from their love making, no signs of a pregnancy. No period, no risk of a baby right? 

Evidently she was wrong. 

“You’ve lost a lot of weight, it will affect your cycle for a while, but as you gain weight again it should return to normal. If it doesn't, your doctor back home can advise you further.” The doctor says. 

“I urm... I-I think I had a miscarriage on the island.” Jude squeaks quietly, unable to look the doctor in the eye like she’s done something shameful.

She lowers her clipboard and touches her shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she replies gently. ”If that’s the case, I’ll need to examine you, make sure there’s no lingering infection or anything, will that be okay?”

Jude nods and lays back on the gurney as the doctor pulls on some latex gloves.

In the other bay, the doctor places his cold stethoscope all over Frankie’s bony back, asking him to breathe in and out and hold his breath for as long as he can. He asks him about any injuries sustained, anything that worries him currently and how he’s feeling in his general state of mind. 

Frankie shrugs. “I’ve been stuck on an island for over a year thinking I would die every day. I’m sure there’s a fuckin' adjustment period for that, right?”

The doctor doesn’t appreciate his sarcasm and doesn’t respond, instead writing out a prescription for vitamins and supplements. 

“I had a fever... On the island, not too long ago, and a rash too.” Frankie mutters through a stifled yawn. 

“What kind of fever?”

“I’m not sure. I was out for a few days. Hot, vomiting... Delirious, that kind of thing.”

“And the rash, was it all over your body or just concentrated?”

“All over I think. Red and angry."

“Were you bitten by a mosquito at all?” The doctor probes, regarding him.

Frankie shrugs again. “Not that I specifically remember. I was bitten by a lot of things out there.”

“We’ll take some blood, check it for anything that could be lingering in your bloodstream. You could have possibly had Dengue Fever. It's quite common out here with mosquito bites. But easily treatable if you have access to meds, which I appreciate you didn’t, of course... Couple that with your malnutrition and weak state, you’re lucky you didn’t catch anything worse. I’ll prescribe you some meds, make sure it’s all gone. Have you got any allergies? Any medication that you’re sensitive to?”

As Frankie absorbs the doctor's questions, he finds himself torn between conflicting impulses.

On one hand, there's a voice in the back of his mind urging him to speak up - to lay bare the truth about his past addiction and the struggles he's faced in order to ensure he receives the proper care and support he needs.

But alongside that voice, there's another - an insidious whisper of doubt that sows seeds of fear and uncertainty in his heart. What if they judge him? What if they see him not as a survivor, but as a liability - a broken soul in need of fixing?

The thought of laying bare his vulnerabilities to strangers fills him with a profound sense of unease, a fear of being labelled and stigmatised further for the demons he's battled in the past.

In the end, as the doctor's gaze meets his own, Frankie makes a choice - a leap of faith into the unknown. With a deep breath and a steady resolve, he opens his mouth to speak, ready to face whatever consequences may come with the truth. 

"I... I have a history of addiction. Drugs. Cocaine."

The admission hangs heavy in the air, casting a palpable tension over the bay as the doctor's expression shifts, registering a mixture of surprise and concern.

Frankie can feel the weight of their scrutiny bearing down on him, but he refuses to look away, steeling himself against the fear that threatens to overwhelm him.

"I've been clean for... for a while now," he continues, the words coming more easily now that he's broken the silence. "But I thought you should know. In case... in case it's relevant to my treatment. I can’t have any meds that have any psychoactive effects.”

There's a beat of silence as the doctor absorbs his words, their gaze searching his face for any sign of deception or evasion. But Frankie meets his searching gaze head-on, his eyes clear and unwavering as he waits for his response.

Finally, the doctor nods, a gesture of acknowledgment tinged with understanding. "Thank you for being honest with me," he says, his voice gentle but firm.

Frankie watches as the doctor strikes through his previous writings on his pad. "Let's take some blood."  

Frankie holds out his arm as the doctor pricks it with a needle.

“What happened to your neck?” The doctor asks, turning Frankie’s head gently so he can examine the scars that run across it.

“I was burned when the plane crashed...” Frankie surmises, his thoughts turning dark as he remembers the smell of his skin sizzling in the water.

“Hmm, looks like they’ve healed pretty well. They look like they were partial-thickness or second degree when it happened. Might be best to apply some topical cream to help with the fading. I’ll add it to your prescription.”

The doctor places the blood vial in a testing bag and gives Frankie a cotton ball to hold against the needle poke hole in his arm.

“Overall, I’d say you’re in pretty good shape, considering. The malnourishment is reversible, you need to simply eat. Foods that are rich in vitamins and high in energy, fortified foods and vegetables, that kind of thing. In moderation of course. I can’t stress this enough, but if you gorge you’ll make yourself really sick. Your stomach has shrunk significantly, so although you may feel famished, you need to fill up really slowly, okay?”

Frankie nods. “Sure.”

“Refeeding syndrome can be fatal, alright?” The doctor warns and Frankie is nodding so much it feels like his head might fall off his shoulders. 

"Eat small and slow. Got it."

“I’d advise you to visit your dentist, your optometrist, and follow up with your own doctor too when back home. Check on your overall health with them regularly until things get back to normal with your body. Keep an eye on any changes to your skin too; you’ve been exposed to the sun for a long time without a barrier, so check on any moles or freckles you have regularly for any changes. They all look okay to me at the moment.”

“No problem.” Frankie replies; his foot tapping on the floor anxiously.

With a heavy sigh, Frankie clenches his fists in frustration, a surge of restless energy coursing through his veins. Every instinct screams at him to find a way back to Jude, to break free from the confines and monotony of the examination bay and seek out the one person who has become his lifeline in this tumultuous world.

In the other bay, Jude winces as the doctor takes an internal swab and bites down on her lip. 

“You can sit up now.” The doctor says with a sincere smile. “On first inspection you look completely fine down there, but I’ll send this to the lab and we’ll know for sure. I can write you a prescription for some contraceptives if you’d like, it might help with regulating your periods during the transition back to your normal cycle. In the meantime, rest. Take it easy. You’ve been through a lot.”

The moment she says it, Jude starts to well up. The natural reaction you have when anyone shows you any kindness or sympathy at your plight. 

The doctor hands her a box of tissues and she takes a few out, wiping her gritty eyes. 

“It might be a good idea to seek some therapy, talk to someone about your ordeal. You’ll find your emotions will be up and down for a long time and that’s perfectly normal.”

Jude nods at the doctor blowing her nose. Emotions being up and down is a fucking understatement. 

“Thank you,” she says to the doctor, and she’s all too eager to get out of the bay and be back with Frankie. 

“How did it go?” Jude asks him through red eyes, and he pulls her in for a long, tight hug.

“Horrible.” Frankie replies stoically.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Absolute agony being away from you.” He says softly. 

“It was.” Jude agrees. 

“You ever heard of refeeding syndrome?”

“No.”

“We gotta eat real slow, even though I wanna devour a fuckin’ whole cow right now.”

Jude snickers.

“Did they take your blood?” Frankie asks.

Jude nods. “Pesky vampires,” she remarks through a smirk up at him. 

"C'mon. Let's get out of here. I fuckin' hate hospitals." He says.

The hotel room isn’t that fancy.

Nothing over the top; conspicuous and modest, but more than anything it’s clean and smells fresh with a lemony scent lingering in the air around their nostrils.

The air conditioner is whirring out from under the window and the net curtains billow softly in the recycled air flow. 

They wander into the small room and look around like they’ve just hit the jackpot.

There’s a double bed with clean, crisp sheets. Actual pillows and a night stand with a gloaming lamp. There’s a small flat screen mounted to the wall on the opposite side; an armchair and a closet with empty hangers.

Large windows offer a glimpse of the city skyline twinkling in the dark, a reminder of the world beyond their temporary sanctuary.

It's a moment they've both been longing for, a brief respite from the chaos and uncertainty that has consumed their lives all day.

For Frankie, the sight of the hotel room is a balm to his weary soul - a tangible reminder that they have finally reached safety after so many harrowing experiences.

He takes a moment to savour the simple pleasures of a comfortable bed and a hot shower, luxuries that he’s sorely missed during their time stuck on the island.

They both simultaneously breathe in and out and turn to smile at one another in that ambient relief. 

Frankie puts down the carrier bag he’s holding, full of clean clothes that the embassy has provided, medicines and some personal items, such as coveted toiletries.

Jude is holding a similar bag for herself and has a key card for the room next door.

Frankie wanders over to the bathroom and there’s a large walk-in shower, sink and toilet with clean towels, mini soaps and a large mirror mounted on the wall above the sink and brightly illuminated. 

He steps inside gingerly and regards himself in the mirror, just looking at the worn face staring back at him that he no longer recognises.

Taking off his trusty cap that reeks of the sea and sweat, his hair is wild and untamed, shaggy below his ears and curling into his shoulders.

His once patchy beard is full and busy with wiry hairs that seem more silver in some places. It's been over a year since he last saw his own reflection, and the sight before him is both jarring and surreal.

His usually plump lips are cracked with dryness and a faded purple rather than the heart coloured cerise they usually are naturally. His dark eyes, that have seen and been through so much, are now dull and faded when they used to be full of vibrant zing.

It’s possible, he thinks, that he’s aged significantly beyond his years. He most definitely has, deep inside of him somewhere. 

Frankie regards his shrunken appearance, his collarbone so prominent as he removes his Naval sweater. His ribcage is explicitly noticeable and he winces at the state of his aching and tired body presented back to him.

“Shit...” Frankie sighs despondently.

Jude appears at the doorway, watching him regard himself as he runs his fingers through his beard and hair, examining every aspect of his gaunt appearance in the ghastly mirror.

She ventures into the bathroom next to him and dares herself to look at her own reflection, keeping her eyes to the floor like she’s avoiding a monster tailing her, until she feels Frankie put his hands on her shoulders behind her, anchoring her.

There’s nothing of her, the once supple curves of her body are now straight, flat lines with no definition or skin that glows with health and vitality.

Despite being tanned from months of relentless sun burn, her skin appears dull and lifeless. Hey eyes are sunken into the sockets of her skull and the bags under them just confirm wholly how tired she absolutely feels.

Her braid is hellishly tangled; her hair lifeless and no longer has the sleek bounce she remembers, filled with split ends.

“Oh my God,” she whimpers, utterly aghast at the state of herself. 

“You’re still beautiful to me,” Frankie whispers, resting his chin on her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her stomach. “Todavía tan jodidamente hermosa.” (Still so fucking beautiful.)

They look at one another in the mirror, trying to accept the alien looking strangers who are staring back at them with horrified reflections. 

“I’ll let you get washed up,” Jude begins, devastated as she heads towards the door, but he pulls her back by her wrist gently. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare, hermosa,” he says softly and pulls her in close to him.

Frankie kisses her, tilting her chin up and she stands on tip toes as he pulls her close. She giggles and wriggles away from his face as his beard tickles her lips.

“Yeah, we really need to cut this,” Jude says, fingering through his crispy beard. 

Frankie steps away out of the bathroom for a few moments and brings the bag back in with him. He empties the contents of the toiletries onto the sink and finds some scissors and a razor, and holds them out to her. 

“Will you make me the happiest man in the world and shave this fuckin’ thing off my face?” He asks her through a wry grin.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she chuckles.

Jude cuts large chunks of hair from his beard carefully, keeping as close to his skin as possible as he perches on the toilet with the seat down.

Opening his legs so she can stand in between, his hands sweep over her backside and squeeze occasionally.

"This is very distracting," she hums as he kneads and squeezes her flesh.

"I know," he surmises with a grin.

Once she’s cut enough off, she wets his face and covers his chin and neck in shaving foam and begins running the razor over his face gently. 

“There you are,” Jude marvels as his taught skin is finally revealed from under the hair.

The same face she remembers from when he first appeared on the island, staggering up the sand bank towards her with wide, panicked eyes. “You want it all gone?”

He nods. “It’ll grow back soon enough.”

Frankie pulls down her sweats as she steps out of them and sits on his knee.

“How you holding up?” He asks as he feels the scrap of the blade over his skin. 

Blinking, Jude nods. “I keep waiting for it to feel real.”

“Yeah.” He nods. 

“This has to be a dream.” She sounds like she’s far away. “But… I’m not waking up.”

Frankie takes her hand and presses it against her chest. She can feel the steady throb of his heart under her finger tips.

“It’s real.” He confirms. "We're here."

Jude smooths away the remaining foam with her fingers when she’s done, revealing a smooth and pallid jaw line against the dark tan of his face, and he lunges forward and kisses her deeply. 

Frankie stands up as she wraps her legs around his waist and he steps into the shower with her, peeling her out of her remaining clothes as they’re saturated under the warming stream. 

The hot water feels incredible and they both gasp out in satisfaction as the jet sprays them down, laughing in relief and wonderment at such a simple thing as hot water after all this time of bathing in the murky sea. 

“Oh my God!” Jude calls out, closing her eyes, feeling the heat on her skin, and Frankie throws his head back, letting the water drown him and soak his shaggy hair.

He shakes it about like a dog and she laughs as he chuckles, kissing her again. 

He reaches for some shower gel and sniffs it in his hands before offering his palms out to her to smell it in return. It smells of herbs and bergamot; woody scents like the forest and the notes dance inside her nostrils long after it’s absorbed into her skin. 

He runs his soapy hands all over her body, taking his time to clean and massage her, working the nodules at the back of her neck, swooping his hands under her arms to run them down her back and grab her ass with them, making her smile and groan out. 

Frankie reaches for the razor and crouches down, tapping his thigh as she puts her foot on it.

Jude watches as he shaves away the hair from her legs gently, looking up at her with a smile pinched between his teeth as the water sprays against his back. He’s tender, running his hand over her freshly smooth skin and admiring her when he's done. 

"So fuckin' beautiful," he says in wonder.

Jude reaches for his hair, scratching around the back of his neck fondly with the shampoo as he kisses just above her wet belly button. 

On his knees, he hooks her leg over his shoulder and instantly licks up the seam of her pussy.

“Frankie!” She cries out, steadying herself against the tiles as her legs buckle unexpectedly. 

“I got you,” he says, smirking up at her, his hands firmly holding her backside and thighs and keeping her upright. 

She watches as his tongue slides against her, slipping into her folds and seeking out her clit. She groans when he latches onto it, sucking it between his lips as his hands slide around the front of her thighs and he pries her open with adept, soapy fingers. 

Jude reaches down, gripping onto his shoulder, cradling his head closer as Frankie laps at her pussy like a man completely starved.

The water trickles down her stomach into his mouth from the stream above them. With each breath, Jude feels the tension building within her, coiling tightly like a spring ready to snap.

It's a sensation that courses through her veins, igniting a fire within her core that threatens to consume her. She can feel her heart racing, a steady drumbeat of anticipation that echoes in her ears as Frankie hums out in satisfaction, his skilled tongue rubbing around her clit deliciously.

“Yes, don’t stop…” Jude whines, tugging on his soaked hair, spirals of dark curls knotting around her knuckles.

He growls with the tension on his scalp, his fingers sliding up inside her as he laps at the succulent slit leaking sweetly onto his tongue as she builds. 

And then, suddenly, it happens - a release of pent-up energy that surges through her with breathtaking intensity.

It's as if a dam has burst, flooding her senses with a rush of raw, dizzy emotion that leaves her trembling in its wake.

“Fuck! Frankie!” She cries out, tears welling behind her eyes.

As she closes her eyes and leans back against the cool tiles, she can feel the tension melting away from her body, replaced by a deep and abiding sense of relaxation.

It's as though every muscle in her body has finally surrendered to the gentle rhythm of the moment, a moment where it's her and Frankie and they’re safe and warm and loving on one another, allowing her to sink deeper into the embrace of tranquillity.

He stands up and kisses her with an intensity that makes her unsteady on her feet. She can taste herself on his lips and sucks at them with a feverish want. 

“Jude,” he whines, closing his eyes as he feels her reach for his cock, hard and aching for her.

Frankie bites down on his lip as he watches her massaging it around the suds, squelching it through her fingers. 

He breathes out against her pores as she pumps him slowly. She feels his fingers grip tighter around her ass cheeks.

“I’ll never get enough of you,” Frankie husks. “Ever.”

She smiles and kisses him, working his swelling cock inside of her grip.

“I need you.” Jude moans, pulling him tighter to her.

He picks her up and pushes her against the tiles as she wraps her legs around him, crying out as he sinks his cock inside of her.

He gasps out loudly as he connects with her again, sliding in and out slowly as she kisses his shoulder, his neck over the rippled burn scars, lips searching for his again, finding her home within him. 

Home.

A word that has been tossed around so much today, carelessly that it loses all pronunciation on the tongue. A word that has felt so out of reach for so long.

Home, a place that used to exist in another world but now only exists right here, in this moment. 

Home isn’t a place anymore. They have no homes to go to, not really. It isn’t the safety of bricks and mortar, and sturdy foundations rooted in the ground. It’s not an apartment full of useless bric-or-brac. Four walls and a roof that occasionally leaks.

No, home is Frankie. Here in his arms. Home is Jude. Here in her arms. 

Their fingers intertwine and their gazes lock in a panting exchange. Frankie feels something shift within him.

It's as if a veil has been lifted, revealing a truth that has always been there, hidden in the depths of his heart. He looks at Jude, really looks at her, and sees not just the person that has been beside him, fighting with him all this time, but the very essence of home itself.

In her eyes, he finds a warmth that seeps into his bones, melting away the coldness that has plagued him for so long. In her smile, he finds a comfort that soothes his weary soul, reassuring him that everything will be okay.

“I love you, Frankie,” she gasps, tears in her eyes. “God, you feel amazing.” Jude whispers as he pants in her face, the hot mists from the shower steaming and swirling around them like gossamer ghosts bearing witness to their devout hunger. 

“I love you… fuck! Jude, oh fuck, Jude!” Frankie grunts, as he fucks harder and deeper against the tiles of the shower before exploding deep inside of her with a loud, breathy groan as he gives her everything he has.

Finally, they’re home. 

To be continued...

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[romana-after-dark]

Room's on Fire: Pilot

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

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Summery: The Delta is a commune in the middle of nowhere established by Santiago's mother. Since Divine Mother's passing in a rebellion a decade ago, Santiago, known as The Pope, and his half-God brethren Francisco, Benjamin and William have ran the commune. Now it is time for them to take a collective bride to breed, to bring the savior into the world.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence.

This is not meant to be a statement about religion, Christianity, or Catholicism, this is simply my take on a cult. I am a religious person. I understand that some of this may be very offensive to religious people so if you don't like thing like AHS Asylum or Black Mass, maybe consider not reading.

"Come on home, girl, he said with a smile You don't have to love me yet, let's get high awhile But try to understand, try to understand Try, try, try to understand That I'm a magic man." ~Magic Man, Heart.

"God dammit Benjamin, what the hell is wrong with you!”

Will smacked Ben upside the head as Frankie chided him.

Ben tried to defend himself. “Hey! You guys act like you don’t sleep with ‘em too, why are you blaming me?”

“You’re fucking a new woman every goddamn week, you have no fucking class, we’re not even supposed to be sleeping with these women,-”

Santiago’s voice, strong and comanding, broke through the bickering. “Gentlemen, please, this is not becoming behavior for Gods.”

With their leader’s command, the other three settled down, Frankie’s eyes casting away. “Sorry, Pope.”

Pushing himself off from the wall he had been leaning against, Santiago walked toward the group. “That can’t be all the options. There’s no way Benny’s made his way through every of age virgin in our compound, we have over 5 thousand people here.”

The men thought through the women they knew, the various families at the massive compound who could accomplish their task. She couldn’t just be a virgin, that was the thing.

They needed their Madonna.

Before her death, Santiago’s mother informed their group that the prophecy would not be fulfilled through Santiago, that he was not the promised savior. Instead, he was destined to lead after her passing and that Santiago, Francisco, William and Benjamin were all demi-Gods. This was a step up for the Millers and Francisco, who had spend their youths in the privileged position of foster brothers to Santiago and living under The Divine Mother’s roof and direct guidance. To Santiago, however, this was a humiliating demotion.

His childhood was never one of whimsy, growing up told that he was a God, that he was the second coming, that he was the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned… All that changed in his pre-teens. Suddenly, his mother was less pleased with him. His divinity was constantly dangled above his head. When his 20’s came and he failed to be what his mother wanted, she stripped him of his full God-hood.

So why, pray tell, were him and his fellow leaders and brethren searching for a virgin? Since Santiago had failed, they needed to father a new child. A new savior. Divine Mother’s instructions were clear; they were all to wed and breed a virgin from their compound. She was to live in their home as their wife for them to use not only whenever they wanted, but whenever they could. A sacred duty to be fruitful and multiple. It didn’t matter whose child grew in her, as long as there was a child. The world would be saved, and Santiago would earn his mothers favor from the heavens.

So, she couldn’t just be anyone. She needed to be a virgin, pure and holy. She needed to be beautiful, strong, faithful to their ways, faithful to the Divine Mother, faithful to the Pope, William, Benjamin, and Francisco.

“What about Marcus’s kid?’ Will asked, breaking their silence, causing everyone to turn to him.

Frank frowned. “You think the daughter of a traitor is the best option for the Madonna?” The sarcasm was clear. He didn’t like this plan as it was. He didn’t want strangers in their home, breaching security, putting his brothers at risk.

“That might actually be the solution to the problem.” He waited until Pope gestured for him to go on, not immediately shutting it down.

“The rebellion was when she was 12, the interrogations found she had no knowledge of her father’s plans. Ever since, she has been isolated. Lydia says she has caused no problems in the women’s home, been obedient but has no friends, no connections.”

“So you think she’s intact?”

“Santi, I doubt she’d had her first kiss.”

Since the rebellion 10 years ago, Will has set up measures to identify problems before they become something like that, and that meant keeping tabs on people. Single women lived in a few group homes throughout the compound. Each home had prefects that reported to house mothers, and house mothers that reported to Will. Anyone that was of any concern, Will checked in on, that included daughters of rebels.

“And she danced at the fire?” Pope asked, arms still crossed but listening.

Will nodded. “She did. No signs of disloyalty.”

Muttering, Frankie asked Ben if he’d slept with her in recent years.

He shook his head. “Nope. Forgot she existed.”

Frankie watched as Pope thought things through, his mouth shifting.  Frankie asked, “How are the other viable women going to take it if the daughter of a traitor is chosen above them?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ben said, defensive of Pope. His loyalty to Santiago went above everything. “If she’s the right person, she’s chosen divinely.”

Santiago held up a hand, stopping another argument. “A redemption. She has the option to purify herself from the sins of her father through the pain of childbirth.”

“Biblical precedent…” Will murmured in agreement.

“And if she fails to produce a child, then we can say we were deceived-”

“Like Eve deceived Adam. Damn, Pope, I think it’s a winner.”

Santiago smiled at his fellow leader, clasping his hands together. “Alright, let’s go visit her, make sure she’s suitable.”

*

You were dead. It was over. Lydia had cleared all the other women out of the dormitory room and told you that the Pope and the other divine leaders would be coming to speak privately to you and you assumed that you had slipped up somehow and it was the end for you. You didn’t know what you possibly could have done. You never ever spoke badly about anyone, none the less your beloved leaders! You adored them all, worshipped them as they deserved, as you had Divine Mother…

Had they decided you were too much of a liability after what your father had done? How was that possible, it had been a decade… why now…

You gasp. Fransisco… he was clairvoyant… had he seen into your dream? Had he seen what you saw oh-so often, the dreams that forced you awake crying?

You prepared yourself to grovel, to beg for mercy, to plead that these dreams of fire were not what you wanted, that they tormented you. Would you forever be labeled a traitor for what your father had done? Hadn’t you proved your loyalty to The Delta?

The door opened and you dropped to your knees, silent until spoken too. You can hear Benjamin whisper a damn. The floor creaks in front of where you knelt, arms prostrated out and for a moment, everything stood still. Warm hands were on your chin, guiding you up to see him.

He was so much more stunning up close. You’d heard tales from other girls of the men, of the way they bedded them, how it was glorious, the most holy form of worship to allow them inside you… You had taken note that you had not been allowed that honor, you had accepted it as the punishment for the sins of your birth, you never thought you’d be worthy of close contact, but right now… Pope was touching your face, your chin tucked between his thumb and forefinger; his eyes were so close to yours, his plump lips keep a soft smile. “Do not be afraid, darling girl. If we are correct, you may outshine us all.”

*

“But it is, of course, your choice.”

Your choice…

This phrase was preceded by the reminder that if you said no, there would be no savior.

There was no choice.

“I am a servant to my lords.”

Santiago smiled at that. “Excellent. Now, let’s begin the inspection.”

The what?

“Oh… is it… I swear I am a virgin, I’ve never been touched-”

“I know.” Francisco said. Oh, right. Clairvoyant. “We need to make sure you’re… healthy.”

“Oh. Yes, of course then.”

Francisco undressed you, his calm demeanor and soothing touch eased you as he slowly stripped you of your clothing. He pulled the loose shirt over your body as you raised your hands, the pail bra underneath had a lot of coverage (everything was meant to be practical) but you still felt exposed.

“Just down to her underwear, Francisco.” Will instructed as he watched. Will was a healer, that was his gift.

Francisco pulled down your pants slowly, and you feel eyes scaling you.

“Strip her down fully, Frank.” Ben tells Francisco, and you jolt when you feel his hands on the bare skin on your hips.

Francisco sighs, but Will puts his foot down. “She doesn’t need to be naked, this is invasive enough as it is”

Ben gave a short laugh. “More invasive than fucking her.”

“BEN!” All three of them shouted, discomfort and fears coursing through your body.

“Pope, she’s shaking.” Francisco asserts with his hands on your shoulders and you watch Pope give Ben a look.

“You behave, your brother knows what he’s doing.” He turns to Will, jerking his head at you. “Handle it.”

Will approaches you, his hands on your face. He holds you different than Pope, more firm, more all-encompassing. Will’s hands were larger, and he placed them at the side of your head, like he was holding you together. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s like a medical examination, okay?”

You nod within his grasp. “Okay.”

He smiled at you. “Good girl. I’m going to touch you, just stand there and take it. Trust me.”

You did. You’d follow him anywhere if he spoke like that. His hands move down your neck, slowly over your shoulders and down your arms, sending a chill through your body. He squeezed your hands. “Doing so good princess. Gonna check your backside now, can you straighten up for me?” You square your shoulders as he walks around, towering over you. You lock eyes with Ben; he looks hungry, like he’s ready to pounce but smiling at you with his boyish charm you can’t help wonder what that pounce would feel like. Ben had slept with almost every girl in your dormitory, and you’d been privy to all kinds of colorful descriptions as you overheard girls talking. Not to you. Never to you.

Will rubbed his hands together and breathed on them to aid the warmth before placing his fingertips at the top-most part of your back. Slowly, he dragged 8 fingers down, applying pressure, sending a tingling down your spine as his fingers traced it. “Excellent posture, just need to check a few things.” His hands went back up, fingers bracing at your sides as his thumbs searched certain spots, rubbing over aching parts of you with pressure, but not pain.

“Got a few knots.” Will comment’s, and you turn slight back towards him, suddenly scared.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, no. Nothing to worry about. Just means you’re stressed. It hurt there sometimes?”

He continued massaging you, your next words coming out with a moan. “Yeah.”

“I know it does, sweet girl. Don’t you worry, I’ll help you take care of that. You will be my wife, after all.”

The thought brings a small smile to your face. The smile falters when his hands wrap around your front, William’s body pressed up against your back. His hands are pressing into your stomach, making their way up until he cups your breast, a small groan escaping his mouth that had somehow found its way into your hair.

“She likes that.” You here Ben say, drawing your attention, his grin made you swell with pride. You’d spoken with him before; Benjamin knew all the women. Still, he never chose you to bed and you had thought you weren’t appealing but now, now you see it. Now, as Ben began to touch himself over his pants as he watched his brother examine your body, you realize you were meant for a higher purpose. You were being saved, protected, put on a pedestal for this moment, to be the mother of their child, to be their Madonna.

Will continued him ministrations, soft grunts as he ground his hips into your ass. You can se his eyes are locked in with Pope. Pope, is watching the scene with hooded eyes and parted lips. With a soft but powerful moan, Will stilled behind you, panting a soft kiss on your neck before his fingertips trails your panty line. “Now, for the vaginal exam.”

All the pleasure you felt stops, your body freezing up again. “B-but, you said I wouldn’t-”

William turned you around to face him. “I have to check out your privates, gotta make sure you’re safe. It’s just me, it’s just external, don’t worry. We’ll face away.” He knelt down.

You were acutely aware your ass was still out for the other men when you heard Ben groan when your underwear is pulled down, the distinct sound of him summoning Francisco, who had been quiet so far, and the unzipping of pants.

“Goddamn…” He says, notching your legs so they spread and lifting one foot so it is resting on his bent knee. He touched your sensitive skin. “Pope, you gotta see this… the girls wet.”

“But-” I wanted to protest that he had said it would only be him, but there was no point. Soon, you’d be married, and they be able to have you as much as they wanted.

“Holy shit, she’s dripping…” Pope marvels as the slick running down your thighs.

Will continues prodding at you, fingers running through your glistening folds. In the background was a sound you couldn’t quiet pinpoint, and something that sounded like kissing, but who would be kissing? There was only Ben and Francisco there. Will dips his finger slightly inside your hole, making you gasp.

“Careful.” Pope warned. “She needs to stay intact.”

“I know.” Will groans. “But she’s so fucking tight, Pope.”

A muffled but strong groan behind you, and Pope looks like he’s about to fall apart when he pulls away.

“William, Franisco, Ben. Go to Lydia, tell her the wedding will be at her next ovulation.”

The men reluctantly made their exit leaving Pope alone in the room with you. He pulled up your underwear and pants before helping you back into your shirt. “You are perfect.” He grabbed your face again, pinching your chin and guiding you to look up at him. “Pack only personal items. You’ll have new clothing, everything will be taken care of. From now on, as long as you are what we need you to be, whatever you need, you’ll have.”

He leans in and you open your mouth to him, beautifully alluring, gifting him your first kiss and the spark was ignited. He was everything now.

“My Madonna.”

WE'RE LIVE! So excited to do this, I was a little too excited, I didn't wait until january like i said lol. After this I'm gonna try and finish Blessed be the Fruit and Awakening before going forward which shouldnt be long

PLEEAASEEEE LMK YOU'RE THOTS AND THEORIES!!!!

Special thanks to my BELOVED @hon3yboy for encouraging me so fucking hard with this series!!! she is so wonderful and has written great work including WEREWOLF MARC SPECTOR!!!!

How to keep up with the story!

Comment on this masterlist that you want to be tagged and I'll tag you in updates (If you ask to be tagged, I ask you at least like the fic. Likes dont do anything to spread the work, but it at least lets me know you're still reading.)

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TAGLIST:

@hon3yboy @winniethewife @femmeanonymelives @yorksgirl @pockcock @neverwheremoonchild @casa-boiardi @meveispunk @survivingandenduring @criticalarchitecture @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @obscurexsorrows @hellfire-state-of-mind @christinamadsen @pimosworld @princessanglophile @rubyfruitjungle @simple-lovebot @missdictatorme @campingwiththecharmings @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @javier-penas-wifexx420 @stefani-topaz @alwaysmicado

if I missed you LMK!!!!

[expectiations]

River Song returns from the dead

Alex Kingston stars in The Death and Life of River Song, a brand-new series of full-cast audio dramas, coming soon from Big Finish Productions. 

An archaeologist from the 52nd century, born and raised to be an assassin, destined to marry her intended target, and to have many of her own adventures too – Professor River Song’s very messy timeline began (or maybe ended) when she first appeared in the 2008 Doctor Who TV episode Silence in the Library. 

Since then, Alex Kingston has reprised the role of River numerous times for Big Finish Productions, including in her own series, The Diary of River Song, which ran from 2015 to 2023. And, starting in August 2024, she will carry on the role in a brand-new series, The Death and Life of River Song. 

The first box set in the series, Last Words, is written by Robert Valentine. It begins with River, after settling down to an afterlife in the Library’s computer core, finding herself waking up in Earth’s future, her consciousness having been temporarily transferred to a new body. 

Alex Kingston said: “We have gone post-Library! We’ve done another episode in the past where I was within the database, which I loved, and I thought that’s the only way you could go forward with River, given her situation. So, I was actually really surprised when this box set came my way, and that we are now so far advanced in the history of Earth that she is able to be brought out as data and put into a cloned body. So very, very clever!” 

Producer David Richardson added: “When every single day during the recording, your leading actress says “This script is brilliant”, you know you’re onto a good thing. Even better, at the end of the last day, Alex popped the script in her bag and announced that she loved Last Words so much she was taking it home to keep and treasure.” 

The Death and Life of River Song: Last Words is now available for pre-order exclusively here, either as a collector’s edition four-CD box set, for £29.99, or as a digital download, for £22.99 per volume.   

Big Finish listeners can also pre-order a bundle with Last Words as well as Volumes 2 and 3 of The Death and Life of River Song, which are both due for release in 2025, for just £80 (collector’s edition CDs + downloads) or £66 (downloads only). 

All the above prices include the special pre-order discount and are subject to change after general release. 

Please note that Big Finish is currently operating a digital-first release schedule. The mail-out of collector’s edition CDs may be delayed due to factors beyond our control, but all purchases of this release unlock a digital copy that can be immediately downloaded or played on the Big Finish app from the release date.

[demxnicprxncess]

hiii, could I request “how the evans would ask/react to roadhead”? ty!

coming right up.

Taglist: @kitwalkersgfff, @ppawmpkin, @yes-divine-ruler, @quicksilversg1rl, @charsdunkie lmk if you would like to be added or removed my dears.

Warnings: isnt it obvious that its just flat out nsfw?

How the Evans, ask, and react, to the reader giving them road head.

Tate Langdon:

How he asks: It would start out as a joke, like he'd be singing a song that you'd call ass, and he would glare at you and reply with something along the lines of "suck my dick" because he's a sassy bitch. And you'd be like "We're in a damn car" just continuing with the joke but then he'd use one hand to unbutton and unzip his pants before saying something stupid like, "So? You shouldn't starve yourself."

How he reacts: He whines, grips your hair, and forces you down even more, yeah, all that good stuff. But I also feel like he'd run some red lights and even stop signs, whilst stopping at green lights, he would possibly even almost crash. So :/. The first-time you guys tried it was also the last time because you didn't want to die giving him head in a fucking car.

Kit Walker:

How he asks: He doesn't, it wasn't his idea. It was just a long ride, and he was tired, so you decided to get his blood flowing by giving him head. He'd instinctively ask what the literal fuck you were doing, and you'd be like "Keeping you awake." No more questions would be asked; However, he would want to pull over, but you'd tell him no.

How he'd react: Sketchy as fuck. Like he'd be looking around all scared that anyone would see you guys, even if you were driving. Would take time at red lights to either grip your hair or even place a hand on your boobs. He would offer once again to pull over and you hum nos against his dick driving him absolutely insane. As he's about to cum he pulls you up, and either you're at your destination or in some alley, he fucks you in the backseat. However, if you are at you r house for the destination, he fucks you in your guy's bed.

Kyle Spencer (pre-death)

How he asks: He seen it in a porn video and wanted to try one day. He was absolutely horny and couldn't do anything while driving so he kind of hinted at the idea, not fully asking. Something much like, "Hey babe my friend sent me this video... well the dude was getting something called 'road head'", he sucked at trying to drop hints, because he sounded lowkey desperate. "Okay and?" you'd reply forcing him to ask. "Can we try it? I mean if you don't want to, we don't have t-" He'd be stopped because you were already pulling his dick out of his pants.

How he reacts: He swears up and down he looked so fucking cool. He didn't. He was a whiney baby, and when he was going to cum, he had to pull over. Which he would kiss you, you'd crawl into his lap and boom. You guys are having sex in a damn Mc Donalds parking lot. Hope you're proud of yourselves.

Jimmy Darling:

How he'd ask: You'd beg him to drive your car, since it was too cold, and he said only if you'd give him head while he drove. Which you did because why not.

How he'd react: Praise, degrade, degrade and praise again and again in that order. "Fuck, you're so good with your little mouth." and then, "Fuck you're such a whore for me hm?", and then my favorite, "Such a good mouth on a slut. I fucking love you." In the end yall would make out and he'd drive you to where you needed to go after car sex, when your done with your business, more car sex. When you get to camp sex in the caravan. SEX, SEX, SEX, that's how road head goes with our darling boy Jimmy Neutron.

I will do part two with Kai, James, Alex, and Peter tmr guys im tired :/

[reallyromealone]

Super self indulgent

Mikey x male reader omegaverse

(name) followed behind his brothers quietly, decently someone tried to kill the omega and thus Rindō and Ran had to bring him to the Kanto manji gang headquarters and the alphas were apprehensive to say the least, keeping (name) a well hidden secret until now.

They basically drowned their baby brother in their scent to ward off any unwanted suitors and any Kanto manji men who would try and seduce their brother.

(Name) was tired, having woken at the crack ass of hell and dragged god knows where by his brothers and he just wanted to take a nap honestly "you can nest in one of our offices if you want, we had someone get nesting supplies for you " ran said fixing his brothers hair, knowing (name) was less than pleased with being dragged into his brothers criminal activities.

"We know your pissed (name) but we just need to find the guy and then you can go back home and do your stuff" what stuff was that? (Name) was a university student, it wasn't crazy uncommon for omegas to attend higher education but it was still seen as unusual for one to do so.

"Fine... You're lucky I'm on break" (name) grumbled as he was led to the eldests haitanis office, a pile of nesting materials in the corner of the room "we will leave you to it, text us if you need us to scent anything " familial scents were common for nesting and the brothers were no strangers to their clothing temporarily stolen by their baby brother, something he had been doing since he was a pup.

"Alright... I will text you guys when i need you" (name) huffed angrily and the elder Haitani brothers left him to his own devices.

(Name) was carefully making his nest when he smelt it, his mate.

You see every person has one or hell maybe a couple people that are made for them.

Their mates.

Sometimes people can go without ever meeting their destined partner/partners but sometimes they do.

The haitani siblings were told as children, it's like an angels call but with scent and your second gender can't help but feel pulled to the person.

And that's exactly what (name) felt as he slowly got up and walked out from the safety of his brothers office, eyes hazy as he walked down the hall and ignored the Kanto manji men.

The Kanto manji members were all seated at the couch as they had a meeting, Mikey sitting at the head serious and all when it hit him like a punch in the face.

He didn't know what happened honestly, one moment he's cool and collected sitting on the couch and next minute he has an omega sitting on his lap, snuggling into him "(name)?!" Rindō said slighly horrified and scared for his brother as Mikey looked down at the omega with an unreadable expression, the blond alpha recognizing the omega as his mate.

(Name) clung to him as ran spoke slowly "(name), bud could you get off Mikey?" This behavior was completely out of left field for (name), the omega rather reserved with physical contact and only really went to his brothers for it when he was in pre heat, when his omega practically demanded snuggles before booting his brothers out to suffer through a heat.

(Name) shook his head and clung to Mikey harder, not wanting to be away from his alpha as his omega took over fully.

Mikey gently lifted the omegas chin to look at him, (name) purring at the omega "hello little one" Mikey said with a softness that fucking Blindsided the rest of Kanto Manji, only ever seeing their leader as cold and ruthless and not a kind alpha.

"Hi alpha...." (Name) said slowly as he looked into those deep black eyes, hypnotized by them as he exposed his neck slightly in submission as Mikey made a soft noise "what are you doing here baby?" Mikey asked keeping the omega close "someone tried to kill him" Ran said seriously, really not sure what to make of this fucking situation right now but he was not gonna pry his brother away from Mikey.

That was a death wish.

"What?" Mikey said coldly as his scent turned foul and simmered with rage, the sudden shift messing with a mates first bond.

When two mates meet, they typically scent each other and let their second genders mingle and any sudden changes can be stressful on either of them and the sudden scent shift freaked (name) out as he whimped slightly, not understanding why his alpha was angry so suddenly.

Was he angry at omega?

(Name) gripped Mikey's black shirt as he looked back at his brothers, the elder haitanis immediately recognizing what is going on in his brain.

"We aren't sure yet, we think it was from a rival gang" Ran said slowly, keeping a close eye on his baby brother who might be misinterpreting Mikey's rage as rejection.

Mikey's scent grew more sour at this and the distressed scent from (name) was driving the men mad as (name) teared up and moved away from Mikey, an expression of heartbreak on the omegas face "alpha...doesn't want me?" (Name) said slowly and the smell of distressed omega made the men around him far more stressed as their alphas struggled not to comfort the omega.

Mikey looked shocked at the omegas declaration before lifting the omega up and walking out, poor (name) shaking and crying into his neck as he took him to Mikey's area, the best out of all of them.

Mikey's office had a connected bathroom and bedroom in case he didn't have the time to go back home and sleep, he kept the dojo but... To many Memories.

And he didn't want to go to his empty penthouse sometimes.

"The fuck just happened" shion said confused as the Haitani brothers sighed.

It was never easy was it?

Mikey tried soothing his omega, soft kisses and relaxing pharamones as his alpha took over "shhh omega, alphas here" his voice deep and soothing as the omega calmed down slightly, brain still frazzled "alpha wants omega?" He said with a slight crack in his voice and Mikey nodded "of course alpha wants you"

(Name) purred as he let the alpha kiss him gently, the bonding continuing as Mikey soaked the omega in his scent and vice Versa.

The couple claiming one another.

The real claiming would have to wait until (name)s heat.

Mikey practically burritoed (name) in a blanket, grabbing his snacks and feeding the Omega to show he can provide for him.

Mikey would murder anyone who even thought of touching his snacks and food but he happily let his omega eat them and even fed him himself, a weird sense if pride as he did so.

Mikey watched as the omega accepted him, chirping as he snuggled into the alpha.

(Name) wasn't quite sure what happened when he woke up, feeling warm and safe as he snuggled into his new found mates chest as the smell of melted chocolate and macha, a wonderful combination as he looked over the sleeping alpha and realized who be was.

Holy shit.

His alpha was the leader of one of the most feared gangs in Japan and his brothers boss.

(Name) strangely enough didn't feel stressed though, his instincts only seeing Mikey as safe and comforting.

(Name) did have one worry though.

Omegas had rights yes.

But not a crazy amount.

(Name) still needed his brothers permission to open a bank account and do most things, like attend higher education and such and now that he found his alpha.

Mikey had all those decisions in the palm of his hand.

If he decided he didn't want (name) in university, he could pull him out and (name) wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

The thought sent dread throughout him.

Mikey woke the the smell of distressed omega, eyes snapping open to see his mate mumbling to himself as he stared off into the distance.

"You're thinking to loud" Mikey said snapping (name) from his thoughts and (name) stared at him stressed, unsure what to say.

"What's your name pretty?" Mikey asked pulling (name) close, blond hair draping over his face as he stared at (name) with an intensity like no other "(name) Haitani...." He said shyly and fiddled with the end of his shirt "to think my mate was just in Roppongi all this time..."

"I want to continue school..."

"Wait are you in high school?" Mikey asked staring him apprehensive and (name) shook his head "I'm in university..."

Mikey thought it over and nodded "I won't stop you from going... Do you want pups?" Mikey asked nosing (name)s scent gland gently, smiling slightly when (name) shows his neck in submission "maybe one day... A few wouldn't hurt..." (Name) was blushing heavily as Mikey gently kissed his scent gland.

"I will have your brothers send me your medical and schedule, don't worry baby" Mikey said before pulling him back down into bed and snuggling into him "for now we go back to fucking bed" Mikey said with the utmost seriousness.

(Name) couldn't help but giggle as he snuggled into mikeys warm chest, feeling lighter knowing Mikey wouldn't make him some subservient omega.

Mikey eventually had to leave poor (name) by himself, giving him his Kanto jacket to snuggle as ran and Rindō brought him his nesting supplies and checked on their baby brother, Mikey could understand as he was the same with Emma.

Once the haitani brothers left Mikey's room, Mikey immediately called a meeting "so what's this about someone trying to kill my mate?" Mikey said coldly, staring them down with an intensity like no other and the Haitani brothers explained the situation that happened and Mikey felt his blood boil "find them and bring them to me"

The men immediately went to work, looking through camera feeds and everything to hunt the asshole down while Mikey went to check on (name), not wanting to be away from his mate for long.

When he walked in he saw (name) in a nest, his bedding stolen and kanto jacket used as a blanket as he slept and Mikey hadn't felt this urge to protect in a very long time as he sat infront of the nest and watched his mate sleep and the more stared the more possessive he got.

Why wouldn't he? He's his mate.

He was made for Mikey.

Only Mikey.

He had him now and he wasn't going to let anyone take him, he struggled with his dark impulses to not lock sweet (name) away like a pretty doll for his eyes only but decided against it... His Omega had aspirations and dreams after all.

[shallyne]

You're Alive In My Head

A new fic for @throneofglassmicrofics and one of my favorites I think! based on the song Marjorie by Taylor Swift.

Prompt: Memory

Words: 966

TW: pre-canon death, mourning, grief

“Never be so kind, you forget to be clever and never be so clever, you forget to be kind.” Aelin’s mother said. She had heard this alot, from teachers and her father, even Aedion, but when her mother taught her, it was special in a way Aelin couldn’t explain. Maybe it was the way Evalin Galathynius was gentle enough that she didn’t turn away out of spite but strict enough that Aelin had to listen.

Aelin wanted to ask questions but when she opened her mouth no sound came out. Clawing at her throat, she looked at her mom but when she looked up, her mother kneeled in front of her and with a shock Aelin realized she could see the wall behind her mother, through her mother,

“My brave girl,” her mother whispered as she touched Aelins’s cheek, a phantom touch she couldn’t feel, slowly dissolving into thin air. There was nothing Aelin could do to help, she couldn’t even scream for help.. She couldn’t stand up to hug her one last time, she could only watch her mother vanish.

And if I didn't know better

I'd think you were talking to me now

If I didn't know better

I'd think you were still around

What died didn't stay dead

You're alive, you're alive in my head

Aelin awoke startled in an empty bed. It was early morning, the sun just rising. Rowan was probably on one of his early morning trips, not expecting her to wake up this early.Sitting up, she touched her cheek just where her mother had in her dream and it had felt so real that her own hand was shaking. The smell of her mother’s perfume still was embedded in her. 

Breathing became difficult and before she could think twice, Aelin grabbed her cloak and a pair of boots and went out. Luckily the palace was still asleep, mostly, and she knew which corridors she had to avoid to meet anyone.

It was quick to leave and grab a horse, leaving unnoticed and as she was riding towards sunrise, she remembered another lesson many years ago.

“Never be so polite, you forget your power and never wield such power, you forget to be polite.” her mother quietly said as Aelin was cuddled against her, munching on a cookie she had stolen from the kitchen.

She looked up at her mother, meeting her eyes, the same shade as hers. “What does that mean?”

Her mother smiled, softly caressing Aelin’s golden mane of hair, “I asked the same thing when I was your age, Fireheart, and no one gave me a satisfying answer. But I’ll have to tell you the same: you will find out when you’re older.”

“I want to know now!”

“I know, Fireheart,” Evalin Galathynius replied, her thumb sliding to her face and caressing Aelin’s cheek. “I know.”

And if I didn't know better, 

Aelin reached her destination and she climbed off her horse, binding in on a nearby tree, walking down a little path she had dreaded to walk since she had entered Terrasen after ten years until she reached a gated patch amidst the trees.

“Hello,” she said the graves with a breaking voice, etched on them Evalin Ashryver Galathynius and Rhoe Galathynius. 

The wind caressing her as if in response. 

I'd think you were listening to me now.

It was the first two hours that Aelin broke down and told them everything that had happened since she woke up that dreadful night in her parents bed. Everything bad and everything good. She cried and got mad and mourned all of the fallen who had fought for a better world once more. She hasn’t told them everything of course because if she had included details she would be here for a week. Although, at this moment it felt like her parents listened and she would have stayed a week if that feeling would’ve stayed but the feeling vanished the more the world woke up around her. 

The autumn chill that wakes me up

You loved the amber skies so much

Long limbs and frozen swims

You'd always go past where our feet could touch

Aelin let herself fall on the grass, looking up at the sky. A chill crept up her spine as the autumn cold and her decision to not wear a garderobe appropriate for autumn weather caught up to her, that wouldn’t get her to leave though. Not yet.

Turning her head to the gravestones, she said, “I should have asked you more questions. Both of you. I should have asked you how to do this and…” she swallowed. “I should have asked to write it down or something. I wish I could have kept everything.” a tear rolled down her cheek.”They took everything, everything from you. Every little scrap was taken.”

The wind howled around her, mixing with the singing of the few birds that haven’t traveled south yet. 

And if I didn't know better

I'd think you were singing to me now

Aelin stayed like that, silent, for a few more minutes before she stood up groaning and knelt one last time before her parent’s graves. “Next time I’ll bring you stones. I’m sorry, I just had to talk to you.” she whispered, pressing her hands against both gravestones. “I love you so much.”

I know better

But I still feel you all around

Against the cold, Aelin pulled her cloak closer together and walked back to her horse and once settled on the mare, she looked up the pine tree at the green eyed hawk, “Let’s go home, buzzard.” she said hoarsely.

And as she rode back home, her mate was flying above her, guarding her. She didn’t mind, she was actually glad he was there.

That they were together. 

[evita-shelby]

What Happens in Vegas

Thanks @zablife for the moodboard, i added the heart cake lol

@thegreatdragonfruta

It was supposed to be a pre-honeymoon trip to get away from all the stress from their royalty worthy wedding taking place in a month.

They’d met here, both of them getting shitfaced and testing their good luck before the semester began at Harvard Business College. Jack had gotten there on scholarship, busting his ass to earn his place, Eva got there because of her family’s money. At some point, they met during the endless night and woke up in bed together, forgetting how different they were.

And when they continued their fling during their two years at Harvard, things took their course. They were friends, then he needed a fake girlfriend for his eldest sister’s destination wedding in Cozumel, and when they came back to New York, she was the first woman he had ever been serious about.

He never even considered cheating on her with his boss’ slutty daughter, a thing unheard of in him. By the time they graduated, Jack knew he couldn’t live without her and proposed that same day. They ended up everywhere, which gave them a boost when they started their own investment company together. Nelson and Smith.

Now they’re taking the pink Cadillac convertible he fixed up just for her to the place it all began: Las Vegas.

“I wish I could marry you now, I’m tired of all the waiting.” He admits as the first night here leads them to the casino they met.

Neither care enough about the gambling, just telling everyone who listens that they met here and were getting married in September. They’d gotten free chips, free champagne, and an Elvis impersonator out of duty gave them his card.

“So let’s do it. You heard Elvis, the chapel’s open 24/7.” Eva, who’s impulse control is as terrible as his, says, taking out the card from his pocket.

They blow their winnings on getting ready for it with anyone present here invited to it. It is so unlike the grand event waiting for them at home that it makes it even better. Their family would hate them if the canceled the other one, for fucks sake his granny was coming from Ireland.

Eva looks amazing, a short and tight mini dress and a veil bedazzled with the words till death in black and silver rhinestones. The rings were modest, with the words Mrs. to match his that say Mr.

The cake was fucking weird though.

Eva was incredibly glamorous and cool, but she was also goth. The cake was going to be a heart shaped what happen in Vegas cake for two or two anatomically correct hearts.

Eva didn’t even wait for the guy to finish his sentence to say yes.

By dawn, they were married, and by the time they left Vegas, they had matching tattoos to commemorate their elopement.

“I’m gonna get the hearts as our wedding topper.” The newly minted Mrs. Nelson proclaimed as they left the city in the vintage car now sporting a just married sign.

[pers-books]

River Song returns from the dead 

Alex Kingston stars in The Death and Life of River Song, a brand-new series of full-cast audio dramas, coming soon from Big Finish Productions. 

An archaeologist from the 52nd century, born and raised to be an assassin, destined to marry her intended target, and to have many of her own adventures too – Professor River Song’s very messy timeline began (or maybe ended) when she first appeared in the 2008 Doctor Who TV episode Silence in the Library. 

Since then, Alex Kingston has reprised the role of River numerous times for Big Finish Productions, including in her own series, The Diary of River Song, which ran from 2015 to 2023. And, starting in August 2024, she will carry on the role in a brand-new series, The Death and Life of River Song. 

The first box set in the series, Last Words, is written by Robert Valentine. It begins with River, after settling down to an afterlife in the Library’s computer core, finding herself waking up in Earth’s future, her consciousness having been temporarily transferred to a new body. 

Alex Kingston said: “We have gone post-Library! We’ve done another episode in the past where I was within the database, which I loved, and I thought that’s the only way you could go forward with River, given her situation. So, I was actually really surprised when this box set came my way, and that we are now so far advanced in the history of Earth that she is able to be brought out as data and put into a cloned body. So very, very clever!” 

Producer David Richardson added: “When every single day during the recording, your leading actress says “This script is brilliant”, you know you’re onto a good thing. Even better, at the end of the last day, Alex popped the script in her bag and announced that she loved Last Words so much she was taking it home to keep and treasure.” 

The Death and Life of River Song: Last Words is now available for pre-order exclusively here, either as a collector’s edition four-CD box set, for £29.99, or as a digital download, for £22.99 per volume.   

Big Finish listeners can also pre-order a bundle with Last Words as well as Volumes 2 and 3 of The Death and Life of River Song, which are both due for release in 2025, for just £80 (collector’s edition CDs + downloads) or £66 (downloads only). 

All the above prices include the special pre-order discount and are subject to change after general release. 

Please note that Big Finish is currently operating a digital-first release schedule. The mail-out of collector’s edition CDs may be delayed due to factors beyond our control, but all purchases of this release unlock a digital copy that can be immediately downloaded or played on the Big Finish app from the release date.

-- Huzzah! River Song is coming back!!!

[gutsybitsies]

Based on this post about a separate camp for Chthonian demigods

Jason mumbled to himself the words of the prophecy that led to him and Katie Gardner following Connor Stoll deeper and deeper into the woods. Piper and Leo were back at camp, waiting for them to come back from this pre-quest to begin their actual quest.

"Don't freak out when we get there," Connor told her and Jason. "It will just make them want to scare you more." He looked excited though, almost bouncing off the walls despite the heaviness of the two prophecies they had received. The backpack that he carried held cartons and cartons of box mix brownies, blondies, and lemon squares. Lou Ellen's favorite, Katie Gardner said through tears as she stuffed them in.

"So all we need to do is to ask for forgiveness?" Jason asked. "And this Nico, you're sure he will do that?"

"It wasn't our choice," Jason remembered their explanation before they left. "The gods, they refused to listen to us. After Nico and the the demigods who rebelled came back from the quest, their siblings and the rest of the Underworld demigods were cast away from the camp. We begged our parents for them to be able to stay, but the borders were closed, and they were shut off from Camp Halfblood since then."

"Nico is all talk and no bite," Connor said. "It's not him I'm worried about. It's getting to his council that I'm worried about." He made a surprise left turn and jumped over some hedges. "I can feel the pull of their council more and more these days. It means that they've erected a shrine in my father's name recently. They're settling down."

"Demeter as well," Katie said. "I feel her influence."

They came to a clearing in the woods, Jason looked around for an entrance to this other demigod "hideaway" that the rest of the campers talked about.

"It's not here, this is a red herring." Connor said. He closed his eyes and sensed the path underneath their feet. "That way."

They walked into the woods for an hour more, there were strangely no monsters around.

Connor stopped and lifted his finger up to his lips, he pointed at a somber poplar tree on the side of the road. He closed his eyes again and felt the mist around him, and he sensed for the tug of the destination he had in his mind.

"I am Connor Stoll, son of Hermes, god of travelers, merchants, messengers. Son of Hermes, psychopomp of the Underworld, the guide that leads souls from the plane of living to the plane of the dead. And I request an audience with the Ghost King."

"We brought you guys cookies and brownies!" Katie supplied helpfully. "And cereal as well."

The tree shook, and slowly wilted away. The Mist around the area faded as well, and Jason was treated to the sight of a huge, ghastly solid black iron gate. It was ghastly because on the door hung rows of the heads of very much dead monsters. Their jaws were slack in death, but their eyes betrayed horror of a violent end.

The gates creaked open, and the three of them walked in gingerly.

"I'm glad they're able to-to stay safe," Katie remarked.

"You won't stay safe, not for long!" Suddenly arrows fired at them. Jason blasted the projectiles away with a gust of wind, but the distraction was enough. A net blew up from under them and caught the three of them in a trap. Teenagers and children rushed in to surround them, leading the charge was Ethan Nakamura, his one eye squinting in triumph at the capture.

"Good job, everyone." He said. "Now where should we put them?"

A skinny kid with way too many freckles in an oversized armor raised his arm. "We should put them in a jar and throw them to the fishes!"

"No," another one glared at Connor Stoll. "We should just let them rot in that cage with no food or water."

"Is this because I spiked your food with ghost pepper one time?" Connor asked. "Because it tasted delicious either way."

"Also because you stabbed me during the war," the kid said. "But mostly because of the ghost pepper, yes. Fuck your hazing!"

"Language!" gasped Katie.

"Hi Katie, hi Connor!" Lou Ellen popped in from behind Ethan Nakamura. "It's so nice to see you again! I got your care package from my dad, everyone loved it."

Jason could see that Lou Ellen looked really happy to see the two campers next to him. Along with her, some of their other ambushers smiled and waved at both Connor and Katie. She had an ugly scar that ran from under her chin down to her collarbones. She smiled brightly at them nonetheless.

"You mentioned brownies, right?" Another kid said. "I want brownies. Ethan, if we let them out the cage we get brownies, don't we?"

"We are not letting INTRUDERS into our camp for brownies," the apparent leader, Ethan, said.

Five minutes later, Jason finds his arms tied up as he trots down a beaten path to this camp's version of the Big House while their guards on either side munch down on the Betty Crocker brownies that Katie had brought.

There were shrines in this camp. Many, many shrines. Many more than the ones in Camp Halfblood. Off in the distance Jason could see and hear construction of some cabins being built. The builders shimmered, some looked like stone, some looked like...bones.

The three of them were marched toward the entrance of a cave, blocked by a boulder. Ethan marched through like it was nothing, it turned out to be just an illusion. Another Mist creation. Katie and Lou Ellen were quietly conversing, as was Connor and a sandy blond boy who had similar dimples.

They were led down the cavern. Torches lit up as they walked past as if they were motion sensitive. The dark, somberness of it pushed down on Jason, who felt constricted and hard to breathe. Connor and Katie looked fine however, something about their essence seemed to shift when they walked into the camp and down underground.

There were symbols etched on the cavern walls, mysterious Greek glyphs that Jason couldn't read. They passed by a mosaic of poplar trees and a wailing woman beside a river. Mosaics of courts of law, judgement, swords, battlefields. Punishment.

Eventually they made their way into a large clearing in the cave. It became warm, and the decor changed. It was a round room. There were tall Greek columns around a beautiful indoor veranda. On the outskirts of the room were a bunch of sofas, ping pong tables, two TVs, and an array of video games scattered across the floor.

"You guys have a flatscreen?? Two of them??" Connor said excitedly.

"And the latest Super Mario," the kid Jason assumed was his brother grinned. "And we have a computer room! With a bunch of apple laptops! And look at this." He holds up a pager. "We can use pagers here." It was at this moment that Jason noticed that this kid had two fingers missing on his left hand.

Jason noticed that it seemed like all of the members of this place had some sort of physical sign, a mark. A punishment, a warning, his mind supplied. He felt sick at the thought.

"Enough talk. We convene," Ethan said. "Bring them to the room."

The room was connected to the activities center. It was a rectangular space, supported by columns, with a hearth in the center. It felt like a throne room, accentuated by a large gloomy throne at the head. The jagged throne was made from melted swords, knives, arrows, and other presumably Greek weapons that Jason couldn't recognize. It was empty, it was looked to be the only chair there. Looked to be, Jason realized as the other campers convened and sat on seats of their own that materialized as they made themselves comfortable, was a made assumption to make in this place.

The throne was still empty, but Ethan and a stringy looking brunet with freckles took their place next to it.

The air shifted again from the warm hominess of the activities room. This place felt more potent in magic than Camp Halfblood. There was more intent, more pressure. The kids in the room gazed at them with heavy eyes.

"So what brings visitors of Camp Half Blood here?" The skinny brunet asked. "Are we to embark on another quest to be punished for our crimes, or to prove our loyalty? Is this camp too blasphemous?"

"It's good news, Alabaster, I promise!" Katie said. "Where's Nico?"

"He is not here at the moment. We will inform him when he is ready to hear from you," the teenager, Alabaster, said. "We make the decisions here as a council."

"Nico can veto, though," A sleepy looking boy supplied helpfully. "He vetoed Alabaster's last vote to burn down Camp Halfblood. He also vetoed the chocolate fountain in the agora."

"Shut. Up," hissed Alabaster. Maybe he was mad because he really wanted the chocolate fountain, Jason thought halfheartedly.

"Did you not call Nico?" Someone asked, her seat was emblazoned with the symbol of Thanatos.

"We're not calling him until we know what they want," Alabaster argued. "That's what they want. We can't give them what they want yet!"

Jason glanced at Connor, who was about to speak.

"Katie's right. It's good news. Well, also bad news. More bad new than good news. We've lost contact with the gods, and Annabeth is missing."

"Nico's little crush," said Ethan. "That's why you wanted him here, because he'll do anything to help find Annabeth."

Alabaster looked like he was about to say something, then stopped.

Katie and Connor both looked surprised, but moved forward.

"We don't need you guys to do anything, I-I would hate to request anything from any of you, I'm so glad to see that you are all doing great." Katie said. "Jason here will be going on a quest soon, we think it's related to Annabeth's disappearance and the gods' lack of contact. But the oracle sent us here first."

Connor stood up straight and spoke the prophecy that poured out of Rachel's mouth.

"Before the quest proper, bring the Betty Crocker.

Seek the angel and ask for his blessing and pardon,

Confront the Olympians' choice with might,

Right their wrongs and restore balance and light.

As a family we began,

As a family we shall end."

"I think the oracle is saying that the Fates-they're saying that you can come home. That you can come back to Camp Halfblood now," Katie said. "The gods- the Olympians were wrong. We've always known that, but now we can make amends."

"You weren't there, when this happened," snarled Alabaster as he ripped away his shirt to show a ugly, piercing burn that covered half his torso. "When our parents are dishonored. When our siblings, our family, our brothers and sisters in arms, were refused proper burial at that Camp of yours. When I had to drag Luke's body away from the border of the camp because that king ASSHOLE decided he wanted no rites, no rest, no HONOR, for him! For any of us!"

"I'm sorry that I was busy burying my own sisters and brothers! Busy burying Percy Jackson who stayed dead for you! For this!" Katie snapped back.

"Hey, hey let's calm down," Connor said. "You know that we fought for the people in this room. Katie and I, the rest of the head counselors. You know that. You know what happened."

The room quieted. Jason apparently was the only one who didn't know what happened when Katie and Connor fought for the campers here, but he wasn't about to ruin to somber atmosphere.

Suddenly the light dimmed, the torches in the chamber flickered. The throne of swords seemed to glow with inky darkness.

Shadows moved around the room, they didn't obey the laws of physics. They curled around Jason's feet as if they had physical form. The temperature dropped lower, and lower, until he could see a figure forming out of the darkness on the throne.

Two gloved hands gripped the sides of the throne as the figure leaned forward slightly. His face, Jason could see flickers of it now in the whimpering torchlight, seemed to glower without glaring at them. He was gaunt, with a sickly pale sheen to his cheeks. His eyes stared deep into Jason's soul. Power emanated from his small form, even as he himself was almost drowning in an oversized aviator jacket. Jason didn't fear a lot of things, but he felt fear then.

"I smell the blood of Zeus," he said quietly, his dark, handsome and mysterious eyes still boring into Jason's soul, pinning him to his station. "Connor, Katie, why have you brought the scion of Olympus to this camp, to this safe haven for us outcasts?"

Lights flashed again, but this time it's the sudden glint of weapons appearing in the hands of the all the demigods that surrounded them. The room glinted of celestial bronze and- and Alabaster holding an Imperial Gold sword in the direction of Jason's neck.

"Hold your horses," Nico raised a hand, and most the weapons that were drawn lowered. "I said, hold your horses."

Alabaster and Ethan reluctantly stood down and lowered their swords.

"Now, what did you say happened?"

_____________________________________________________________

"Jason must go on a quest, but we need your blessing, and your forgiveness," explained Connor. "That's why we're here, this is a sort of pre-quest."

Nico was silent, before speaking in a somber tone. "There's nothing to forgive. Not from me." He glanced at Clovis. "I volunteered to lead our past quest and exile. Ethan and the rest of the followers of Kronos had to pay their toll for their peace right now. That is balance. But there are others who didn't deserve it at all."

"Ask for their forgiveness, and I will give you mine," Nico paused, then stood up from his throne. The shadows fell from him as he stepped into the light.

He was shorter than Jason expected, especially for someone who legitimately scared him a lot. His cheeks have an olive undertone now, in the torchlight. He made his way in front of Jason, staring down at him.

"But my blessing is freely given." Nico looked unsure for a moment, as if to say how does a child of the king of death give blessings? He awkwardly placed two hands Jason's shoulders and bent down to give him a light kiss on the forehead. "I bless you, go forth on your quest with the blessing of Nico di Angelo, however helpful this might be."

He looked up to the council that convened, and out into the room where the rest of the camp waited to hear what was going on.

"I think we should have lunch. And maybe Connor and Katie can have some conversations."

Lunch was a crowded affair again. This camp had a similar setup to Camp Halfblood. Each parent god had a table of their own, but Jason saw that the campers here freely mingled during lunchtime with each other. Katie and Conner were surrounded by a bunch of campers, happily speaking with each other. Some of them were crying and jumping with joy at the prospect of being "able to go home." Others looked unsure and suspicious.

As lunch ended, Jason saw groups of them go up to Nico to have a short talk. All Nico did was nod and listen, occasionally glancing at Connor and Katie.

As the invisible nymphs (they had invisible nymphs here as well, but nymphs from the Underworld), swept away the plates, Jason saw Connor and Katie head towards Nico for a talk. They gestured for him to stay put.

Eventually, after a long talk, the three of them came back. Katie and Connor made a beeline to the group that was waiting for them, Katie threw her arms around one of the girls and started sobbing. The girl began sobbing as well, and soon all those campers were crying.

"You shouldn't be here."

Jason jumped. Nico had materialized behind him.

"I-I'm glad I'm here. It was nice to see other demigods," Jason said. "I heard so much about you guys from Camp Halfblood."

"All bad things, I'm guessing."

Jason admits he did hear the word "traitors" being thrown around. But not just that. "They miss you guys. A lot."

"Lou Ellen and Clovis and the rest of them miss Camp Halfblood, too." Nico said.

"Were you..."

"No. I fought on the side of the Olympians. So did Lou Ellen, so did Clovis, Damien, they all fought for your father and the safety of Olympus. They were spared the quest, but they couldn't go back. At least we have this place," Nico said. "Here, it's hard for the Olympian gods to reach us, it's dedicated to the Chthonian Pantheon instead. For the ones who never got recognition. To bring balance back."

"Even you were banished? But aren't you the son of Hades?"

"I-" Nico's somber face hardened with grief. "I need to protect this place. Too much has been sacrificed for this, for peace and balance."

"I think you're doing a great job, by the way," Jason said. "Just so you know."

Nico looked surprised. "Oh, thanks."

"The way you commanded them to stand down was impressive, I thought I was about to be kebab," Jason joked.

"Half my job now is just to keep Alabaster from trying to burn down Camp Halfblood," Nico said with a tight grin. "And from installing a chocolate fountain in the agora."

"Maybe he has a point. Why not a chocolate fountain? People can have chocolate dipped food anytime with that."

"Jason, your name's Jason right?" A little color comes back to Nico's face as he whirls on Jason, more animated than he's ever been in the short time that Jason has seen him. "You know how you get ants? That's how you get ants!!!"

"Not if we enchant it!!!!!!!!" Alabaster's voice is heard from across the clearing.

The three of them were about to leave, after having given away all the Betty Crocker desserts to the ravenous demigods of this camp, but Nico stopped them.

"Jason's quest sounds urgent. Let me shadow travel you back to Camp Halfblood," He looked at some of the other campers. "Is there anyone else who'd like to come with?"

Lou Ellen jumped out immediately, and two other kids as well.

Before Jason could ask what shadow travelling was, his hands were grabbed on either side by Connor and Katie, and experienced one of the most sickening and nauseating experience of his life. When they reappeared underneath the shade of a tree (not Thalia's tree) in front of Camp Halfblood, he almost fell to the ground puking. Instead, he stood up while puking.

There was a pregnant silence, with the Chthonian campers afraid to make the first move past the boundaries of Thalia's tree.

"The last time I tried," Lou Ellen said, "I got this." She pointed at her scar.

A tall demigod put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, then marched straight through the border, and beyond. He disappeared, but the rest of the campers gasped and rushed in after him.

Nico stayed behind. He had a quiet smile on his face as Lou Ellen popped her head out of the boundary and yelled "I'M BACKKKKK!!!"

"I forgive you," he said. "A wrong has been righted."

"You should join us for campfire sing a longs tonight," said Connor. "We can have a party!"

"No, I'm going to make a few more trips to bring some other people back," Nico said. "I'll be staying at my camp. Good luck though," he nodded to Jason before melting into the darkness.

"See, what did I tell you? All bark and no bite," Connor said, smiling as he jogged back in camp. "Come on, let's get you prepared for your quest!"

Jason followed behind, with the vision of the other camp, and Nico as well, haunting him. Not in a bad way though. All bark and no bite.

[teecupangel]

Regarding those plot ideas... I have just started Alamut novel, so here goes: Desmond Miles gets rubberbanded to past after AC3. Given the usual "pre-death flashback" thing, he is physically the age he was when he run from Farm. Destination? Pre-AC1 but after Altair being born. In a misguided attempt to preserve history, Desmond sets out to Alamut instead. What say you? (And how would Altair/Desmond still happen?)

Ooohhh, this is interesting.

Honestly, if Desmond's mindset is to preserve history but still keep an eye on the Levantine Brotherhood, becoming a Persian Assassin in Alamut would be his best course of action.

So before anything, we'll set up some parameters/limitations in the setting:

Alamut and the Assassins there are mainly background lore in AC1 and was never really talked about until Revelations where they gave sanctuary to Altaïr and Darim after being cast out of Masyaf

From this, we can make a guess that Alamut (and the Assassins in it) either have their own mentor or they decided to part ways with the Levantine Brotherhood after Abbas became the mentor

However, AC wiki did state that Alamut is considered a base of the Levantine Brotherhood in Assassin's Creed: The Essential Guide (I can confirm with my own copy - p63 talks about Hassan-i Sabbāh leading the Levantine Brotherhood even though, due to his location, he should have been leading the Persian Brotherhood if there is any distinction between the two branches)

It is noted that there was a rumor that Al Mualim building Masyaf created a schism between him and the current ruler of Alamut, Hassan the Younger, and we'll take that rumor as our starting point to make Alamut and Masyaf have a tense relationship with one another in this plot

Let's say Desmond gets kicked in the 12th century with a sixteen-year-old body but with all his memories. We'll let him keep everything he learned from his ancestors via the Bleeding Effect but we'll use the Yew Branches Series' limitation of making all of his ancestors' memories foggy and his hallucinations stop. Since you want pre-AC1, let's make him the same age as Altaïr when he transfers to the past. This way, he would be a simple young man that made his way to Alamut. Also, this meant that Altaïr will be as close to his canon characterization at sixteen (Umar's dead, his friendship with Abbas will or has already deteriorated and Al Mualim is his sole father figure)

Desmond's initial plan is to keep the timeline as close as possible and he decides Alamut is the best place to keep an eye on the Assassins without being part of 'history'. He got this idea because of the memories he received from Altaïr via the Bleeding Effect but he forgot two important things:

The memories he got from Altaïr had always been incomplete because, unlike Ezio, he only had Altaïr's memories from his time in Abstergo's Animus (which was shit compared to Rebecca's baby), and what Ezio saw in the memory seals

Altaïr's thoughts of Alamut and of the events during his time (which is Desmond's only actual insight into the Levantine Brotherhood and of the 3rd Crusades in general because Vidic didn't give any shit about anything not connected to the Apple and Shaun focused on Ezio's and Connor's time period because those were the ones Desmond was accessing) have been heavily influenced by Al Mualim's teachings and indoctrination

(This is where this fic needs to take a lot of liberties with Alamut's history......... and I might have gotten this idea from my plans for Zero Eclipse)

So when he gets to Alamut, he's expecting it to be in dire need of repairs, maybe have fewer Assassins than Masyaf and more soldiers, everything that Altaïr envisioned when he heard that Alamut 'is in dire need of repairs and guidance' which is the rumor going all over Masyaf and the rest of the Levantine Brotherhood thanks to Al Mualim downplaying (and kinda-insulting) Alamut.

What he gets is a castle that looks like it's in the middle of repairs but he realizes that all those scaffolding and ropes made it easier to freerun all over the castle. There were soldiers patrolling, yes, but Desmond's Eagle Vision made it clear to him that there were also Assassins doing the same, sticking to the shadows or blending in the crowds.

In other words, Alamut isn't in a dire situation. it's pretending to be in a dire situation.

And the Assassins have already seen him so he goes in and asks to be indoctrinated into the Brotherhood. This is met with suspicion because everyone in Levant and its neighboring cities/kingdoms believes that Masyaf is the main Assassin stronghold. Alamut is mostly seen as a branch at this point, thanks to Al Mualim's 'popularity', so everyone is sus of this 16-year-old kid who has a complexion closer to a European than someone from around there but speaks fluent Arabic. They agree to train him anyway but they'll be keeping an eye on him.

Desmond becomes a recruit and he pretends to be worse than he actually is because he doesn't want any eyes on him. Unfortunately, the Assassins of Alamut are brutal even in training. In this fic, we'll use the glimpses we saw of Basim's training in the AC Mirage trailer as the premise of how Alamut trains their recruits. Freerunning all over unstable scaffolding, fighting in the dark...

The Levantine Brotherhood evolved under Al Mualim to be more militaristic and honorable, with only their blades and their stealth. The Persian Brotherhood in Alamut stagnated, keeping the teachings of old, of fighting in the shadows and using everything at your disposal to complete a mission.

And Desmond finds himself challenged by this. Not by the brutality of the training but because his instincts kept kicking in and he can't stop it. He doesn't want to stop it. Fighting dirty using Ezio's habit of throwing dirt on people's faces then following it up with Connor's knee kick or with Altaïr's oneshot sword kills. Throwing bombs with Ezio's aim, taking down his opponent using his own ropedart that he created using Connor's memories... They kept him connected to his ancestors. It's all he has left of them and he won't let them go.

That made him stand out. That made him catch the eye of Alamut's current mentor, A'lā’ Muhammad, which Desmond didn't want to do in the first place.

(And because I want to: Desmond gets to have his own eagle because it's tradition for the Alamut Assassins to have an eagle of their own like their predecessors before them and everyone is amused by Desmond's inability to name his eagle, not knowing he wanted to name it Ezio but can't because it felt like favoritism so someone suggested he just name it Aquila and that was good enough of a reference to all his ancestors that he went along with it)

So the mentor of Alamut takes a shine on Desmond, finding his reluctance to take missions outside of Alamut but his penchant to hoard any information about the outside world and especially of Levant interesting in its contradictory nature. So he takes Desmond under his wing (add some parallel to Al Mualim and Altaïr's relationship here, maybe even sprinkle a bit of Connor and Achilles as well to keep Desmond super sus while adding some bits of paternal scenes that will absolutely throw shades of Bill's bad parenting and how that fucked up Desmond so badly that he can't help but like the fatherly kindness he's receiving)

And Desmond gets missions outside of Alamut which he can't say no to because he is, unfortunately, loyal to the mentor of Alamut now (because daddy issues!) and he is always successful, keeping in the shadows and being pretty much the model Assassin that all Alamut Assassins strive to be (which is not what Desmond wanted, he just wanted to stay as an npc, damn it!).

During the same time, Altaïr is starting to make a 'name' for himself and everyone in Masyaf hears about Desmond, of course. Not his name. Never. The tense relationship between Masyaf and Alamut meant all communication between them are coded and lacked any personal information. A'lā’ Muhammad has taken the rocky relationship Al Mualim had with his predecessor and turned it into just a stone's throw away from hostility. It doesn't help that the Assassins Al Mualim believed were getting annoying and might be threatening his position in Masyaf were always transferred to Alamut (and some might even die on the way to Alamut by unfortunate circumstances or maybe even Templar patrols that shouldn't be there in the first place).

And the tense relationship between Masyaf and Alamut includes having a relationship something similar to rivalry.

And that's where Altaïr and Desmond's paths 'intersect'!

One day, Desmond is just chilling, feeding his pet eagle and going 'good job tagging all those guards for me, who's the best eagle?' and his eagle preens like 'me! bow down before me, you peons! except you, des, i like you, i give you permission to rub my neck, oooohh, yeeessss, theeerreee' (i... don't know where that came from but i'm rolling with it, i guess) and one of the Alamut Assassins suddenly rants to him.

Random npc: Desmond! Get this! Those Masyaf dogs have the gall to copy us! Desmond: ??? Random npc: They dare give one of their soldiers the title of Eagle of Masyaf! Desmond: Oh. (So this is when Altaïr gets that moniker, huh?) Random npc: This is outrageous! Those glory hounds have no class at all, copying your title of Eagle of Alamut with no shame! Desmond: Not all of them are glo- wait. Eagle of Alamut? ME? WHAT???

And now all of Alamut and Masyaf knows about the Eagle of Masyaf and Eagle of Alamut while Desmond is embarrassed and freaking out because this is NOT STAYING INCOGNITO, OH MY GOD.

Back in Masyaf, Altaïr doesn't care about it at all although Abbas uses it a lot to annoy him, telling him that he's not any better than the Eagle of Alamut, blah blah blah. At the start, Altaïr doesn't care. So some Assassin is better than him, that's not his problem. He is still good at what he does and his record is impeccable. Fuck Abbas. Then, later on, everyone is comparing him to this supposed Eagle of Alamut who nobody in Masyaf knows is actually a pretty chill dude who always accepts missions with a groan like it's a stupid household chore his dad is making him do and would rather spend the day just chilling with his eagle and maybe listening to other people's problems while serving them tea (because alcohol is forbidden). Masyaf sees Desmond as this super Assassin who follows the tenets and Creed to the letter and Altaïr is getting annoyed by all these comparisons (while Desmond, in Alamut, knows Altaïr enough to know 'oh fuck, Abbas is gonna use me against Altaïr, isn't he? I hope nobody is bullying him by using me. Just let him ignore my existence, pllleeeasseee!') and finally has a breaking point when Malik tells him that he should learn from the action of the Eagle of Alamut (Malik didn't mean it to annoy Altaïr, he meant it to criticize Altaïr's habit of foregoing stealth to get a quick kill instead which is dangerous for everyone, including Altaïr himself) and that's when it happens.

Altaïr starts to see the Eagle of Alamut as a rival. While Desmond just wants Altaïr not to know about his very existence.

Desmond's actions propel Altaïr to strive to be better, to be more than Desmond could ever be. The butterfly effect is in full motion now. Malik sees Altaïr working harder than ever, sees him actually trying, and eases up, just a little. Kadar thinks he's cooler than ever but also sees him more as a human than a hero because all that hard work makes a guy think. Abbas is still Abbas unfortunately but Kadar is more outspoken about how he's talking shit. Malik gets in between the two arguing more often than not because Abbas is of a higher rank than Kadar and all Kadar has is his unofficial status as Altaïr's sorta-best friend (nobody knows how that happened, even Altaïr himself) and that grants some leeway because no one wants to incur Altaïr's anger. Malik gets roped in as a friend of Altaïr because of this (which both of them would deny vehemently while Kadar would just be like "yup, we're a trio now, suck it Abbas!")

Some things stay the same. Adha still dies. Her death still affected Altaïr so badly that he broke all three tenets during the mission to retrieve the Apple. But, this time, Kadar survives because he's been training harder and Altaïr has been teaching him a bit but is mortally wounded. Malik blames Altaïr for the failure and his brother almost dying, he is stripped of his rank and ordered to atone by taking nine lives.

But Desmond's actions also sent waves across every faction of the 3rd Crusades. A'lā’ Muhammad receives a letter from Robert de Sablé and learns of Al Mualim's duplicity. But this could all be a ploy, a way to drive a stake between the two Brotherhoods and make them kill each other. Desmond is confused why Robert would write to them and wonders if the same thing happened in the original timeline (it didn't, Desmond's exploits as the Eagle of Alamut have raised Alamut standing in the eyes of the Templars and Robert was trying to use them to lower Al Mualim's power).

That's when his mentor gives him a new mission: Find proof of Al Mualim's betrayal.

And Desmond realizes.

The best and easiest way to find proof of Al Mualim's betrayal was to check the belongings of those in Robert's inner circle for any documents that were written by Al Mualim or mentioned Al Mualim by name.

And the Templars of Robert's inner circles are... the ones that Altaïr will be ordered to assassinate.

Oh. Fuck.

Cue AC1 plot but with Altaïr and Desmond's path intersecting at various points.

Maybe add in a scene where Desmond helps Altaïr gather information on where his current target is then, later on, Altaïr finds Desmond looking over the documents of his target and realizes that Desmond had used him as a fucking distraction ("You were gonna kill him anyway! And these documents are going into the fire once he's dead!" "That's not the point! You used me!" "Used is such a horrible word. I just... you know... saw an opportunity." "I will kill you!" "Stay your blade from the flesh of the- Oh, jesus!" - cue chase scene all over the city between two Assassins-)

(and they only stopped their chase when Desmond jumped into the bureau and shouted 'you can't kill me with the Rafiq watching us!' and the Rafiq just sees these two dumbasses, sweaty and trying to catch their breath, and just shrugs and leaves for the backroom while Desmond and Altaïr just crumbles to the floor, their body aching and protesting over the unnecessary chase sequence, Desmond laughs because he can't believe Altaïr just chased him all over the entire city and Altaïr can't help but laugh with him because even he knows that was stupid and Desmond's laughter is infectious)

This event only leads to them growing closer. Desmond hears Altaïr's struggles over the final words of his targets and tries to comfort him. He begins to see Altaïr not as his ancestor but as a fellow Assassin trying to be better and Desmond is too much of a softie to not try to help.

And, even though Desmond infuriates him to no end, Altaïr can't help but feel something for him. Something... similar to how he felt for Adha but also different at the same time. Desmond was his equal, the only person he couldn't catch no matter how far or how long he chased him, the only person he couldn't take down with his swordsmanship, the only person who will not judge him if he tells him his greatest fear or the uncertainty in his heart, the only person who always seemed to know where he is, no matter how hard Altaïr hides from him. And Desmond glows in his Eagle Vision, glows brighter than anyone he had ever seen, a swirl of gold and blue that was beautiful in his eyes.

And Altaïr is unsure of his feelings. So he goes to the one person he knows would not be kind and would say the truth.

At this point, my penchant for making Malik suffer through the stupidity of these two dumbasses continues and he has to be the one to listen to Altaïr and be the one to tell him "......... you love him. That's what you're feeling. Now, if you're done torturing me with your poetry for the Eagle of Alamut, leave me be so I can ask someone to hit me in the head hard enough to forget this torture ever happened."

And Altaïr recognizes the truth in Malik's words and understands that it is love that he feels.

Meanwhile, Desmond knows he is falling for Altaïr. He's not dumb. He can see the signs. But he also knows...

Altaïr is meant to fall in love with Maria.

INSERT ANGST HERE.

And that's where I'm gonna leave this plot. Hahahaha.

tl;dr: AltDes is mainly (onesided)rivalry to friendship to romance with the mystery and intrigue of the 3rd Crusades as the backdrop.

[reubyrp]

[ LETHAL COMPANY AU / OPEN STARTER ]

Your muse finds themselves on a small ship, wearing a heavy radiation + space suit and a two oxygen tanks. They, along with Pete, Eisuke, and Nathan, have to recover scrap from other planets to meet the two day quota. However, each planet they visit has its own series of creatures that threaten the safety of the crew.

If your crew doesn't survive the planet or meet the quota, everyone will be FIRED.

Crews arrive at their destination at 8am, and MUST be back before 12am. The ship will leave automatically, leaving anyone on the ground behind. Each reply from me will include a time indicator.

Actions may have severe consequences, this may include critical injuries or DEATH. If your muse is able to die and that might affect your muses lore, do not consider these threads as "canon". It's just for fun teehee

Muses can be revived permitted their body is returned to the ship before departure. Bodies not rescued from the facilities or moon are left behind and thus- cannot be revived.

You can only visit one moon a day. Choose carefully.

Each scrap item will have a value (V) and weight (W) written in brackets. You cannot carry more than 75 weight.

Every muse will have a walkie-talkie and a flash light.

No overpowered muses. This really means- no muses that can't get injured by different creatures.

-----|||||-----

[ DAY 1 | Moon: 71:Gordion | Time: 0000 | Remaining: 300 ]

The crew had just boarded their ship, having made a delivery to the company. They'd barely scraped the quota, having unfortunately lost their longest serving crew mate on their last moon. While the loss hit the crew hard, they knew they had little time to recover.

They'd just been given a new set of instructions and a brand new quota to meet. Luckily, they'd also been given a new crew mate, someone no one had met before. Timidly, the trio greet their new crew mate before returning to their pre-departure duties.

"Yoo, what is hell is that quota?" Speaks Eisuke, pointing at the board above the radar. He tilts his head to the right a little bit, allowing his only eye to view the quota board with ease. "300 buckaroos? They expect us to recover that much in two days? That's insane."

Nathan, who's spending his time charging the flashlights and walkie-talkies, turns to look towards Eisuke. 300 is a staggering amount to bring back to the ship, especially since most scrap only averages approximately 5 to 15 bucks. He's quite shocked that this is their next quota.

"Look, we'll go to an easier moon first. Where the weather looks nicer." Nathan speaks up. "We can get started slowly and help our new crew mate learn the ropes." He gestures to the new crew mate, smiling warmly at them.

In the back of the ship is Pete. Who is analysing everything on their systems. He's studying the different creatures they've encountered and the different moons they've been to.

"If we do that, then we may not reach our quota at all." Pete speaks with a grumble in his voice as he turns to look at their new crew mate. "Let me read a list of the moons available, then our newbie can decide where we go." Pete leans against the computer terminal, scrolling through the list of moons they can travel to.

"We have:

[ 41: Experimentation / Level: B ] (Easiest)

Abandoned. With an arid environment paired with a thick haze. Notably home to the Bunker Spider and Hoarder Bugs.

[ 21: Offence / Level: B ] (Medium)

Abandoned. With a rough environment that supports highly aggressive creatures.

[ 85: Rend / Level: A ] (Hardest)

No one has ever lived here. It's a frozen wasteland. Unlikely for life to exist... which makes it highly unlikely we'd live."

"So." Pete finishes speaking, folding his arms as he turns to look at his new crew mate. "Where do you want to go?" The crew look curiously, nervous to find out what choice they'll make.

[firecaptainphoenix]

Glassy Sky

Inside I've been shaken, my sanity taken Our broken halves, they intertwine From once was yours and once was mine

About: It's been months of non stop grief all around. Phoenix and Jay have a talk over it. TW: death (Bradley, Evora, Lincoln, Luke) , implied suicide (in regards to Luke), panic attack

“Dad, quit fidgeting already,” Jay grumbled as she adjusted the shirt on Phoenix. Taking a step back she studied the plaid shirt she’d attached fake fur onto for his Halloween costume. 

“Sorry Jaybird, this stuff is a bit itchy is all,” Phoenix grumbled, managing to keep still for her to inspect her work on him. She’d finished getting Dodger ready early on, the man already taking his usual pre dinner nap. Her own costume was done weeks ago and Felipe’s had been collected in less than an hour.

Setting the evening aside to get his own done, it wasn’t often she requested time specifically with him, so when she did he was quick to agree. While she circled around him adjusting various things as she went, he studied his daughter. With everything happening lately he’d been trying to keep a better eye on her.

“Ok looks good, dad,” she said, nodding her head in satisfaction as she took the shirt back, laying it down with the matching pair of jeans. Picking up the journal on the dining table she crossed a line on the list she had going. “I’m gonna get started on some meal prepping,” she said, turning towards their kitchen while reading over her list.

Frowning Phoenix followed after her, eyes flickering over her shoulder to the list she had going.

Meals for:

Miss Celia, Mister Cal, Felipe <3, and Marisol

Mister Gizmo

Uncle Falco

“That’s a lot of folk to meal prep for, Jaybird. Sure most of them can handle feeding themselves,” Phoenix says gently reaching a hand for her shoulder. He can feel her stiffening under his hand and sees the way her grip tightens on the journal. 

“Felipe says Mister Cal is having trouble sleeping and Miss Celia is also stressed. She cooks for everyone all the time, I can cook for her this time,” she says. “And his uncle Gizmo has been around more to help, so I should help too. And Uncle Falco was really sad at school, since Mr.Luke…since he…everyone’s just tired so I want to help.”

She’s rambling, can hear the way her voice trembles as she tries and fails to keep her voice level. He can feel a sinking feeling in his chest as she goes on and on, knowing why she’s so focused on the act of eating. For a brief moment he’s not looking down at his 15 year old daughter, but his toddler. His toddler is begging him to just eat some toast, all she can manage to make, shoving a sippy cup into his mouth to get him to drink.

It had been a rough few months until Falco had arrived to help care for her, and even then he’d been a shell of the man he’d been before. Sleeping more often than not, leaving for long stretches of the night to walk without a destination in mind. He’d barely said a word to her, broken the one promise he’d sworn to Bradley when they’d been expecting her. 

Bradley had been right, she hadn’t understood why he’d gone so silent, why her dad was always so tired. Had barely been able to comprehend that her other dad was gone, stuck with Phoenix in limbo, stuck not knowing if she was going to lose another dad.

He sees that now, the way she stiffens whenever anyone seems to be lost in the pain of grief. The panic in her eyes that this person will spiral like her father had. The guilt gnaws at him, knowing it’s his fault that she feels like this. 

Tugging her around he pulls her into a hug, feels her lean against him but doesn’t return the hug. “You’re allowed to be sad about Mr.Luke too you know? It’s ok to be sad about it.”

He feels her shake her head against his chest, “I don’t want to be sad, I don’t want to…I can’t…I can’t…I can’t get tired like that…everyone else already is and I just…I can’t dad..I can’t…”

She’s rambling more now, talking about how tired she’s seen Cal, how hollow his voice has sounded, the way Celia always looks at him with concern now. How Dahlia hadn’t been much different a few months ago when her journalist friend had passed. That Gizmo’s friend had found someone in the woods. That the sadness from that had likely cost them Luke. So much death, so much grief, more than anyone can handle, let alone someone so young.

He tightens his grip on her, finally feeling her hands clutch onto his shirt, she’s not crying but he can feel her trembling. Still refusing to completely break down, even in front of him. “I know…I know,” he says gently stroking her hair, “I'm still not good at this Jaybird, god knows I’ve never been good at talking. But I’m here, all those folks are still here too. You’re the kid here, we’re supposed to take care of you, so just…just let me be your dad. Let me handle it, alright?”

There’s something terribly ironic over how quiet she is. Reminded of how he does the same, wonders briefly if Bradley would have done better at this. He was the talker, the one who knew what to say. Eventually he can feel her slowly nodding against his chest, “I’m gonna finish up dinner, we can work on pumpkins after, sound good?” Receiving another slow nod against his chest, he sighs and kisses the top of her head, “We’re gonna be ok, Jaybird. Whenever you want to talk I’m here.” This time he won’t let himself get lost in the dark, he can’t do that to her, not again, not ever again.