#the thing over her neck is the collar of her undershirt

[thatstupidlozfanacrossthestreet2]

FELLAS. GUYS. GALS AND PALS. I FINALLY DID IT. A FULL BODY DRAWING OF MY VERSION OF CADENCE

her

literally her

i love her sm you have no idea

i literally just got done practicing drawing MEN and i decided 'y'know what. let's draw cadence!!' so i did and it turned out great actually

edit - click ont the photo for better quality bc i dont draw blurry i swear T-T

(i dont have emoji keyboard so you have to deal with emoticons im sorry)

[romanoffsbish]

Left Hanging

Wanda Maximoff x F!R

Request | Wanda felt bad, truly, but how else were you gonna learn? | WC: 1,152

Smut: Mommy (W) | Fingering (R) | Teasing | Choking | Degradation | Orgasm Denial

18+ | Minors DNI

“Wet already?” Wanda quirked a brow at you, her devilish smile showcasing her budding amusement at your desperate state. “I see you're so eager, hm?” You rolled your eyes, and huffed: “See what a mess you've made me?”

Wanda’s soft touch dissipated instantaneously, she was finally giving into your needy ways after hours of relentless teasing and you want to get smart with her instead of appreciative.

——

“I could just go back to the party you know,” she mused aloud, but her fingers betrayed her threat as they plunged into your heat without any warning and your moans soon bellowed off the walls as she started off with a brutal pace.

“Please,” your hands clawed at the collar of her undershirt, the defiance in your eyes melted into the fresh tears that now lined your lashes. “I-I’ll be good now mommy, I-I swear to it.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t keep up the facade for long. She wanted to fuck you dumb just as much as you needed her to, but that didn’t mean she had to be kind about it.

“You’re such a selfish brat Y/N,” she grunted against the skin of your neck, her tongue slid over the salty skin and she reveled in the way that she could feel your erratic pulse racing. “Just a desperate whore in need of her mommy to fill her holes, never caring about others.”

Suddenly you remembered the occasion, it was Yelena’s birthday, so you weakly tried to shove your girlfriend off of you, but you never shoved hard enough for it to mean anything. Remorse might weigh heavy on your heart for leaving your best friend downstairs, but you were too busy getting your very own roughly fucked.

The witch bit into the heated skin surrounding your pulse point and your walls fluttered with a warning that you wished the brunette ignored. “Pathetic,” Wanda huskily chuckled against the shell of your ear and you whimpered in a mix of embarrassment and despair as she was intentionally keeping you perpetually teetering.

Her free, deft hand snaked up your body as she marked what was hers with passionate grunts, and soon those nimble fingers replaced her hungry teeth and rid you of the air you craved. Wanda knew you desired this sensation much more anyways, you’d always been unable to hide your infatuation with all things morbid.

“Look at you,” she chuckled tauntingly, her grip around your throat tightened, “pathetic.” Wanda never failed to remind you of this fact every single time, because you’d yet to prove her wrong with just how quick you submit to her. Like now, just as she expected your hips canted up even faster as you chased your high.

It was actually quite hard for her to show her restraint here, she actually no longer even had to thrust her hand as you’d eagerly taken over the process of fucking yourself dumb. Wanda refused to let you cum though, so she watched closely as the haze in your eyes flourished, and just as your back began to arch off the mattress and your eyes fluttered shut she abruptly took her fingers back from your clenching warmth.

A flicker of defiance returned to your eyes, but her hand squeezed your neck once more as her head tilted and you settled into the expected punishment. You’d actually let yourself believe this time would be different—what a fool.

“Clean yourself up,” she commanded as the warmth of her body no longer hovered yours. You blinked a few times, mouth running as dry as your eyes when she moaned around her slicked up fingers. She winked down at you as she saw your thighs clench involuntarily. “We better not miss the cake cutting detka…”

You headed her warning, hopping up onto shaky legs and moving to pull your panties up. However a hand stopped yours, Wanda shook her head while maintaining eye contact with you as she slid them in the opposite direction.

Wanda slid her suit jacket back on, and folded your slick green lace panties into the perfect triangle that she slipped into her polo pocket. Then she extended her hand tainted with your scent to you with a stern gaze and you took it. Albeit reluctantly as she guided you back out, you gulped as the cold air highlighted the stark wetness coating your thighs, the trail leading up to your exposed cunt that squelched with each shaky step you took back downstairs.

At least the music was loud enough to shield the shred of dignity you clung to as the room full of your peers knowingly looked at you.

Natasha smirked over her glass as she took in the way you wobbled towards her sister, and then her eyes rolled when Wanda settled down besides her on the leather couch. “Are you sure it isn’t you who’s the brat here Wands?”

Wanda chuckled, “Takes one to tame one.” Then she proved the woman’s point as she stole her glass and polished off her cocktail. Natasha glared at her, but then she hummed her agreement, “Touché,” the redhead then beckoned her very own tamed brat over.

“Hey Wanda,” Maria politely greeted as she settled down onto Natasha’s manspread lap even though the couch had plenty of space.

Wanda smiled at her, and the three spent a few minutes chatting before she felt a pang in her chest at the sound of your distant laughter.

“It’s well beyond eleven Wanda, you can call it a night without being a loser,” Natasha teased her pouting best friend, to which she received a weak shove as the brunette used her body to propel herself off the couch. “Farewell asshole, I’m so sorry for your sake Maria. Godspeed.”

When you felt a hand on your waist you tensed as Yelena mindlessly droned on. This situation had been the exact thing that got you in trouble earlier in the night, but then you caught a whiff of your girlfriend’s spiced vanilla perfume that paired so well with her natural pheromones you couldn’t help but to melt right into her.

“You ready to go honey?” She lowly husked as her thumbs pressed into the exposed skin of your hips. “Mommy’s ready to reward you now if you’ll just say a proper goodbye to Lena.”

You lunged forward and embraced your bestie in a tight hug that she reciprocated, the blonde lightly chuckled as she felt your body buzzing.

“Happy Birthday Lena, see you later?!” You squished her cheeks between your hands, and she smiled knowingly. “Go on Y/N, someone should at least have fun in their birthday suit!”

Wanda rolled her eyes, and whispered to the blonde: “Kate’s only two eager seats away.” Then she whisked you off, practically carrying you to her car as your legs were still shaky.

You were in for the night of your life…

[tjodity]

did some art for an oc for a sci fi setting I'm thinking a little. Her name will probably change but I was struck really strongly by his personality and details abt his character before I got a solid name. she was originally going to be thrown into a sort of space opera thing but I kinda want to write space station fluff now

[ID 1: A large white square with text and several pieces of art digitally drawn on. The main text reads "Taraneh. She slash he. Grew up on a planet; currently works maintenance on a space station. Aroace. Hobbies include trying to cook, kissing her giant insect friend, and trying to write poetry." Main text ends. The main drawing is a sketched headshot of Taraneh. She wears a hijab folded so that it wraps across the bottom half of his face, across her head, and draped around her shoulders. A hair band decorated with a simplified lunar cycle is partially visible on her forehead below her hijab. She has acne scars around her cheeks. Her pupils are dark and she has small wrinkles around her right eye. Her left eye is half closed and looking in a different direction, with more wrinkles beneath. Her eyebrows are scraggly and thin. She looks neutral. A smaller drawing towards the left shows Taraneh in a hijab that doesn't cover her face. Her smile is slanted, and she looks excited. There is a blank text bubble beside her. She is making broad gestures with her hands. A note beside it says "Can't emote with his full face but feels a lot of things and uses her hands to emote more." Note ends. A doodle towards the top is labelled "Work uniform." Taraneh wears a hijab similar to those used for sports, with no folds, and she wears a respirator on her face. She wears a tanktop above an undershirt which covers her arms. She wears jeans with kneepads and a carabiner with tools attached. She is sweating, wiping her face with a towel. Her other hand holds a toolbox. There are two drawings to the right. Both are colored. The first is labelled "Teens". In it Taraneh is thinner and shorter, a teenager. She wears a a layered outfit, with embroidery, ruffles, and flower patterns running down the arms. Her skin is dark, and she wears a teal hijab. He is waving at the camera. The second drawing is labelled "Early thirties". It depicts Taraneh more closely to how she appears in the other drawings, taller and with broader shoulders and slightly darker skin. She wears grey boots and a dark blue baggy jumpsuit. Over the jumpsuit she wears a dark grey simple skirt with large pockets running across it, and a grey coat with purple and orange coloring around the collar. Above that he wears a blue satchel. She wears a teal hijab and a dark blue hair band. He is standing with his arms at his sides. The fourth drawing is back to being colorless. It depicts a tall alien creature from the chest up. The alien's head is comparable to a praying mantis, except that there are odd cones at each side of their head, their mandibles sit in a circle on their neck, and the lower half of their face is a segmented vent-like structure. Their torso resembles a human, if it was covered in an exoskeleton. Taraneh has her arms wrapped around the alien's neck, and is leaning into their shoulder. She is hugging them. His eyes are closed and he looks happy. The alien seems startled and raised one of their claws in surprise. Both Taraneh and the alien are blushing, though the alien more so. The caption reads "Me and my boy best friend." END ID]

[Images two and three are higher resolution depictions of the last three drawings.]

[beegswaz]

OK WOO!!!! JEREMEJEVITE DESIGN BREAKDOWN! KINDA!

This may end up being A long post, so it Will be tagged as such for filtering :) ONWARDS!!!!

Starting this off with her Initial concept sketches! I was trying to figure out what her face should Look like, and I think the left image Was closer to what I wanted, both in how her Hair looks and how her face Looks (even if it's A bit simple)

The singular head horn stuck Around throughout the Entire design! You'll see some attempt passes at Giving her more spikes to fit with Cleos original design, as featured above the sketches :) (the gems were All decided right when I made the document, so Any relation to other fusions is Just a coincidence!)

You can see it in The left sketch, but Originally I tried to Give Jeremejevite Pearls' almost crescent hair swoop, which Stuck around for a good while :) This is the Only other time Jeremejevite will have Long hair too, which goes to Show how little attachment I had to it..

Originally she was Going to be in a sort of Suit, as seen somewhat in the right sketch. This idea instantly fell through, but The pattern on the collar accidentally makes A resurgence in her Final design!

Her technical first finished design! This is where I ironed out a lot of ideas you'll See later on, like gem placements, rough colour scheme, limbs, and Her split-dyed hair!

...As noted to the right of her, this Design was WAYYYY too Cleo-heavy, I was basically just Turning her MC skin into A gem! I hastily tried to Make up for that with Scotts' coat-thing and Pearls' sleeves, which..... Somehow made Jeremejevite look MORE like Cleo..???

This is the last time you'll Ever see her with long hair, or With two eyes on Her faces left half, among some other things (Like the Shirt from Cleos' MC skin)

Right after this I made a test sketch before Asking for help from my mutuals/followers.

RIGHT HERE was when I decided she would have Short hair (That... Ended up getting Shorter the more I drew her..?)

The fur collar goes Kind of hard, I won't lie, but I am still very happy with What I ended up with. Around here I was still trying to mix Pearl, Scott, and Cleos' designs, which had... varying Success rates.

AND HERE IS THE DESIGN MY FRIEND @biggitybugs MADE! You all should follow it btw, he helped me A ton with figuring out this design, and also its art is amazing <3

You can see a few things that made it Into the final design! Namely the top, the hair and skin Colour, and the Boots! This was also when I realised I used too much red/pink in The original design (Though I don't believe I remedied that in The final design..)

A sketch of her second design! (Third, if we're Counting bugs design) I started straying away from Mixing the three gems designs and instead I started making her seem Like her own character.

Some things ended up in the Final design, and you can See I swapped the Side that was "dyed", which is Also carried over to the last Design :)

I ended up turning to Pinterest and Looking up "Alt Fashion" which, barely Helped me, but it Kicked off the Jacket and the weird undershirt gloves! I also looked up "Steven Universe OCs" to see some Other design conventions, but I just ended up scrolling and Looking at the cool Designs..

I did a designing Stream a few days ago where I tried to get more outside Input, and Kayden (@spottedside) ended Up saying she should have chains And a cropped jacket + crop top. Which. Oh My God. I forgot those Weird cropped cut jackets existed and it Changed. Basically everything.

There's not much to Note in these sketches, aside from the small right one being the Most similar to the final design. You can even see the neck Chains!

Aaaand the final design! I still believe I overdid the red and maroon, but I think this design is ACTUALLY the better of the 3 (4?). I could still stand to Edit this design, but I am currently happy with where I am. However, I implore anyone who wants to To edit this design with their own tweaks! Just, yk, credit me Somewhere for the initial design :)

And no, the chains and cuffs Don't mean anything, they're just dope. (Do you see what I meant about the First sketches collar design Making a reappearance?)

[tinkabelle24]

Remains

Chapter 3: Mutual Desperation (PART 1)

An unexpected illness divides the group.

TW! Blood/Gore.

Chapter 2

---

(6 months earlier...)

Exhaling shakily, Addie finally bit; selecting Matt's contact icon and pressing 'Call', removing her facemask as she lifted the screen to her ear.

She was a ring away from being sent to voicemail, when he picked up. "Yeah?"

The blonde pushed her tongue to the wall of her mouth, stifling a scoff. You don't speak to me all day, and the first thing you say is 'yeah?'. Whatever...

"Hey. I'm, uh..." She shifted awkwardly against the break room counter; voice low, in consideration for the few co-workers attempting to eat their reheats in peace. "...I'm gonna need you to pick Luc up again tonight. Please."

"...Why?"

What the hell's with these one-worded responses?

Addie couldn't help herself, this time. She scoffed. "Matt, I've been under the pump all week, with this virus going around. You know that if I could leave, I would."

"Can't you get an exception?" He sighed in exasperation. No, I can't. You know I can't. "I have stuff on tonight, Ad-"

"What, got a date with your side-piece?" Addie caught one of the women staring, and not with concern. She hurled the nosy bitch an admonitory look, before swiftly turning her back; stepping to the furthest wall.

"...Ad, we've had this talk, many times: nothing physical ever happened-"

"Yeah, and I still don't believe it. But you keep telling yourself-"

"Want me to pick Luc up, or not?"

"...What happened to your oh so important 'stuff'-"

"Like you give a shit about what goes on in my life."

Tears seared the blonde's eyes, as she shot back: "That's not true, and you know it!"

"Uh-huh, sure. We'll see you tonight, whenever that is. Bye."

"Matt-"

Click.

Addie cursed as she tore the device from her ear; clenching it tightly, imagining her husband's throat.

You're such a... fucking... NO!!!

Not here! Dear God, please, not here!

Sucking in a trembling breath, Addie proceeded swiping the tears from her cheeks with her undershirt sleeves; sniffling, as she pocketed the phone.

Shake it off. Just a few more hours...

Tentatively, she turned; the woman was still staring.

"Eyes down, Sandra! Krijg de kolere..."

~

Chaos.

That was the best way Addie could describe the atmosphere, the moment she stepped back onto the floor - utter chaos.

The blonde kept her gaze low as she strode down the crowded hall to her station; narrowly avoiding careening hospital beds, frantic physicians, and zombified nurses.

The amalgamation of sounds (alarms, chatter, crying, coughing, groaning...) assaulted her senses, skyrocketing her already intense anxiety.

Typically, it wouldn't bother her; she'd lived in this environment long enough, it'd devolved into semi mollifying white noise - not this. This was like standing under an idling plane.

Addie's heart sank when she spotted one of her fellow nurses, Ben, slumped awkwardly against a trolley - unconscious. Poor guy had been here long before she clocked on, thirteen hours ago.

I can't possibly leave you like that...

Snatching a thermal blanket from said trolley, she quickly tucked a it around his shoulders, then proceeded pushing his legs further toward the wall. They were out so far into the walkway, it was a miracle he hadn't been run over-

"On your left!"

As the startled Addie pivoted inward, then upward, she was abruptly yanked, by the collar of her scrubs, toward the hospital bed whizzing past; staring down the swollen, pus-filled throat of a screeching patient-

~

Addie yelped when a sharpened pole suddenly pierced the walker's temple - inches from her face.

She yelped again as she was then wrenched backward; reflexively tightening her grip round Lucas' trembling body.

Whipping her head around, she found Leo tearing the gore-riddled smock from her torso; surrendering it to the undead already gripping it. She felt a giant, calloused palm press between her shoulders, and panicked breath against her neck, as he resumed hurrying her forward; toward the truck slowly circling the parking lot.

The music still boomed, evenly dividing the ravenous crowd.

"Distraction, Donnie-"

"Yep!" The tallest, purple-masked one shouted in response; jerking the tip of his bloodied staff from another walker (simultaneously impaling another with the other end), before plucking what appeared to be an unlit Molotov cocktail from the largest pouch on his well-equipped utility belt.

"I've gotchu, bro!" The shortest, orange-masked one covered his comrade, beating walkers over the head with his steel nunchaku, as the latter ignited the wick; tossing it through the smashed window of the Toyota Yaris beside him.

The resulting blaze drew in a sizeable portion of their assailants, like moths to a flame; widening the laneway to their destination.

The truck was already roaring round the corner, when Leo lifted his fingers to whistle it over; brutally dispatching all walkers in its path. The cabin door was shoved open, as it jerked to a roll; revealing a fourth green being, frantically beckoning them inside.

He - the brawniest, red-masked one - hollered in a thick, Brooklyn accent: "MOVE YA FUCKIN' ASSES!!!"

The group readily obliged, practically throwing themselves inside.

"GO, APRIL-"

The vehicle immediately lurched forward, hurling those not quick enough to grab hold of something, to the floor.

Snatching one of the handgrips dangling from the ceiling, Leo caught Addie's waist, right before she and Lucas made impact; pinning her back against him as they finally sped away.

The last thing the blonde saw was a snarling, stumbling crowd, backed by a fiery inferno...

Then Red slammed the door closed, plunging them into darkness.

~

~

"No, take the left," Leo enjoined, gaze fixed on the approaching intersection as he guided a shell-shocked Adrie to an empty seat.

Even under multiple layers of clothing, he could feel just about every rib, every vertebrae... Her son, dressed in only a long-sleeved 'Finding Nemo' pyjama top and bottoms (no socks, nor shoes, nor jacket) looked like a living skeleton.

It broke his heart.

"We're steering clear of all freeways, from now on - it's too risky. We don't have the gas to double back, if there's another pile-up."

"We don't have the gas, period..." Donnie mumbled dejectedly; shifting in his seat, opposite the newcomers.

April nodded stiffly. "Got it."

Leo gripped the back of Adrie's seat as the truck swerved onto the adjacent road, toward Rothrock State Forest; passing several walkers beelining for the KinderCare bonfire, and clipping two.

"We'll swap, once we hit the treeline," Raph 'offered', earning a piqued look from the dark-haired woman.

"I'm quite capable of navigating the road, thank you, Raphie-"

"Please, don't call me that-"

"Well, then, quit patronising me," she bit out, as the red-masked terrapin thrust open the front passenger door on an incoming walker. "I'll decide when I need a break."

"Alright, alright - fine! ... S'cuse me for tryna look out for-"

"Raph," Leo snapped, glare piercing his brother's rancorous side-eye. "For once in your goddamn life - listen."

Those words carried more vitriol than he'd anticipated...

A tense silence fell over the cabin as the two dragged out their staring match, daring the other to break first.

April, watching through the rear-view mirror, scoffed softly; shaking her head. The youngest brothers shared her sentiment.

"Hey, what about the husband...?" Mikey - seated alongside Donnie - enquired carefully, attempting to shift the subject.

Leo promptly folded; anxious gaze falling on the blonde (limply cradling her whimpering child) before him, still seemingly staring into space.

"Are we just gonna leave him there-"

"We had to." The leader sent his youngest brother a doleful look.

Understanding immediately, Mikey and Donnie both lowered their gazes; April and Raph shared a look, before returning their attention to the vehicle-scattered road ahead.

Silence befell the group once more, as a cautious Leo finally lowered himself onto the edge of the last seat, beside Adrie.

Cocking his neck slightly, he watched, with increasing self-reproach, as the woman's steel blues welled with tears, and a despaired whimper forced its way past her trembling, chapped lips.

~

Minutes, hours... Addie wasn't sure how long they'd been driving, but eventually the truck choked then shuddered to a halt; in the middle of an open road.

The blonde's tentative gaze followed Leo, as he stood, glimpsing her bloodied machete, dangling from his belt; and the other woman's (April, was it?) striking grey orbs, once again.

She'd been stealing glances after every turn.

"There it goes, again..." Donnie - the other voice Addie recognised - muttered wryly; heaving a sigh as he, too, hauled himself to his large, combat boot-clad feet

He joined Leo, Raph(?), and April, in the cockpit; the orange-masked one remained in his seat, 'sneaking' concerned glances her way.

"We can't trust the gauge, anymore..." April sighed.

"Like I said: this stuff's over six months old," Donnie explained, shaking his head to an equally crestfallen Leo. "It's practically water, at this point."

"I don't think we'll be travellin' on wheels much longer... Hey," Raph abruptly reached over the centre console; resting a giant, three-fingered hand atop April's tiny shoulder. "Ape, you okay?"

"Yeah- yeah..." She murmured, nodding stiffly. "I'm okay..."

"We'll find somewhere," Leo reassured; sharing a curt nod with Raph, as he comfortingly petted the woman's seat. His contradicting stance (power pose, accompanied by a lowered gaze) betrayed his insecurity.

"I know-"

Addie's focus was disrupted when a sudden coldness struck her chest. A gasp escaped her as she snapped her head downward, finding Lucas clutching her now bare breast.

"Nee!"

The four whipped around, right as Addie, beet red from embarrassment, tugged her soiled tank top back up. The worse they may have seen was some cleavage...

The orange-masked one however had, apparently, seen everything.

"Everything alright?" Through matted hair, the blonde found Leo carefully approaching.

She maintained a vice-like grip on the fabric, as her grizzling son continued grabbing at it.

Leo watched her struggle a moment; metaphorical cogs in his brain turning, as the scaly ridges where his brows would've been steadily furrowed.

Without another word, he swivelled on his sandaled heel; beelining for the rear of the truck, outside her periphery.

She listened to the rustling and clanking of items that followed (avoiding the others' prying gazes, shifting between herself and him), till the sounds eventually ceased.

Leo crossed in front of her, re-settling into the seat alongside. "Here."

Addie's eyes damn near sparkled at the clear zip-lock baggies of dried meat and fruit now before her.

Chef Boyardee was nowhere near enough...

"Don't worry about us," Leo reassured, catching the blonde's gaze flickering outward. Tilting his head to redirect it, he levelled her a severe look. She could drown in those cerulean orbs, of his.

"There's more than enough to go around..." His expression softened considerably as he nodded to the baggies, holding them out further. "Please. You both look like you need it."

Relief enveloped Leo as Addie finally, tentatively obliged. But, curiously, she made no move to open them; not even when her son feebly whined and tugged at them.

Hugging the baggies firmly against her chest, the woman continued staring; eyes brimming with apprehension as she silently studied the... man, and his comrades, before her.

Leo abruptly realised:

"Forgive me," he maintained the gentle tone and lowered his gaze slightly; an effort to further encourage trust. "We've not officially met – my name’s Leo. That, there, is my brother Mikey-"

At the gesture in his direction, the orange-masked one - flushing a deep shamrock, still unable to look Addie in the eyes - smiled sheepishly.

"Donnie-"

The purple-masked one gave a polite nod, pushing his tape-riddled glasses to the bridge of his snout.

"I probably don't need to tell you we're also related, heh... uhh, so, our friend April-"

The dark-haired woman smiled warmly, giving a short wave.

"...and Raph-"

"Were ya bit?"

Leo sighed inwardly at that as Addie followed his brother's narrowed gaze, downward. Looking at her, bedaubed with dried blood and gore, like she'd bathed in it, the leader would be lying if he said he wasn't suspecting the same.

He wouldn't have been nearly as terse with his questioning, though.

"Just give her a minute," he held up a placating hand, glimpsing panic in the woman's eyes. Could they be correct in their suspicion, or was she simply afraid of being left behind? "Let her gain her bearings-"

"Why? It ain't like it's gonna change anythin', if she were. Might as well get it outta the road now, so we can..." Raph faltered a moment, as he warily glanced an incredulous-looking April's way; clearly debating whether to finish his sentence.

"...figure- behind-!"

The woman barely had a chance to register the warning, when a deafening THUMP behind her, jolted her out of her seat.

"SHIT-"

As she flew into the red-masked one's arms, a full, rounded belly suddenly entered into Addie's field of vision, ripping a startled gasp from her.

She's-!

"Dead fucker-!"

Practically dropping April into his seat, Raph proceeded snatching the pair of pronged weapons from his belt; thrusting open the cabin door with one swift, facile movement.

"Careful-!" Leo exclaimed over Lucas' strangled shriek, as a second surprise walker - EMS uniform dangling in bloodied tatters from its waifish body - lunged itself at his comrade, followed closely by another.

Raph wasted nary a moment kicking the nearest one to the gravel with his giant, two-toed foot, then impaling the second's skull through the chin. The furthest had already met the lethal end of Donnie's bō, by the time Raph's slumped to the ground.

The catalyst walker, allured by the commotion, came staggering round the truck. The two men (Reptiles? Turtles? Turtle-men? Turtle men) dispatched it together, dashing its now shattered body against the grille.

Inside, the women finally released their breaths, sharing a knowing glance as Addie proceeded consoling her child. She relented with the jerky.

"We can't stay here," Raph remarked; glowering at the blonde's very brief, hushed monologue to her son - clearly not in English (German?). He knew she spoke their language; she did so over the radio. So, why the hell wasn't she using it now? "We're sittin' ducks without a set'a walls 'round us."

"Agreed," Leo nodded, mentally noting his brother's veiled hostility.

"That building over there looks good," Donnie offered; pointing to the tall, cream-coloured double garage several hundred feet down the road. At least a dozen vehicles, engulfed by overgrown greenery, surrounded it. "Should fit the truck, with some change."

"Wait, wait-" Mikey's baby blues and gesture grew wide. "You wanna push this?? Wha... all the way over there??"

"What's the matter, baby bro?" Stepping a foot inside the cabin, Raph proceeded thumping the orange-masked brother's shoulder, knocking the wind out of him. "'Fraid ya weak ass is gonna embarrass yaself in front'a the ladies?"

"Unless you'd rather risk our necks hauling everything we need back and forth-" Donnie countered distractedly, elbowing Raph's bicep. Another walker, stumbling out the side gate of a nearby house, had snatched his attention.

Raph promptly called dibs.

~

Pushing the 20-odd ton vehicle to safety was a three-man job which Leo, Raph, and Donnie grudgingly endeavoured, while Mikey brought up the rear to protect the women and child. Thankfully (or concerningly), no additional walkers presented themselves.

Their new sanctuary: a double-storey automobile workshop – Glenny’s Garage. After a brief once-over of the outmoded but seemingly undamaged and secured exterior, Donnie and a reluctant Leo split off to sweep the interior; leaving the others waiting by the truck, for several agonising minutes.

Raph’s chartreuse peepers scrutinised Addie’s every move, attempting to will all her ‘secrets’ out into the open. Yes, he’d advocated hard for her rescue, very nearly exchanged fists with Leo over it, but that had shit all to do with trust or sympathy (save for the kid; he wasn’t that far gone, yet…) – only what she could do for April.

Anything for April…

“Hey, Raph?”

The turtle-man in question shifted his gaze, finally granting a visibly tense Addie respite. April – who’d been standing alongside, looking like something crawled up her ass and died – had summoned him.

“What’s up-”

"Could you be a dear and go fetch us some waters, please?" The brunette's tongue dripped with honey, but her eyes hissed, 'don't you dare argue'.

"Two, thanks- no, I asked you. I'm sure Mikey's more than capable of watching over us for the two seconds it'll take for you to go inside and come back..."

After a brief staring match, Raph finally relented, shooting the object of his ire one last pointed look before disappearing inside the cabin.

“Sorry about him… he can be a real di-” April’s abruptly anxious gaze landed on the boy in Addie’s arms, chowing down on what she presumed was his seventh piece of dried venison. The baggy was nearing empty and she’d yet to see his mother take a single one for herself. “Jerk, sometimes… Are you having any of that? … Adrie-?”

“Hm?” Addie finally looked up, cursing herself for losing track of the seconds Leo had been missing from her side. It was a strange feeling: attributing safety to who’s essentially a complete stranger. She wasn’t sure she liked it, but one thing was certain: his presence was a miles better feeling right now than his absence.

“I’ve eaten already. It’s okay.” April politely declined the offer of the last jerky piece, giving the blonde a knowing smile. “Leo’s right, y’know – you should eat something-”

Addie’s gaze abruptly darted beyond her. The behemoth had thudded back into view with, to the women’s surprise, two plastic bottles in hand.

April smiled mawkishly as she plucked both from him, pushing one toward Addie before hand-waving him away with a, “We’re talking – go hang out with your brother”. He harrumphed but eventually obliged.

Addie needn't voice anything; the frown she levelled at April as Raph stalked away was question enough.

"He's a friend," the brunette chuckled, unscrewing the bottle lid to take a sip. Addie followed suit with hers, allowing a moment to relish the clean, fresh taste - a rarity these past few months - before eventually handing it over to her eager son.

"A very protective friend..."

The words had already cycled through her ear canal by the time she realised: that was the first time she'd spoken more than one word to them in person.

Judging by the mild surprise on April's face, she'd realised that also.

"So-" Addie promptly turned her head to cough. Her throat itched and voice rasped. She was no longer accustomed to using the top of her lungs, so she presumed it'd done a number on her vocal cords... "Pardon... So, y-you're safe?"

April didn't appear distressed, but the fact that she was the only female surrounded by males compelled Addie to speculate...

"I've known these guys a long time," the brunette emphasized, unwittingly stroking the top of her swollen abdomen as she smiled down at Lucas.

Though she tried, Addie couldn't help staring; a myriad of questions inundating her already overwhelmed mind.

"Trust me, there's no safer place for you and your little one to be."

Addie's lips tightened as she nodded, stealing a glance toward the problem turtle-man already side-eyeing her; blatantly ignoring Mikey's attempts at engaging him in conversation.

The jury's still out on that one...

"I'm sorry about your husband, by the way..."

The image of a reanimated Matthew dangling from that door, clawing at their terrified son, flashed through her mind; then the sickening thwacks of her machete as she mercilessly cut him down...

They discussed what they'd do should one of them become infected, early on; an effort to desensitise themselves, perhaps?

Given she had no clue whose face she was mutilating at the time, it saved her the heartbreak... then their son uttered those fateful words...

"I lost my own husband in this, also - t-three, four... months ago...?" April's smile faltered slightly as she lowered her gaze, seemingly joining Addie in remembering something - something equally painful. "It never really leaves you, but it does get easier to live with; if that's any consolation, heh..."

"How far along are you...?"

Returning her gaze to Addie's, April gave a tremulous breath; staring silently for several moments, before finally answering, "T-thirty eight weeks, two days..."

Addie's stomach dropped. Schijt...

So, any day now, this child could decide they're tired of sloshing around in their private primordial pool, and attempt to join them in this hellish world.

Addie only hoped, for April's sake, their impending exit will be quick...

The abrupt rattling of a door handle drew the group's attention toward the garage. They watched the office exit door creak open as the purple-masked turtle-man stepped through it, followed almost immediately by the metallic sliding of the nearest roller door.

Addie's gaze then fell upon Leo's face, and her heart unexpectedly lifted.

"Ladies... c-child," Donnie nodded awkwardly toward the women as he gestured inside, prompting them forward.

"Turtles-" Leo shared a fleeting look with Addie as he sheathed his unsullied blade, before turning to address his brothers. "Limber up. We've a slight incline on the way inside."

"No pussyin' out this time, Mikey."

---

@android-cap-007 @happymoonangel @miss-andromeda @jasminarts01 @obsessedftshit

[jamiesfootball]

Grey

Thought I had a good bit for this week's word, then found out most of them are right smack dab near high climax moments or words I've shared before.

As such @jamietarttsnorthernattitude has given the go-ahead and reshare some previously shared snippets.

You're Gonna Go Far Kid

It hits Roy on the pitch in the middle of practice on a grey Tuesday. Weimar, his hell-bent angel of a striker, whips the ball from 30 meters back. Ball hits the net, she celebrates like the fucking hooligan she is, and Roy can barely choke out an excuse to the  attacking coach before he’s fleeing the pitch. He locks himself in the first supply closet he finds. He mourns. He goes home to Jamie. Jamie feeds him an aberration against God. Roy scarfs it down and chokes back the gratitude that Jamie’s still there, petulant and alive and scratching his fork against Roy’s plates while he eats, and not contemplating anything that would snuff that out of the world. Once upon a time, Roy couldn’t have said the same thing. But Jamie isn’t Roy. Roy is so grateful that Jamie isn’t Roy.

The Vacant House Behind Our Home

In the center of the field, where any one of the Greyhounds might step out and witness him, Jamie shucked off his shirt. Below lay the undershirt -- the undershirt that it turned out was not entirely void. Mostly void, but high on the middle of his chest was a patch of shirt that wasn't void at all. It was a grey; a light, watery grey spot that faded in uneven patches, save for a single line that cut through the grey space over his heart. No. Not a line. A drip.

The Leverage AU I'm Not Writing

"You can't cut it down that low or it'll have to grow up from the graft." Jamie yanked the big-scissors back from a deadened stalk. “Then you should’ve swapped me with Keeley,” he hissed. A while ago she'd been gagging over the comms. Her and Ted had a long debate--the kind Jamie would never get away with--about whether she actually had to clean the mark's bathroom as part of her reconnaissance. Yes, the tank was an excellent place to hide stolen jewels; no, she'd never found one there in her life. Jamie wondered if the housekeepers wore maid outfits. Keeley would look dead fit in a maid outfit. He'd look dead fit in a maid outfit. Anything would look better on him than the grey, stiff-collared maintenance uniform Beard had presented without comment. The earbuds made it sound like Roy was right behind him, whispering disapprovingly, "Keeley's on the inside so she can crack the safe when she finds it. And you're supposed to be keeping a lookout on the armed guards. Focus." The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Focus, he said. Like Jamie had the luxury of forgetting that not ten metres away stood a burly man armed with an assault rifle and a blind spot in the cameras. All Jamie had was a pair of big-scissors and a prickly old bastard in his ear. Honestly? He'd rather scrub the bathroom.

Gift Fic

If it weren't for the mud beneath their shoes, the English would pretend rain wasn't wet. If it weren't for the point differential, the Greyhounds would pretend Wembley didn’t happen. And if it was left up to Lasso, Jamie Tartt would never have tried to do a handstand on wet asphalt in the rain.

I Still Feel Like the Same Person I've Been

Jamie blinked blearily as light and shape solidified into light grey fabric with royal blue stitching. He swallowed. Awareness pooled into him at a steady trickle. His face pressed against the seat. The jacket bunched up around his shoulders, tucked all the way to his nose The warm stuffy heat of sleep behind his eyes. The coach wasn't moving. They were in Richmond. He'd slept the whole way to London. The blistering, mortifying heat of what the fuck. He didn't dare to move. The Greyhounds shuffled past him in agonizing silence. Jamie kept his face buried, didn't so much as twitch as he hid his face into the fabric, hoping that some-fucking-how they'd just walk on by. One by one the other men passed his seat at the front of the bus, that horrible, exposed feeling multiplying a hundred-fold with every step. Until there was one left. He felt pinned under the pressure of that gaze, laid bare and skinned alive under the weight of its judgement. He knew, logically, that he likely hadn't fooled it's owner, that the way his eyelids struggled to lay flat and the way his jaw clenched probably gave way the fact that he was just pretending to sleep. That didn't mean he'd back down. They stayed as they were, Jamie Tartt and Roy Kent, stuck in a stalemate to see who would crack and leave the bus first.

Oh God You're Gonna Get It (You Have Not Been Given Love)

Even though he'd just been over the other week, everything just seemed-- --bleaker. The cleaning service had been in, that could explain some of it -- the lack of hoodies and vests thrown about and the absence of trainers piled at the front door. No mugs. None of Roy's books with the spines bent worse than a Beckham goal. But everything else? Grey beige sad. Fucking lifeless, somehow worse than he remembered. A blank slate box -- not a place to store a person. The odor of cleaning products hung acrid and defensive, from the hallway through to the living room. Even the strip of grass out the windows didn't seem inviting anymore. Greenery taunting behind a pane of glass with nothing to beckon outside. Bushes clipped in perfunctory order. Outdoor seating; no sign any of it was ever used. At least the succulents on the table were holding up well. Maybe Roy could grab them. Would that fucking help? He seemed to enjoy the tour Phoebe gave him of the yard -- was he a plant person? Roy didn't know. Didn't seem likely, but then he hadn't thought to ask-- --fuck, he hadn't even thought to ask Jamie what he needed to grab from his house. He picked up one of the succulents. Weightless plastic. Free of dust and life. Fake. "Fuck," Roy breathed out. The house echoed back.

[shadowqueen402]

Hey There! Remember your BWW Outfits things for the chapters? Can you do that but with my OC?

Ooh! I sure can! Here are the outfits for Kaylo!

Kaylo Bruno's Outfits

Chapter 1

A white shirt with short, puffed sleeves, a Peter Pan collar, a purple ribbon, and purple lining underneath a purple plaid overall dress with a white lace trim, white thigh-high socks, and black Mary Janes. She also wears her hair in twin braids with matching purple ribbons and carries a basket.

Chapter 2

A purple, one piece swimsuit with a one-shoulder ruffle, a thin spaghetti strap, and white two-tiered skirt. She also wears a white sun hat, and pink sandals.

Chapter 3

A short-sleeved white and green seifuku with a light pink scarf, a green pleated skirt, black knee-length socks, and brown loafers. She also has a green bow adorning her hair.

Chapter 4

A light pink hoodie with white strings over a white shirt with a lavender collar, a sky blue skirt, and magenta and white sneakers with white shoelaces.

Chapter 5

A green cap, a grey short-sleeved shirt with pockets on the chest, a brown belt with a gold buckle, green shorts, green knee length socks, and brown hiking shoes.

Chapter 6

A fuschia blazer with gold buttons connected with chains. Underneath is a white high-collared blouse that is adorned with a magenta brooch. She also wears a black and white plaid pleated skirt, black knee-length socks with fuschia and white argyle patterning, and light pink kitten heels.

Chapter 7

A pink over-the-shoulder dress with sleeves that reach the elbow, a rose pink bodice, and rose pink flats. She wears her hair in a low ponytail with a rose pink ribbon.

Chapter 8

A dark purple coat with white fur trimming on the hood and cuffs of the sleeves, rose pink gloves, black pants, and dark purple boots with white fur trimming.

Chapter 9

A long-sleeved black dress with white cuffs and red lapels over a white high-collared shirt that has three black buttons. She also wears a black bow tie, a black top hat with a red sash, white gloves, black pants with red lining, and black flats. She also carries a deck of cards.

Chapter 10

A purple short-sleeved dress with a dark purple collar and rim. Underneath is a rose pink undershirt. She also wears a white apron with three paint splatters on it and dark purple flats.

Chapter 11

A nurse's outfit which consists of a short-sleeved lilac dress, a matching nurse's hat, and lilac sandals. She also has a stethoscope around her neck.

Chapter 12

A white high-collared shirt, a thin, light pink ribbon, a light pink overall skirt, a magenta ribbon around the waist and white frills, light pink detached sleeves, magenta stockings, and black Mary Janes. Her hair is straightened and held up in pigtails with black ribbons.

Hope you like these!

[amphiptere-art]

Perfect thief people.

The police force. Hearts

Sun - Jack of hearts - detective- description (They were wearing a light orange undershirt. Contrasted by a black coat with yellow lining. Briefly spotting brightly decorated yellow patterns within the coat as they desperately searched for something. The coat went down to their mid forearm. The orange undershirt showing up the fill up the rest of the way down the wrist. Their pants were somewhat professional looking. This time being read with the yellow lining. It made sense that most of their clothing were hues of orange and red given that their entire body was already yellow. No need to overindulge a color.)

Moon - jack of hearts - police officer- description (This one had a circular head much like your Sunny owner, But this time without any rays. Instead wearing a prominent police hat which quickly came off and was replaced with a fedora. Taking off the police vest as you followed him to his room.Soon the blue bot changed out to a casual t-shirt with the words "I don't follow the law" printed in broad dark blue letters. The rest of the t-shirt was a light blue. Apparently deciding to indulge the color of his metallic skin. Jumping into some jeans and slipping on some sneakers.)

Freddy - King of hearts - police chief - description...

Chica - Queen of hearts - detective - description...

The gang. Diamonds

Eclipse - gang leader - King of diamonds - description (looks like sun. But blacks and oranges. Has a double set of rays. Has a maroon suit.)

Roxy - getaway driver - Queen of diamonds - description...

Monty - bodyguard - Jack of diamonds - description...

Information keepers. Clubs

DJ - King of clubs - club owner - description (DJ was another enhanced human like Mangle. Although with much more cleanliness. Having an extra set of arms and a speaker implemented in his chest. Wearing the getup of a DJ of course.)

Mangle - Jack of clubs - description (Mangle was a humanoid with animatronic enhancements. Most of them over injuries from a war long past. A half face scar covered up by many mechanical instruments. All looking rushed and improperly planted.)

Ballora - queen of clubs - description (Ballerina was a humanoid who always wore a tutu. White glasses adorned blind eyes. Her skinny stature almost looked haunting.)

Bonnie - two of clubs - description (Bonnie was a full animatronic. A big purple rabbit. Still wearing his bowling team attire from his days of slavery.)

Information keepers cats.

Y/N - joker - cat king - description (You were a simple black and white cat. Most of your form is coated in the jet black color only being broken by a patch of light on your chest in the form of a diamond. The tips of your toes and tail were the only other things that were white. You were quite pretty for a feline. You had a good mid-length fur that coated your body. A small mane resting on your shoulders. Your claws remain sharp)(form of a humanoid. A large black fluffy coat adorning itself on your shoulders. Black pants stretched out to your heels. White shoes and gloves adorning your hands and feet. A white undershirt showing underneath the deep black of your coat.)

Fishy - newspaper cat - description (orange tabby plunged his chonky paws towards you meowing the details of the initial message from the clan members. His collar hung loosely around his neck, a metal tag swinging from it with the name, "Fishy.")

The pack. Spades

Vanessa - Jack of spades - description (vampire)

Vanny - Queen of spades - description (vampire/werewolf)

Afton - King of Spades - description (werewolf with long ears)

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Breath of the Sky Ch 9 (Skyward Sword meets Breath of the Wild)

@blossomingwaters @telemna-hyelle @skyward-floored @neutralvoiceartist @twilight-linkess @ whoever else wanted to read Breath of the Sky GUESS WHAT GUYS I MANAGED TO CONTROL THE CHAOS AND MAKE A CHAPTER

Summary: When Princess Zelda goes to the Spring of Courage to pray, accompanied by her appointed knight, a giant magical cog spitting out a goddess is the last thing she expects, but it is what she gets. Meanwhile, the Spirit Maiden Zelda is trying to figure out what the heck is happening and where her missing husband/chosen hero is.

(Click to read on AO3)

First chapter

<<Previous chapter // Next chapter>>

When Link and Zelda returned to their room for lunch, they found clothes waiting for them on their bed. Curious, the two examined the garments and were astonished at their richness. Zelda’s dress was made of multiple layers of white with gold thread sewn throughout for embroidery to accentuate the waist, collar, and just above the elbows. A necklace made of pure gold sat atop the ensemble, forming what looked like the goddess symbol. Lastly, there was a golden headdress encrusted with sapphires. For Link there was a pure white cotton undershirt covered by a silk green tunic with a leather belt that had intricate embroidery and a pure gold buckle with the goddess symbol engraved on it. Dark brown trousers, a royal blue cape, and shiny black boots completed the ensemble.

Servants were there to give them a brief rundown on how the festivities were to progress. The pair was to follow them to a large open area where what sounded like the entire population of Hyrule would be there.

So… that couldn’t be too many people, right? Link eyed Zelda nervously as he adjusted the foreign clothing he was wearing.

At least Zelda looked radiant in her outfit. Her eyes trailed over him from his head to his toes before making their way back up to his face. He felt his cheeks blush at the expression she made.

“You look nice,” she said quietly, her own face coloring slightly pink.

Link found he had no voice to answer. He swallowed thickly and rubbed the back of his neck. Zelda then giggled, easing the growing emotions between the pair, and he offered her his hand. They walked together, listening as the servants continued to brief them on what was to come.

On top of being greeted and honored by the people of Hyrule, there were gifts to be presented. Link specifically was going to be given a ceremonial sword of some sort. The servants said it was some sort of symbol of handing of responsibilities – a knight would present him with the blade and he would determine if the knight was worthy to take the blade and the mantle of protector of Hyrule by returning the blade to him.

Link felt his stomach churn. He wasn’t entirely sure why this knight needed his approval. His role had been given to him, chosen by—

Well. By… by Zelda, he supposed, if he thought about it hard enough.

He tried not to. Besides, Zelda herself had said she hadn’t fully understood until the end of their journey.

In either case, it made Link no more qualified to choose a new “protector” than anyone else. He had no right to be included in this ceremony at all.

The servants leading them paused in front of large ornate doors, and Link already felt dizzy. These clothes were strange on him, this castle was too big, and he didn’t even have to be in the room to sense how many people were in there.

He could hear them. And it sounded like a lot more than the population of Skyloft.

He couldn’t even fathom it.

Zelda squeezed his hand tightly. Glancing at her, he saw her looking similarly nervous, but she gave him a reassuring smile. Link swallowed and smiled back.

The servants pushed the doors open as trumpets blared, and the crowd in the room grew silent.

Light shone into the dark hallway as Link and Zelda stood there a moment, taking a breath. Then the couple walked forward together.

The room reminded Link of the Temple of Hylia. The ceilings were massively tall, the room rounded in shape with stone curved pillars. Link and Zelda were on a balcony of sorts, elevated above the crowds below, separated from them by two staircases and a small brick railing. The only thing on the same level as them was a large chair situated in the center overtop a red carpet. Link couldn’t quite see what or who was below until they reached the chair, which Zelda stiffly sat on while Link gazed down below.

There… there were so many people. And it wasn’t just people who looked like him and Zelda – Link saw Gorons! Gorons and others, one of which looked like—

Link immediately put a hand on Zelda’s shoulder, whispering, “Are those—?!”

“They can’t be,” Zelda whispered back. “We’ll find out, Link, but not now. Everyone’s watching.”

The Not Loftwings continued to hold Link’s attention for a while more before he really started to comprehend just how filled to the brim this room was. He was suddenly overwhelmingly hot and dizzy, and he took a step away from the balcony’s edge, his leg brushing against Zelda’s chair. He wasn’t entirely sure why only Zelda had a chair, but he needed to sit down or he was going to fall.

Shakily, Link leaned against the chair and saw that Zelda looked similarly overwhelmed. Seeing her look helpless brought some grounding energy to him, and he settled for sitting on the armrest and draping a hand over her shoulder to offer some sort of support.

A murmur rang through the crowds below at the sight, though Link couldn’t fathom why. He frankly didn’t care either.

Link eventually got a hold of his breathing and heart rate, and he started to scan below once more from his perch. He noticed the crowds were organized into four groups, each headed by someone dressed in a variation of a blue garment. In front of the four groups were two people dressed as fancy as Link and Zelda themselves, and one other flanking the girl in the center of that group who also wore a variation of the blue garment. Something was in his hands, wrapped in silk. Based on its shape and length, it had to be a sword.

He supposed that was the knight, then.

But some things weren’t adding up. Why were there two separate groups of humans? One stood in the center with the fancy dressed people in front of them, while another stood with a woman leading them. In fact… in fact, all of those humans were women.

Maybe they were Sheikah?

That aside, though… where were the Mogmas? The Kikwis? And who were the Not Loftwings and fish people? Were the fish people related to the Parellas?

Link still couldn’t believe there were bird people here!!

Before Link had much more time to ponder the matter, the three people in the center below stepped forward a couple paces, and the four leaders behind them did so as well. Then, the white-haired man to the left of the girl in the white dress knelt, and everyone else in the room did so alongside him.

Except the girl.

At first nothing happened. The girl seemed to be frozen, her eyes locked on to Zelda. When Link glanced at his wife, he saw that she was similarly entranced. He didn’t want to break the moment, but he was feeling the tension in the room grow, and he eventually stood, his hand sliding along Zelda’s shoulder.

The girl cleared her throat. Her hands went to her chest, cupped together and fingers interlaced, and she began to sing. Her voice was soft, breathy, shaky, and timid, but melodious, nonetheless. Link immediately felt himself relax.

“O Protector, Goddess of Hyrule and Time,

Grant that my wish be one with Thine.”

With the first verse sung, the girl’s hands unclasped and bowed outward as she dipped her head and torso in a slight curtsey, and Link felt his veins will with ice. Singing and dancing in a prayerful message to the goddess reminded him so much of Fi that it hurt.

This girl was speaking as Fi spoke when relaying messages from Hylia.

“Watch over this land you made,

Give us grace to continue the groundwork you laid.”

Here the girl folded one hand over another over her heart and she knelt as well. Everyone else in the room bowed deeply from their positions, already on their knees.

“We honor you and offer you the fruits of our labors,

And I implore you hear your child of ages.

We seek your care and protection and favors,

And hope you grant them through your sages.”

The girl rose to her feet, hands clasped once again as they had been in the beginning, head bowed in prayer.

Prayer. Oh goddess. She was praying to Zelda.

Link felt dizzy.

“Goddess Hylia, I pray you give me the strength to protect my people.

O Protector, Goddess of Hyrule and Time,

Grant that my wish be one with Thine.”

The room echoed with a deep and loud rumbling sound as everyone recited some memorized verse before growing silent once more. The girl relaxed her posture, stepping aside as a Not Loftwing stepped forward from the crowds. The room cleared as people backed farther away, hidden in shadow, and then several musicians and others took center stage.

“Your Grace, Mythical Hero,” the gigantic humanoid bird spoke—spoke!—to them. “With your auspicious visitation, we seek to invite you into a brief tale of the history of Hyrule. We understand you have traveled a vast time and distance to get to us, and we wish to impart on you the knowledge of the greatness of the land you established and protected.”

Link and Zelda exchanged glances, the previous awkwardness forgotten in lieu of genuine curiosity. The couple leaned forward eagerly, eyes alight.

The man cleared his throat as the musicians played an intro on strings and windpipes. “Millennia ago, the Golden Goddesses descended from the heavens to create the earth. Din, Goddess of Power, used her strength to create the land. Nayru, Goddess of Wisdom, used her logic to create order and law. Farore, Goddess of Courage, bared her soul to create life. With the land established, the Golden Goddesses departed this mortal plane, leaving the Triforce as an imprint of their power, with the Goddess Hylia in charge of its care and the land’s protection.

“For ages, the land was prosperous under the watchful eye of the Goddess Hylia. But then, a great Calamity tore through the earth, seeking utter destruction. To defeat him, Hylia breathed life into the clouds of the sky, and from it descended The Hero of Myth and Legend.”

Link choked on his spit.

“Together, the Goddess and the Hero defeated the Calamity, sealing it into the earth and establishing the Kingdom of Hyrule. With children to rule the land around them, the Goddess and the Hero returned to the heavens above, where they would remain until the Calamity Ganon returned.”

“Wait, so we go back to Skyloft after we establish Hyrule?” Zelda whispered confusedly. “What happened to the Triforce?”

“I’m still trying to figure out how you sneezed into a cloud to create me,” Link shot back.

Zelda barked out a laugh and then turned beet red as the entire room froze. She shriveled into the chair a little, and Link looked down at the speaker, who looked a little horrified.

Oops.

Link gave the most reassuring smile he could muster and nodded for the Not Loftwing Person to continue.

The musicians began to play once more, and the pause only in reality lasted a second or two, despite feeling like an eternity, and the feathered man continued, “Through the ages, Ganon attempted to take over Hyrule again and again, only to be thwarted by the Goddess’ descendants and her Hero, whose soul would descend to the earth whenever needed. Across time and through twilight itself, the Soul of the Hero and his Sacred Blade protected Hyrule and its people.”

Link leaned forward, growing more interested. They knew of Fi? Zelda, on the other hand, had grown considerably still, eyes wide and breath caught as she glanced between the storyteller and her husband.

“Ten thousand years ago, Calamity Ganon tried once more, though this time, the people of Hyrule also chose to fight alongside the Hero and the Princess. Divine Beasts, fashioned after the Divine Bestial form of the Hero, were piloted by Champions, who supported the Hero and Princess in their quest to vanquish the evil.

“Since his last defeat, it has been foretold that the Calamity would come once more, and in true form of the Goddess Hylia’s wisdom and protection, the Soul of the Hero has returned once more, prepared to fight alongside the Holy Descendant, the Princess of Hyrule.”

A shiver started to make its way down Link’s spine as the words truly began to sink in. Zelda hadn’t moved a muscle.

These people… thought Link was there to stop this Ganon person? Who was supposedly the person he defeated back… when…

Link’s mind went blank, completely ignoring what he’d just heard. He felt his breathing quicken, and he closed his eyes, trying to center himself. He couldn’t put two thoughts together, his head hurt all of a sudden.

“There’s no way he survived,” Zelda whispered, and judging by how her voice shook she was trying to reassure herself more than him.

Link tried to center himself to give her some support, saying softly, “It’s just a story, Zel. They didn’t even understand what we had to go through. They don’t even know who Demise is.”

“It’s not just a story,” Zelda hissed. “Or we wouldn’t be sitting in Hyrule Castle.”

“Well,” Link scrambled for an explanation as the crowds below moved into some new arrangement. “We were told as children that Hylia defeated Demise, that she had chosen a hero to aid her in the war and together they’d won the battle. In reality, Hylia reincarnated into you and I was chosen across time to help you defeat Demise. Their story isn’t true, Zel.”

“Listen to yourself, Link,” Zelda argued. “The story we were told as children was about us. Hylia—I—the fight against Demise was foretold for a reason.”

“Hero of Myth and Legend,” a different man, the one dressed in fancy attire with white hair, suddenly announced. Link stiffened, slowly standing. “We present to you our Champion, the bearer of the Soul of the Hero. We pray for your blessing and your protection.”

Oh… this had to be the presentation ceremony that the servants had mentioned. Link shook his head subtly, trying to keep up with everything that was happening. He still couldn’t quite comprehend the story he’d just been told, the fact that everyone expected him to protect Hyrule, a land he had helped establish, and now he had to—

Wait, bearer of the Soul of the Hero?

Those who share the blood of the goddess and the spirit of the hero… They are eternally bound to this curse.

Link felt ill. No. It can’t be.

NO.

Shaking his head, he focused instead on the knight walking up the stairs to meet him, a silk cloth covering the blade he would no doubt present. The closer the knight came, the dizzier Link felt, and then—and then—

And then he recognized him. He didn’t recall ever seeing his face, but his tunic, his hair, his earrings, his build… he recognized them.

This was the person he’d seen in his nightmare.

Bearer of the Soul of the Hero.

Was… was that why he’d seen himself with the knight in that dream? But what about Fi? She was in the dream too, and—

The knight approached him, eyes downcast, face blanket, and pulled away the silk covering.

And held the Master Sword out to Link.

Link’s mind became blank. His blood ran cold. His breath caught in his throat. He was frozen, unable to process what was in front of him while simultaneously having it all crash down on him at once.

This was the future. This was the future and Demise had somehow survived and Fi was here.

Fi.

Link slowly remembered to breathe again, mainly because he was growing dizzy, and he reverently reached for the blade.

Would she know he was there? She had said she’d be locked in an eternal sleep. Was… was she in there still?

The knight slowly let the weight of the blade fall into Link’s hands, supported at the hilt and the sheath. His fingers brushed against the knight’s, and his entire body nearly bucked at the sensation.

And Fi sang.

Link heard Zelda leap to her feet behind him, and the knight stared at the blade in shock. Fi’s familiar hum reverberated through the room, the blade warm in Link’s hands, and then it faded.

Link’s last bit of sanity faded with it. He looked at the knight in front of him, eyes wide. “How did you get this blade?”

The knight swallowed, his posture rigid, and his eyes darted to somewhere behind Link as Zelda approached.

“She had to have chosen you, didn’t she?” Zelda surmised as Link’s emotions continued to spiral out of control. He wanted to run out of the room, he wanted to scream.

The knight nodded stiffly.

“Goddesses,” Zelda breathed, hugging herself. “He… he really…”

Link clutched Fi so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Zelda centered herself first, looking at the knight once more as Link started to step away from the pair, unable to breathe. “I’m… I’m sorry. About before. I didn’t… I didn’t know what was going on, and I was worried about Link.”

The knight turned white as a sheet. Link didn’t really notice or care.

Fi. How was she here, how—

How the hell is this all happening?!

He’d thought it was over. Zelda had said it was over. They’d ended the war, Demise was gone—

He wanted to go home. He wanted to go home and forget about all of this, forget about the sinking realization in his heart and mind and stomach that made him feel so violently ill he was going to pass out. He wanted to sit beside Fi in her pedestal and chat with her as if she could still hear him, back in Faron Woods where things made sense and the ache of her loss was logical and he knew she couldn’t reply because their mission was over.

Goddess, he wanted to die.

“Link.”

Zelda’s voice sounded so far away. He closed his eyes, holding the blade close.

Warm hands settled on his cheeks, making him open his eyes and see his wife looking at him. Her face was decidedly neutral as she herself was trying to wrestle her emotions, but her concern was clear in her gaze.

She looked so ancient all of a sudden, so foreign, so much like she had back in the Temple of Hylia when she’d first told Link everything about their mission. Link felt his knees tremble, threatening to buckle entirely.

“Zel,” he whispered so quietly he couldn’t even hear it over his deafening heartbeat. He felt so lost, so completely alone all of a sudden, as if even his own wife was somehow a stranger to him in this land. His chest was tight, everything was too present and too loud.

Zelda’s hands slid carefully from his cheeks to his ears, playing the tips and covering them from the world around him. She leaned her forehead against his, the Master Sword blocking full contact between them, and he gave in to the embrace a little, trembling and closing his eyes once more.

The world was dark and silent as he tried desperately to let his mind just rest from the raging thoughts. He just felt her hands, heard her thumbs caressing his ears, felt her breath tickle his mouth. His body subtly urged him forward, and his lips brushed against hers in a ghost of a kiss.

For a second he felt safe. For a second he felt sane again. Zelda’s right hand traced its way from his ear down his neck and chest to settle on the Master Sword’s hilt, adding a small amount of weight to what he was already carrying.

The weight brought his situation back with it, crushing him.

The knight was waiting. The crowd was still watching below. There were too many people and too many expectations and too many things going on.

Even Fi suddenly felt foreign, old and different and no longer an acquaintance. She had chosen this knight, this new Hero, this—

The image from nightmare seared into his brain, and he opened his eyes, jerking away from Zelda. Stiffly, he turned back towards the knight, who himself looked rather like he wanted to fade into nothingness right there as well. Link had never related to someone more in his life in that moment.

He held out the blade wordlessly, begging the knight to take it. The knight received the blade as if he were getting his life back.

Link felt as if he had just given his away.

The pair stared at each other for a moment longer before the knight adjusted the blade so it could rest on his back, and then he bowed before walking back down the stairs. A booming voice announced something, and the room burst into motion as everyone filed somewhere.

Zelda was at his side in an instant. “Link, we’re heading outside.”

Outside? Had the servants said something about that? Oh, they had, hadn’t they? Something about after the initial ceremony was over, the festivities would take place outside to accommodate everyone.

Accommodate everyone. Because this giant room filled to the brim with people somehow still wasn’t enough.

Link blindly followed his wife, praying that this night would be over soon.

XXX

Princess Zelda breathed in the outdoor air with relief. She had led many religious ceremonies in her life, but never had she done so with the goddess herself right in front of her. Though her nerves over speaking with Hylia were far less than they had been in the beginning, it still was a daunting idea.

But now that was out of the way, and she could just enjoy the celebration. It wasn’t often that Hyrule had reason to celebrate these days, so seeing her kingdom bustling with cheer and joy brought her a great deal of happiness.

Her father walked beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder as he beamed with pride. “Well done, Zelda.”

The princess felt her heart flutter at the compliment, and she felt tears sting in her eyes. It had also been a long time since she and her father had a discussion that hadn’t ended in some sort of negative manner between them. This night was turning out to be fantastic.

“Thank you, Father,” she said thickly.

The king hesitated in his step as he watched her, and his smile grew gentler. The moment was interrupted when the crowds outside went insane, cheering for the monarchs and then for the mythical figures who emerged shortly after them. Zelda watched the legendary couple stand at the entrance, looking around them and taking in the sights. Strangely, they suddenly looked so small.

Her father went to them, directing them to a table set aside for their use that was elevated above the rest of the plaza. Hylia guided her Hero to the table, and the two sat quietly. Zelda wasn’t entirely sure what to make of them, honestly. Hylia acted as one might expect a goddess to be – stoic, distant but not cold. The Hero was a bigger mystery, though – the power move he’d pulled inside by sitting on the throne alongside the goddess herself had certainly caused a stir, let alone the strange pause in returning the Master Sword to Link.

“You led the prayer beautifully, little bird.”

Zelda turned to see Urbosa and laughed in delight. “Thank you! I admit, I’m glad it’s over, but it seems she took it well.”

Urbosa hummed, her eyes darting towards the table with the legendary couple before she returned her attention to the princess. “I would say so, yes. Have you had a chance to speak with her privately?”

Zelda shook her head. “Not since… well… that first time.”

“We’ve gone over this,” Urbosa said gently. “She was worried about the Hero, not mad at you.”

“I know,” Zelda replied honestly. She had already managed to piece that together herself when she’d discovered Hylia was from the past, and Urbosa had helped her frame that day in a better context as well. “I’ve been thinking it over. I figure this is as good a time as any, but… I’m not sure if they want anyone approaching them.”

“What are you talking about? This party is the perfect time to introduce yourself,” Urbosa commented. “Especially after the bard already did the introduction for you.”

Zelda laughed sheepishly. “I suppose you’re right.”

Nodding to herself, she turned to head towards the table when she nearly ran face first into the Goron Champion Daruk’s massive rock hard belly.

“Princess!” Daruk greeted cheerfully as Zelda stumbled back. “That was great with the prayer and everything! You really are something. Can you believe that a goddess is here?! It’s wild!”

The princess laughed shakily as she regained her composure. “Well, yes, it is very exciting.”

“The princess was actually going to go talk to the goddess,” Urbosa chimed in helpfully, nudging Zelda.

Smiling thankfully at the Gerudo chief, Zelda started to walk towards the table when she saw a different champion making his way to the legendary pair.

Daruk stared as well. “Huh. What do ya think Revali’s doing?”

“Making a fool of himself, probably,” Urbosa grumbled.

The princess watched uncertainly as the Rito Champion marched towards Hylia and the Hero, chest puffed and feathers ruffled as he bowed deeply to the couple. She supposed she’d have to wait.

On the other side of the plaza, Link walked around to ease off the nerves that had nearly crushed him back in the throne room. The entire ordeal of handing the Master Sword had almost reduced him to a pile of ash out of sheer horror and anxiety. He’d heard of the ceremony before, and after being talked through it felt a little less horrified about handing the legendary sword over since he was supposed to get it back, but a part of him had wondered if the Hero would actually return it.

The long wait, and the Hero turning his back to him, had certainly solidified those fears. But then Hylia of all people seemed to convince the Hero to give the blade back, had apologized to Link for her earlier actions.

Link supposed that was appropriate since he himself had been chosen by the goddess.

But what did any of this mean? That Hylia’s earlier vitriol had been misplaced, forgotten? That the Hero himself didn’t like Link?

He didn’t know. All he knew was that hellish experience was over and he’d somehow survived it without falling to pieces.

Link caught sight of his father in the crowd, dressed in colorful formal regalia. The two locked eyes for a moment, gave a subtle nod of acknowledgement, and moved on. This was not the setting for anything more than that. Link wandered a little aimlessly as the lively music continued, wondering what exactly was expected of him now. Perhaps he could just go to the dining tables and eat all the delicious food and be left in peace.

He looked to the other Champions to see what they were doing and saw that Mipha was gazing at him with a soft smile. As soon as they made eye contact, she headed his way. Link felt his heart flutter a bit, and he choked down the feeling. She was his friend from childhood and nothing more. Even that was pushing the protocol, anyway, but he couldn’t stand to not be around her at all.

If Princess Zelda could allow for a friendship between him and her, then maybe it wouldn’t be viewed poorly to have a friendship with Princess Mipha too. They’d known each other longer, anyway.

“Link! Isn’t this party amazing?” Mipha said in her soft tone as she drew close enough to be heard. Her eyes glittered in the candlelight, her face aglow with excitement.

Link tried his hardest to keep a neutral face. There were too many prying eyes, this setting was too public, so many things could go wrong if he said or did something inappropriate. Nevertheless, he felt his face soften, even if he couldn’t emote in any other way, and he hoped it was subtle enough for no one to notice but present enough for her to see. He gave a polite nod of acknowledgement.

“Have you spoken to Hylia Incarnate or the Hero of Legend?” Mipha asked.

Link shook his head. His mind had screamed for him to answer when the Hero had demanded how he’d gotten the Master Sword, but anxiety had choked the words before they could leave his throat.

“I wonder what they’re like?” Mipha thought aloud. She stroked her chin and gazed off towards the mythical figures, and Link fought with all his might to hide an affectionate smile. She looked so adorable, so beautiful.

Link bit his tongue hard enough to make it bleed.

“To think Hyrule is finally getting everything together—the divine beasts, the guardians—and then the goddesses send this,” Mipha continued, unaware of Link’s scrutiny. “Fate truly is on our side, I think! There’s no way Calamity Ganon can defeat us now.”

Link considered it for a moment. Perhaps she was right. It should have been reassuring, but somehow it made him feel inadequate, like the goddesses had to send the original hero because Link couldn’t live up to the expectations.

It kind of seemed like the Hero thought Link couldn’t live up to his role.

“Imagine the things you could learn from the Hero!” Mipha said delightedly, looking back at Link with a sincere smile.

Link felt his stomach clench and he gave a noncommittal shrug.

“Link, let’s go try the food over there!” Mipha said, suddenly changing the topic and pointing off in the distance.

Link followed her gaze and saw mountains of different dishes, the smell of fish wafting in the air. This time he couldn’t hide the small smile from his face, and he trotted alongside her as she practically skipped over to the table.

XXX

Although the crowds had grown exponentially, being outside made it far more bearable as Zelda picked at the food provided to her and Link. The food looked amazing, but she didn’t have much of an appetite at the moment, and it seemed Link didn’t either.

Her mind was whirling, picking through everything they had learned in the course of the last fifteen minutes.

Demise was alive and well and causing chaos. He might go by a different name, but Zelda had dealt with him enough times, remembered him enough, to know it was him. It had to be. It made her simultaneously terrified and enraged down to her core, so shaken at the thought that despite everything they had gone through, he was still a threat.

What more could they possibly do?! They’d used the Triforce, she’d—Hylia had—all that planning, all that suffering—

And what about now? Who determined who had to fight Demise now? The words in the prayer, the words in the story, they burned into her brain.

Through the ages, Ganon attempted to take over Hyrule again and again, only to be thwarted by the Goddess’ descendants and her Hero, whose soul would descend to the earth whenever needed.

Given her own experiences, Zelda knew this could be interpreted a number of ways because it could have been learned a number of different ways by the people. But descendants were descendants. There was no misinterpreting that.

Descendants.

Zelda’s eyes drifted to the girl in the white dress, to Princess Zelda and King Rhoam Bosphoramus Hyrule.

Her and Link’s descendants.

Link shifted beside her, and she glanced at him to see that his eyes had finally honed in on something rather than dully staring at the world around him. She followed his gaze and saw another birdlike person approaching.

She had no idea what to make of these bird people, except that it was mind boggling and amazing to see them. She tried to maintain her manners and not stare too hard, but it Link… well…

Link had never been one for manners, anyway.

The bird man reached them and bowed deeply. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Revali, Champion of the Rito, and the greatest warrior in Hyrule. I have been chosen to assist Princess Zelda and Hyrule in its fight against Calamity Ganon.”

Zelda cocked her head to the side, raising an eyebrow. She was detecting an inordinately high amount of Groose flavored ego in this Revali person. “Nice to meet you, Revali.”

Link, adaptable as ever, seemed to pick up on it too. His expression shifted from overwhelmed to amused in a heartbeat.

“The honor is all mine, I assure you,” Revali replied. Well, at least he was polite. “I wanted to assuage your concerns and say that the fight against Ganon is in the most capable hands. I have already mastered my Divine Beast and will be able to support the princess in every way possible. Personally, I could even be the one to wield the Sword the Seals the Darkness, if need be.”

Link leaned back in his seat, and his face practically screamed, ah, there it is. Zelda choked back a groan; she didn’t know how Link had patience for this, she had too many things to worry about.

Before the conversation could go any farther, another rperson approached, one of the other leaders in blue that Zelda had distinguished from earlier. She had a massive build and wore… little to no clothing, though what she had was fashioned like colorful armor. It made little sense to Zelda – perhaps they were dancers who fashioned themselves as fighters?

But the yellow eyes and ruby red hair were striking enough to catch her eye. She gave a sidelong glance to Link, who had a similar curiosity in his face.

“Your Grace, great Hero,” the woman acknowledged with a bow. “I am Urbosa, Chief of the Gerudo people and Champion of Hyrule.”

“How many champions does Hyrule have?” Zelda questioned, looking between the two and wondering if this was some sort of competition that she didn’t have the energy for.

“Five,” Urbosa immediately answered. “One from each group of people within Hyrule, all working together to support the Princess of Hyrule.”

The Princess. The one who led the devotional prayer. The one who was of Zelda and Link’s bloodline.

Zelda felt giddy, looking at her husband. Then she felt dread as she looked at the champions and thought of their purpose.

Good heavens above, this night was a whirlwind.

“I was curious is Your Grace and the great Hero would be interested in joining the festivities in the plaza,” Urbosa continued. “Believe me, it’s far more entertaining to join the fun than stay here and be cornered by the nobility. Unless, of course, that is Your Grace’s wish?”

Urbosa raised an eyebrow at Zelda, but something in her eyes screamed a sense of knowledge and confidence that reminded her of some of the instructors at the academy. This Urbosa woman knew that Revali was practically harassing the pair and was giving them a means of escape.

Zelda liked her.

“Well, I see the dancing,” Zelda offered, nudging Link. “We do love a good dance.”

It wasn’t a lie, after all, Link and Zelda both loved to dance. The scrutiny they would get here would probably dampen the fun, but if they ignored it… well, she didn’t know. Zelda wasn’t the kind of person to just immediately wipe anxieties and nagging thoughts from her mind.

Link, on the other hand, was. Her husband immediately grabbed her hand, dragging her farther towards the people standing in lines and dancing together as the music played cheerily all around them. It was clear he was eager for a distraction.

The moves to the dance were simple to follow. The couple stood and watched, ignoring the onlookers as others continued to dance, oblivious to the two. Tap the left feet together with the partner, then the right, repeat once more. Do-si-do with a twirl at the end, then a couple flourishes with the arms before a step and twirl to the left and switching partners.

Well, that part would be interesting. Zelda actually cackled at the thought of it. She couldn’t wait to see people’s faces when they saw that their new dance partner was a goddess.

Okay, that was reason enough to dance.

Link rushed ahead to take a spot across from Zelda, and the pair started to do the moves, laughing whenever they messed something up. Link’s giggling was so freeing, it did manage to release the tension and worry building in Zelda’s heart as he beamed at her.

Off in the distance, the Gerudo champion, hidden from view from the couple, nudged the princess into the line of dancers as well.

Zelda laughed as she brushed shoulders with her husband, face flushed with excitement. When it came time to twirl to the left, she smiled at her new partner, a young man dressed far simpler than most of the people in that other room had been.

Which meant he hadn’t been in there. Which meant he didn’t know who she was.

Golden Three, what a relief.

The two smiled politely as they moved, and then the man asked, “Can you believe this party? I’ve never seen anything like it in my life!”

“I can’t say that I have either,” Zelda remarked with a chuckle.

“They say the Goddess Hylia is actually here, but my sister said you’d know because of the thunder. She says there’s no way the weather wouldn’t be going crazy with a goddess here. So I think they might be wrong, but at least we can all enjoy ourselves!”

All right, Zelda did have to laugh at that. “You’re absolutely right, there’s no way the goddess is here if there isn’t a fire tornado or something.”

“That’s what I thought!” the guy continued as they did the do-si-do. “Well, either way, hope you have fun!”

“Thanks, you too!”

On to the next partner. This one was a tall woman of similar build to Urbosa. Maybe another Gerudo, then?

Oh. That meant…

“Your Grace,” the woman acknowledged with a pause in her step.

“You’re going to interrupt the dance!” Zelda said with as much cheer as she could muster.

The woman stared at her a moment longer and then laughed, stepping in rhythm once more. The two passed the time in somewhat amicable silence after that, and Zelda was grateful when they moved on to the next set of partners.

And saw the Princess of Hyrule standing across from her.

“Your Grace,” the Princess said with a curtsey.

Zelda stared at her, frozen. Eventually she choked out, “H-hi. I…”

The world continued to move around them as they stood still, and Zelda shook her head, getting herself together. “I’m sorry about… about before. When I was… I mean, I was being rude. I’m sorry. I was just scared about Link. Thanks… thanks for helping.”

The Princess watched her in seeming wonder and then let out a relieved breath, smiling. “Of course. I—oof!”

Both girls grunted as the dancers moved to their next positions, heedless of the pair planted firmly in the midst of it. Zelda had to laugh, reaching out to drag the princess out of the line so they could continue speaking.

Goddesses above, now that she truly looked at her… the necklace, the dress… they were all styled after Zelda.

Clearly the princess had inherited her hair from Zelda as well, though it had darkened a little through the generations.

Through the generations. Holy Golden Three above.

“I…” Zelda tried to say, not really knowing what to say. “It’s… really good to meet you. Properly, you know.”

The princess took a shaky breath, eyes widening as her cheeks flushed. “Y-yes. Well, I—it’s good to meet you too. I mean, we already—well, yes. I…”

Here the princess fidgeted and then burst out, “I have so many things I want to talk about with you!”

Zelda recognized her own burning curiosity in the girl’s eyes, and she her heart was suddenly so full. She giggled. “I imagine you do.”

“Okay, first, were you there when they made the Divine Beasts? Oh, and what was it like all the way back then, I mean—I mean Hyrule wasn’t even founded yet, and—”

Zelda laughed, waving her hands in the princess’ face. “Wait, wait, I can only answer one question at a time, Princess!”

As the princess spluttered to a halt, Zelda’s eyes traced over the crowds to see that Link had somehow vanished in the crowds. A hint of worry slivered its way into her heart, and though she was still filled wonder and joy at meeting the princess properly, she had to make sure he was okay.

Putting a hand on the princess’ shoulder, she said, “I’ll talk to you later, Princess. I have to check on Link first, but I’ll come find you okay? Though…”

Looking around, she added a little nervously, “There are so many people here… maybe we can meet after the party if I can’t find you?”

The Princess looked mildly bewildered by the remark, but then she eagerly nodded. “Yes, of course!”

Smiling, Zelda bade the princess farewell for the moment and started to hunt for her husband.

XXX

The tapestries seemed endless. Tales woven throughout the fabric of history were immortalized on the castle walls. Ceremonies and treaties, queens and kings.

Heroes and monsters.

Link felt his blood run cold, the joy of the dancing from earlier leaving him with the change in pressure as a chill blew through the drafty hallway. He’d snuck away from the crowds after a few rounds of partners, growing weary despite the joy the movement brought.

There were too many people. There was too much noise.

It was all just too much.

“Link?”

He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t piece two words together in his head let alone in his throat. Zelda walked up to him and followed his gaze, her eyes lingering on the images of the royal family.

“It’s so…” she trailed off, also struggling to put her feelings into something coherent. “I can’t believe they’re all… they’re our family.”

Family. They were family.

Heroes and monsters were banished from his mind for a moment as the words tumbled around in his head. After all, he hadn’t missed the words used in the storytelling or prayers. He was an airhead, it was true, but he was no fool.

He felt like he was being pulled in so many different directions, and an overwhelming dizziness was prevailing over it all.

Zelda grabbed his wrist, and he finally looked at her to see excitement in her eyes. A question lingered in her gaze, her cheeks turning steadily pinker.

Link blinked. What was she…?

Before he could finish his internal question, Zelda pulled him by his wrist, dragging him down the hallway. He yelped at the force of it, and before he knew it, they were in the bedroom provided to them by the king. The door closed abruptly behind him, making him jump. “Zelda—”

“Oh, isn’t it just wonderful? Knowing that our efforts will yield such results? I mean, just look at this place, Link! And we—they—we have—the royal family is—”

Zelda was practically beaming, breathless, pacing the room, her hands clasped in front of her as she gazed off in wonder. Link had to smile at it. It honestly was pretty incredible seeing this place, but while he was still struggling to process everything happening around them, it seemed like it was finally slamming into Zelda’s mind. She seemed almost giddy.

She paused her frantic steps, looking at him again, her face aglow with delight. “Let’s make a baby.”

Link let out a laugh. Her excitement was infectious.

Then her words sank in.

Link felt his entire body go rigid. “Wait, what?”

“This place is everything we’ve built! It’s our legacy!” Zelda twirled in place, oblivious to his stammering. “Oh, it’s just so amazing.”

She paused, looking at him with bright eyes. “Link…”

Link swallowed, his body ice cold and burning hot all at once. Despite his typical lack of concern for decorum, he was pretty sure these actions were supposed to take place in the couple’s own home. Somehow it didn’t seem very polite for this to happen here, for their first time to be in the home built by their descendants while there was still a party happening in their honor.

Their descendants. Holy goddesses above. Maybe it was starting to sink in.

Or at least it would have been, except Zelda suddenly was in front of him, kissing him with a ferocity he only got a taste of during their wedding festivities. Her hands were to his chest in an instant, busying themselves with unburdening him from the garments he’d been given. He didn’t know what to do, his heart racing faster than it ever had. He wasn’t going to stop her, goddesses no, all he wanted was to continue, his mind and body both eager to push the night’s festivities far behind him, but by all that was holy this was happening fast—

Anxieties from their wedding night, exhaustion from the past few days, uncertainty from their situation were all forgotten in place of a singular, searing desire. Link impatiently helped Zelda rid them both of their royal garb, and soon husband and wife became one and nothing else mattered.

XXX

Impa sighed. She wasn’t sure how she ended up being the messenger for the king, but as a dutiful Sheikah she wasn’t going to argue the point. Something was troubling His Majesty, and all he had asked her to do was request Hylia Incarnate’s presence in the throne room as the festivities died down outside.

Of course, this was easier said than done. Impa was used to dealing with royalty and nobility, but deities? How would she even approach this? Was she supposed to bow? Curtsey? Prostrate herself on the ground? This was Hylia herself—it was almost too insane to fathom! Not to mention with her was the Hero of Legend, the one to start the line of chosen heroes who would wield the Master Sword—the one who forged the Master Sword! How did one address a goddess and a legend?!

Taking a calming breath, Impa paused outside the door to the quarters provided to the pair. They were given the largest room available, one with a sitting area leading to a bedroom. Perhaps she could just… knock, enter the sitting room and announce her presence? Wait, wait, what if they were sitting right there when she entered? She still hadn’t worked out the proper protocol for what she was supposed to do.

She shook her head. She would always genuflect before the king. Hylia and the Hero of Legend deserved at least that much respect, so she supposed she would start there.

Impa knocked on the door. “Your Grace, I wish to have an audience with you.”

Silence.

Impa shifted. They were there, right? The guards had seen them heading that way, and in quite a hurry too. Wait, was something wrong?

Impa knocked again. Spoke again. Still nothing.

What was she supposed to do? It was far too early for them to be sleeping. Maybe they were just farther from the door and couldn’t hear her. Clearing her throat, she turned the knob and slowly opened the door, announcing herself again. “Your Grace, this is Impa of the Sheikah. I wish to have an audience with you.”

Peeking around the door, she saw that the sitting room was empty. Ah. So that was why she wasn’t heard. Entering, she closed the door behind her, walking slowly and purposefully towards the bedroom. She would knock there next. If she didn’t get a reply she’d know they weren’t actually in here.

A noise caught her ear as she got closer to the door. She supposed that meant they were actually there. Well, that would cut her hunt short, but it made her slightly nervous all over again. She took a calming breath as she approached the door.

Raising her hand, she started to move her fist to the door when she heard the noise again. Scrunching her brow, she leaned closer. She wasn’t one to eavesdrop on conversations, but this didn’t sound like words – was everything all right in there?

Shaking her head, she inhaled to announce her presence again, when she heard the sound a third time and realized it sounded like heavy breathing. Her senses went on alert. Was the Hero of Myth still unwell? Her hand flew to the doorknob, ready to turn it, when she something clicked.

Oh. Oh.

Her hand recoiled as if the doorknob had burnt it. Her face certainly felt like it was burning. Impa practically flew to the entrance of the chamber. By the goddesses, oh my Hylia, oh no, no, NO, this is SO WRONG—

Impa fled the room, her face in her hands as mental images she did not want nor need appeared in her head. She was going right back to the king as soon as she calmed the hell down and was going to promptly say Hylia was indisposed, thank you very much and then proceed to find the nearest alcoholic beverage in sight.

[gloomth-and-wanderings]

Seven of Nine redesign idea, because the Voyager costume department has some answering to do.

So the main piece is a cool textured black jacket with a diagonal closure. I think she needs layers. I think we all need layers. Seven seems like a character with lots of angles to me, so I added some green chevrons on her sleeves. The jacket buttons are made of dark metal with pieces of her green Borg eye, so she's carrying that with her without having to literally see the world through a Borg lens. The collar is also green, and there are more metal pieces all over this outfit.

The jacket is worn over a silvery undershirt. (Yes, this concept is stolen from inspired by Kira). It has a v neck with small diamond cutouts to look cool and space-y. This could be used plot-wise to show moments when her defenses are down or she's opening up to others.

One of the only pieces of Seven's canon costumes that I like is that segmented belt from the early silver outfit, but I don't love its context. Therefore, I figured, make it into a chatelaine-style tool belt! There are plenty of technobabble things that could hang off there so I just drew some shapes hahaha

Her pants are pretty standard, black, but with some silver piping down the front to tie the look together a bit more.

Kept her canon twist hairstyle, and her eye implant, though I do think she should have more visual borg tech, both because it feels like in-universe it would make more sense because the borg armor is so expansive and I assume affects a lot of body functions, and also just cuz I think it would be cool and distinctive.

I love Seven and I think she (and Jeri Ryan) deserved better on the costumes front.

[soranihimawari]

Start my Heart

pairing: okkatsu yuuta x reader

word count: tbd

rating: OYA->OYF (okkatsu yuuta angst -> fluff)

warnings: violence out of plot may be mentioned

there are many things okkatsu yuuta is grateful for. first, he finds rika as a child, making great promises of matrimony as their time playing together grows along with their childhood. that love forged a bond unlike any other later in the young man’s life after witnessing the aftermath of his beloved’s passing. second, he is grateful for being pulled out of his depressive state by a peculiar teacher who instructs him to weaponize said loneliness. third, to his friends and peers as fellow sorcerers, he is grateful they are alive with minor injuries post a great battle when he was sixteen.

currently, he is a bit older. an experienced curse exorcist, given missions from the higher ups world wide only to be asked to come back home for an entirely new one. prodigal son, one woman called him. he sits in a cafe close to school grounds, observing the people passing by. he spots the florist watering the plants outside the sill of the shop. the blossoms waved to him in the wind, drawing his attention to the worker. he never hears your name, it’s like you’re being less synonymous with the wind.

seasons change and you’re with yuuta now. he’s a friend, you reassure your grand aunt who sponsors your living here in the city alone. the old maid doesn’t need to know how your room plays both lovers canopy and hospital bed to him. sheets are washed after you use them to cover each other the first time you’re comfortable being any sort of intimate with him. he adjusts the speed of this time with you, often being gentle with you the second time he asks if you’re still ok with just this—the physical act of loving versus being completely devoted is what you agreed upon. though time is a construct, you know he can’t say three words to you just yet. so, like a good lover, you wait. you have a will made of Iron to prove to him you’re all he needs. you redress wounds with precision, kissing bandages over stitches unaware how with each one his heart beat picks up.

selfishly, one night, you come home to him in front of your door. his bandaged torso doesn’t stop him from following you inside with the promise of dinner being made by you tonight. however, when you’re suddenly pushed against the wall with your arms pinned above you, your warm, sunny, mouth presses against his cool ones. it is electric when he breaks away from you, saying he’s sorry for not reciprocating your advances sooner. your hands grip his sleeves and pull him back into you, sliding yourself between his limbs has you both tumbling backwards in a sea of tumultuous affair.

the hallway is dinged several times as the clothes separating you two seem to disappear. in nothing but pants, undershirt, and bralette, the door to your room is closed. this time, he was savoring every moment, every whine of his name burned his mind’s ear after making you his. when he holds you in front of him afterwards, his nose bumps against your shoulder before kissing the blades there. you’re still nude, but you’re both spent from keeping each other entertained. the bath seems so far away, yet he insists on pampering you properly. showered and clothed loosely once again, he watches you climb into bed, curling into him until he picks you up to have you sit on his lap again. is this happiness what was missing? coming back from nearly dying on missions to be loved by you? okkatsu yuuta falls asleep with you in his arms with the epiphany of a love well-earned on the precipice of angering a powerful curse.

it’s not until the new year when you’re asleep in his ivory collared shirt, love bites littering your neck and thighs does okkatsu yuuta see a harrowing sight. rika’s curse form hovers over you, curious as to why her beloved chooses you.

“can rika kill this one?”

“wha-? no.”

“rika wants to kill this one who takes yuuta away.”

until he can sort this out, yuuta no longer stops by your place. a week goes by and the cafe owner doesn’t see the regular young man with bright sad eyes anymore. you wake up and go to bed alone every night wondering if it was something you had said. you thought you were helping him move past what made his heart ache. perhaps you were wrong and he wasn’t just ready to fully devote his time and attention to you. or perhaps his job makes it hard on the lives of loved ones…? the second one is what you tell yourself everyday for a time, a lie you believe to this day.

years pass, and suddenly you’re twenty four years old. you don’t date anyone for a long time, and even if you did, they left you unsatisfied; you carry on working at a nursery now for rare plants. sometimes you think about the boy with those expressive lonely eyes wondering if he’s ok. if he still enjoyed good coffee black with a large slice of angel food cake. you moved apartments to be closer to a shrine. the monks and traveling priestesses teach you to hone your tracking skills. you learn hedge-sorcery concocting deadly poisons to sell to fellow sorcerers who come knocking at your door. some of those vials do heal. others, you use to vanquish the angry ones.

the tanabata festival is this week. okkatsu yuuta is older now. more broad in terms of his physical looks. the sword he wore on his back is going just fine, like the chain now remaining ringless. he stops by the city center where the flower shop used to be. the barista who waited on him takes their break early making lavender cappuccinos for them.

“she’s not here,” the old coffee connoisseur mentions.

“i noticed,” yuuta responds, sipping his beverage. the frown is heard in his reply.

“you broke her heart when you didn’t return, yuuta-san.”

the younger of the two freezes. the grip on the handle is firm when yuuta’s brain thinks of all the possibilities that could have occurred while he was away.

“love, unrequited is just as lethal as first loves.”

the barista explains how you spent everyday watering plants outside giving yourself false hope of seeing his companion at the table across from him again; your grand aunt passes on and from what the old ladies in the neighborhood were saying, that woman was the last known living relative you had, so you navigated losing two loved ones in a span of a year. you were seen selling your house first, then the shop, afterwards you too disappeared.

“how long ago was this?”

people don’t just vanish, yuuta’s poker face does little to hide from the eyes of someone who has watched many love stories blossom. the old patron of the coffee haus curls a finger to the side of his lips while maintaining a ‘thinker’s’ pose.

“three? four years ago?… you mentioned you were nineteen almost twenty when you met, yuuta-kun.”

the cup was empty when okkatsu yuuta runs out of the cafe. truthfully, it wasn’t your fault you tried to love him—he made you believe he loved you too. he was foolish trying to make you love him less. on his phone, he texts his relative asking to put a bolo out for your person. when and why, yuuta simply states he loves you and he doesn’t want to have another ‘rika-chan’-like result.

“understood.”

the call ends and the night comes alive in this side of the city—the tanabata festivities begin. yuuta runs through the neighborhoods scouring to find any one literally who could say they’ve seen you. or know where you are. his phone vibrates hours later at the train station with an image attached to it: your silhouette in the bottom right of obscured by something else. a hand maybe? his phone vibrates again, this time the sender gives him the name of the beach station close to where you were.

tanabata festivals are fun for you. you make kids laugh with the shadow puppets. some are dressed casually others are in their first yukata. behind the small puppet theater, you’re selling hair clips between shows. a familiar set of sneakers and jeans come into your view. the person those belong to is breathing hard, like running a marathon to get to you. you’re almost too afraid to look up, but you do anyway.

“how much is your time worth?” he asks. the voice is older, familiar to you. you fold your hands neatly on the table while the other customers pass by your table clearly seeing the ash of a put out fire finally be put to good use between the two of you.

“how much do you think it’s worth sir?” you are cheeky in terms of your answer.

“one thousand cranes carrying my incompetent soul to you.”

it’s barely a whisper, but you sternly glance up. before you stands a grown version of the boy you remember; the same one who learned to let his past go before leaving you to quarrel with his demons. there are scars you don’t physically see on his body, the emotional ones run deeper than you initially knew. his lips shake with righteous anxiety begging for forgiveness from his boyish grievance—running away from a lovely person who had lent a hand to stay alive. you look to the side, his hands are relaxed, pressing into his thigh, fingers rigid and ready to bow respectfully to you if you no longer want him. his hair is a bit shorter, yet the same shade of navy you like most. his eyes are hardened like squid ink in the sea at night, but your reflection in them makes you rise out of your chair when a hand is extended to you.

“only one thousand?” you chortle bitterly at the quantity. “i don’t wish for cranes, okkatsu. i only need to know if you still care.”

wincing when he hears you call him by his family name makes him bow with a suppressed whimper. surely he’s found you, but the fact you question where his loyalty lies for you, breaks his heart. first, it was beating again for someone other than rika or mai-chan. second, you unrequitedly loved him long before he was ready to reciprocate those emotions to you. now he had his priorities straightened, he’d be damned if he let you slip away from him again.

you allow him to escort you back to a hotel he currently checked in, and when you sit in the vanity facing him, you feel inclined to explain your side of things. you tell him about learning how curses are real though you can’t see them clearly unlike the times you were a child; you speak of your time in the monastery and nursery creating healing salves sold to a few sorcerers like shoko’s team of doctors and one to toge, an old classmate, in his travels to this suburb.

“you had a curse hovering over you,” yuuta blurts out. the sudden revelation makes you frown deeper—he left to protect you because somewhere down the tumultuous love affair you find yourself in, he learned to protect those with his talents. “i was afraid it’d hurt you, i just learned how to control it a year or two before we met.”

“okkatsu, methinks you did the right thing by leaving, but you could have left a note, something. anything, so i wouldn’t have waited for you to come home.”

okkatsu yuuta hasn’t cried in a long time, yet seeing your tired and flat expression made his waterline misty. he wants to reach over and kneel to prove himself and to you he is worthy of your forgiveness; he can feel your anger dissipate when he holds your trembling hands. you pull away when he leans in saying you can’t restart a shattered heart so easily

“but you can piece mine together,” your hand tilts his face down to glance at you. “start in the morning, it’s late.”

he kisses your forehead whispering graceful words of gratitude because he’d be damned if he abandoned you. you tell him he missed, and as you stand, you press your lips lightly against his. no amount of magic or curse techniques would prepare either of you for the whiskey-like warmth spreading across your chests. he says your name against your lips; it is needy and growl like.

“let me love you properly from the start,” he insists on picking you up only to continue pressing his lips against the skin he treasures the most. he is above you, untying the bow opening up your top exposing your assets. his lips curve upward into a sneaky teenage smile, but when his hands find a scar in the small of your back, he leans back, startled.

“when?” he murmurs against your collarbone.

“seven months after you left,” your breath fans against his ear. “some drunk pinned me against a wall.”

“i’m sorry daring girl.”

“he whispered his name to me and he pushed me down… and i froze when he sliced into me.”

yuuta falls back, cupping your face and drying your tears with his thumbs. he wasn’t there for you though his anger on the situation wanes when you create distance from him, using an arm to push him away. he is a bit stunned, shaking his head, reaching out to you again, your tear streaked face is one he could not rid his mind of; your hauntingly beautiful and when his hand tilts your face up, the other holds your hair gently encouraging you to lean on him this time.

“i’m not him,” his voice carries a strong promise to doing right by you starting now. “i won’t do anything you’re not ready for.”

you cry harder and he holds you, comforting words and soothing circles on your exposed shoulder makes your sobs dissipate shortly thereafter. pulling the fabric of your clothes over your shoulder, he has you sit on his lap, almost like a princess. you candidly speak about how records of the man who assaulted you ceased to exist when you try to file authoritative charges. so the file remains cold.

“you fought as best you could,” you hear him say. a sniffle slips out when you nod, taking a peak at your hands folded on your knees. “you are courageous, more so than i was at the time.”

“mhm,” you become drowsy from the heat radiating off of each other.

yuuta adjusts how he holds you, pulling you closer to him silently admiring how peaceful you look when you finally knock out. it’s infectious, the love and understanding is there; hell even the truth is beautiful when you sigh his name against his chest, slightly afraid he’d leave—“people always leave me.”

does the comment break his ego a little bit? of course, yet he whispers back, “not this one.”

elsewhere, an hour or so later, a phone rings as a certain sorcerer stirs from his sleep.

“and are you sure you’d never let them go (again) cousin?”

the answer comes in a photo of you sleeping soundly with a protective arm over yours ready to defend what is most important. there is another photo though, it’s the last one you send him when you turn nineteen: you’re by the sea at night and your back is toward the camera, the caramel color of your hair flies behind you. you claim it’s your favorite photo because a stranger (at the time) with lonely eyes and kind smile takes it.

[tumbleassbitch]

another lost soul (letting my instinct take control) The Quarry | TravisxLaura

Characters: Laura Kearney, Travis Hackett, The Hackett family Summary: Max dies in the cellar. This changes everything.

Chapter 12/? | Chapter 11 | Chapter 1

To one man it may bring him death, but another measure should spare his neck.

Laura glares at the scrawled line with enough force to weaken a grown man. Measure of what, exactly? Why didn’t the author write it down?

They spent effort to make it rhyme, and yet they left out the most important part. Somebody’s priorities were skewed, she thinks cynically. At this point, she’s read it enough times for the poem to forever wallpaper the insides of her eyelids.

She leans back, releasing a few much-needed pops in her spine, and takes in the dimly lit room. The light outside has long-since faded into the dull reds of sunset. A sci-fi movie drones softly  on the small screen TV, just loud enough to dispel any disconcerting silence. 

Travis has completely taken over the only desk in the motel room, though to his credit, it’s not like there was much space to begin with. They’ve been cooped up in here for hours. 

It’s been an afternoon of unbiased, old-fashioned academia, and the familiar dynamic has been enough to quell her restlessness until now. The study material doesn’t quite match with her college courses, though.

(“Arsenic,” Laura declared proudly.

Travis didn’t miss a beat. “Tried that.” In the weighted silence that followed, he added softer, “I know some… desperate people.”)

It’s easily the strangest study group she’s ever been a part of.

The call from the mechanic shop comes once the hours have bled into the evening, and she blearily watches Travis snap to attention.

“This is Sheriff Hackett with North Kill County.” His expression darkens. “Are you sure? … I appreciate it. Have a good night.”

“How long?” Laura asks when he hangs up.

“Tomorrow, sometime mid-morning.” He stares grimly at the dark screen of his phone. “Some of the parts apparently look like they’ve been fried, and there aren’t any replacements in stock.”

Travis rubs a hand down his face before slapping the desk, standing up briskly in one smooth motion. Laura watches with feigned disinterest as he starts to undo his tie before he pauses, shooting her a withering look. Suddenly, her notes are fascinating to look at.

Awkward, she can’t help but hiss internally. Why is everything so fucking awkward with him?

He silently disappears into the bathroom, coming back out in a faded dark flannel with a black undershirt peeking out from under the collar. Everything about him looks… normal. Like a regular guy. 

It shouldn’t be such a profound realization, especially given his lackluster entrance and impatient scowl, but she’s so used to seeing the uniform that trying to picture him in civilian clothes was nigh impossible. 

That is, until she was attacked by a ghost in the bathroom and discovered that he wears boxer-briefs.

“Let’s go,” he announces.

“Um… where?” She blinks as he puts on his holster with practiced ease and plucks the shotgun from its place by the chair.

“Outside. We’re going shooting.”

She casts a passive look out the window. “I’ve got more than enough practice.” 

The last time she shot a gun was years ago, and though something deep and wild within her uncurls at the idea, it’s barely an effort to force it back into its cage. It’s been years for a reason.

 He must sense her trepidation, because he doubles down with confidence.

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem,” he says matter-of-factly. “Let me see what you’re working with.”

“...Do you ever hear yourself?”

He rolls his eyes, pursing his lips. “Knock it off. If you’re so dead-set on wasting your life over a manhunt, show me you know how to at least hit a target.”

The absolute last thing she wants to do is traipse around in the dark woods under some guise of “proving herself,” but what’s the alternative? Put on jammies and watch a few reruns of the Twilight Zone together before bedtime?

“Fine,” she says unhappily.

“Your shoes aren’t on,” he points out unnecessarily.

With an eye roll, Laura slips on her sneakers and follows him outside. The summer night still holds a hint of the day’s earlier warmth, though it will likely soon be leached away by the clear skies.

He leads them out to the edge of the woods, and even without a flashlight, it’s easy to tell the thicket isn’t nearly as dense as North Kill’s. Only once they’re well past the tree line does Travis flip on his light. The beam casts long stalks of shadows, catching motes of pollen and thin dust between the trees.

“Won’t someone report the gunshots?” she asks. Goosebumps trail along her arms.

“Gunfire is common in this area.” The forest floor crunches under their shoes. “Doesn’t matter the season; everybody in Lincoln hunts.”

“Let me guess, loons?”

She can hear the smile in his voice. “I’m afraid those are endangered, ma’am.”

“Ah. What are we shooting, then?”

They enter a gap in the trees, and Travis stops, pulling out his notepad. He rips off a few pages. “These.”

He walks off, and the light bobs with each time he wedges a paper in the bark of the trees. When he comes back, the targets gleam faintly in the far-off gloom.

“Silas’ skin reflects the moonlight. If you’re lucky, you’ll have enough of a warning to catch a glimpse of him before he sees you. We only hunt while covered in werewolf blood, so while he won’t kill you, he’ll definitely keep out of sight.”

“Other werewolves blend into the dark, but they’re not as fast or large. They’re usually slick with blood after a transformation. If it’s a clear night, the light will catch on their movements.”

He hands her the gun and flashlight and steps off to the side. “Go ahead.”

Laura pulls the trigger.

The force of the gun reverberates through her body like a live wire, and she leans into the feeling. The first target is reduced to detritus.

“Good—” Travis starts.

She keeps firing. One by one, each piece of paper is blown to bits. The standard-issued Glock has a fifteen-round magazine and she empties it expertly. Nothing feels more familiar than the pull of a trigger. It’s euphoric. It’s like coming back into her own skin.

The echoing crack of the last gunshot fades into silence. There’s none of the ambient wildlife noises from before.

“Should I keep going?” she asks breathlessly.

Travis is still looking off into the gloom. 

“Travis?” Laura presses.

“I…” He blinks, slipping back to the present. A rare grin tugs on his lips as he assesses her with an odd look. “Your practice paid off."

It’s not like she ever had any choice in the matter. Abruptly, it feels wrong to hold the gun.

“Take it,” she says, holding it out. “I’m done tonight.” 

He re-holsters the gun without argument. "Where'd you learn to shoot?"

Her spine laces up with steel, but there’s no hidden motive behind his eyes. As far as she can tell, it’s an honest, oblivious question. 

And that makes it so much worse, because that means—

That means that he forgot.

A nauseous mix of warmth and horror churn together in her chest. Anyone who knows the Brandt name knows her story. So, how long?

How long has it been since he started to see her as just Laura?

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, brushing her sweaty palms against her legs.

It’s obviously the wrong thing to say. His passive attention sharpens into a razor-thin edge the moment it clicks back into place. The air grows cold and barren. Any hint of light banter from before is as dead as the ghosts around them. 

There’s nothing she wants more than for him to brush it off, toss out an insult. Anything would be better than the way he looks at her.

“Laura,” he says softly.

He’s not allowed to do that.

"I said, I’m done tonight,” she snaps. “Are you going to hand over the room key, or are you coming with me?”

He has the balls to appear sympathetic, and that by itself makes her want to sleep in the parking lot rather than wait for an answer, so Laura turns on her heel and starts the trek back. 

It’s bracingly dark now that her eyes have adjusted to the flashlight, but she doesn’t have to wait long before the beam of it looms over her shoulder. 

Her shadow sweeps out beyond the cover of the light. Stretching, swallowing. The path is charred with it.

How fitting, Eliza whispers in her ear.

.

.

July 23rd, 2022

True to the mechanic’s estimate, it’s late morning by the time they’re able to hit the road again. Aside from picking up breakfast at a drive-through, few words are exchanged. It’s hard to look at him.

And god, isn’t that pathetic?

This entire road trip has been one large game of dominos, with every victory marked by chain reaction into something intimate, precarious. She's under the pile now, buried under a stack of moments.

They weren’t supposed to become friends. He doesn’t even want to be her friend, right? He’s made that perfectly clear. The moment they forgot who the other person was—

the daughter of a murderer, the man who used to be her captor

—things got well and truly fucked. She doesn’t know how to fix it. 

Even worse, she’s not sure that she wants to.

We just need to get back to the sheriff’s station, she thinks resolutely. They’ll have their respective spaces back, and eventually, things will go back to how they were.

Her notes serve as a worthy distraction, and she bites her fingernail idly, considering the scrawled out story that her and Travis managed to piece together yesterday.

Before there was the Beast, there were the trials.

For over a century, thousands of families were accused of being werewolves or “wolf-charmers.” The trials targeted the weak and vulnerable, those who lacked the protection afforded to the upper class.

So when a beast appeared in the southern region of France just as the trials were dying out, the locals thought it was a curse brought on by the devil himself. The beast scourged the land, devouring without prejudice. 

Men, women, and children were often found with their heads decapitated and their corpses mutilated beyond a typical animals’ capability. Those who managed to save their lives could only describe the beast in fleeting detail.

Some said it was a wolf the size of a horse with the gaping maw of a lion. Its tail could wrench a grown man in half, and cracked like a thunderbolt. Its eyes, sharp like a cat’s, were ringed with red and yellow. 

Only one managed to pierce its hide, and that was the young Marie Valet whose family served as house servants for a baron. Though several men would go on to swear that they managed to fell the beast, the fear of a resurgence in werewolves, or perhaps the renewal of a witch hunt, prompted many families to take their chances in a new country.

Perhaps this is what drove Marie Valet and her husband to immigrate to a quiet New England settlement several years after the attack. Despite being foreigners in a time where non-Englishmen were looked down upon, their skills quickly established themselves as a respectable family.

Their trade? Butchering and metalworks. If that’s not a clear cover for werewolf hunting, Laura doesn’t know what is. Each generation carried on the family trade until they faded off the earth. 

After his wife’s passing, Theo moved several day’s journey to Wolcott, which at the time held less than a thousand residents and, according to Google, has barely grown in almost two centuries. It’s said that he went on to run a jewelry shop after his wife’s name until he passed, and his body was shipped back to be laid beside his wife. And that’s it. 

There’s no mention of any werewolves in the Americas. Nothing pertaining towards moonlit hunts and silver weaponry. All that appears to be left of them is a jewelry shop that won’t yield any searches on the internet, and a few cryptic gravemarkers scattered around the northeast.

Even the poem, splashed on the inside cover, is excused away as the family embracing their history. It’s bullshit. 

There’s no way that generation upon generation would request for it to be put on their tombstone in memory of something their ancestor did in another country. 

It’s just not plausible. But what is plausible is, whatever knowledge the Valets managed to collect, has to be out there somewhere. 

And that may be the key to all of this, Laura thinks, idly tapping her finger against the ink-stained pages.

Once they get back into reliable service range, she’ll need to contact the cafe manager and see if they know what happened to Theo Valet’s jewelry shop. It’s their last solid lead before they’re left in final frontier-esque territory, and she’d rather cross off all of their boxes before putting her hematology classes to the test.

“This is Sheriff Hackett,” Travis announces professionally, and Laura jolts back to awareness. She was so deep in thought that she didn’t hear the phone ring..

Immediately, his face goes pale.

“I didn’t check who it was before answering.”

Travis’ eyes flit towards her. “I’m driving back from a call right now. I’m coming back as soon as I can… Yes, of course.”

The call ends, and he slips the phone away. The air is unseasonably cold for late July, and today is marked with a cotton overcast and ground damp with promise for miles ahead. A storm is brewing, and they’re driving straight to it.

They’re only about halfway through Vermont. That leaves five or so hours left before they reach North Kill. Five or so hours before the moon is full.

“How would you describe a werewolf?" she asks, breaking the silence.

Travis furrows his brows at the redirect, but he doesn’t hesitate in answering. “A demon. A freakish, furless monster."

"Exactly, furless.”

Travis looks at her, then, and she continues on. “How the fuck did anyone see 'wolf' in the Beast of Gevaudan unless they used to look different?"

 "Or... there's different kinds of werewolves,” he offers. “Whatever kind that Silas is could be different from what was in France at the time?”

“It’s hard to say,” she says. “It could mean that there’s different curses. Or, maybe curses can evolve?”

“I’d believe almost anything at this point,” Travis says bluntly. “But whatever it is, the Valet’s brought the poem here, and that’s what Eliza and Silas seemed to be looking for. That has to mean that both sides of the curse believed they were on to something.”

He’s right, but the discrepancy still niggles at the back of her mind. It’s another item on the list of things that they can’t get to the bottom of right now. 

They enter a stretch where the service becomes spotty, and with the radio only catching every other song, it’s hard to not try to fill the silence. But any spark of conversation dies out after a few half-hearted attempts. 

She knows he can feel it, too. There’s a darkness looming over them in this car.

The hour barely passes before the phone rings again, and Travis dutifully checks the screen before visibly deflating.

He doesn’t have a chance to respond before the person on the other end of the line speaks. Despite only hearing it once before, Laura would recognize her voice anywhere. It may as well be on speakerphone, given how the elder Hackett barks out the words.

"Goddamn it, you shithead!” The old woman’s voice comes through the receiver reedy and thin. Laura’s eyes widen at the words. “The boys are getting ready for patrol, and you're late!”

Immediately, Travis’ face falls. “Ma, I’m heading back now. I had to check on something for work—”

“You must’ve hit your fucking head if you think I’d believe that. You think your little sheriff badge makes you better than the rest of the family?”

Travis’ eyes flit over to her, and Laura quickly averts her gaze. It feels wrong to listen to this, but it’s not like there’s anywhere for her to go.

“No, ma, I’ve never said that. I’m on my way now, I promise.”

“I bet you're at home with your feet kicked up, you lazy piece of shit.”

The words land like a physical blow, and Travis’ shoulders curl inwards.

“Oh, you motherfucking asswipe!” his mother hollers in the silence, and oh my god. “I have half the mind to go over there myself and drag you out by those mudflaps you call ears!"

“Ma, could you please listen to me, for once?” His voice strains to keep even, but it’s heartbreakingly simple to hear the cracks along the edges. “I’m at work.”

“You ain’t shit!”

“Patrol lasted longer than it should’ve,” he continues over the outburst. “I’m sorry that I didn’t call, ma.”

“Don’t patronize me…” his mother growls. The rest of her sentence is too low to hear, but Travis bears it in awful silence. Laura doesn’t want to hear it, and yet she strains to listen.

Curiosity in its ugliest form always yields the worst breed of memory. It’s like driving past a horrible car accident and having the urge to look, despite knowing that nothing good lies within the wreckage. It’s obvious what she’ll hear, and yet, she has to know. 

She has to, because the man sitting beside her, driving them straight to the den of werewolves, has been made small because of it. And that isn’t the Travis Hackett that she knows.

Finally, the call ends. The silence that follows is thick, heady. It’s a cloud of smoke that burns her lungs when she breaks it.

"Why does she… talk to you like that?"

He shakes his head in a quick, staccato motion that’s more of a flinch. "Yeah, no."

“Travis.”

“We’re not doing this,” he says sharply. “Never. Don’t even try it.”

Laura’s stomach twists with uneasiness. That call really shook her up, she realizes belatedly, which makes her even more agitated. The last time she heard a parent talk to their kid that way…

“You deserve better,” she says fiercely.

He shakes his head again rapidly this time, almost as if he can jostle the words loose. “No.”

“No, you don’t deserve better?”

“That’s not—! You’re always twisting my words!”

“Well, I’m just saying, as a member of the shitty parent club, I don’t think moms are supposed to talk to their kids like that.”

“I’m not exactly a kid, though, am I?”

“Travis.”

He fixes her with eyes as dark and unmoving as flint. “Drop. It.”

She recalls the kindness he afforded her last night. How, when they got back to the motel, he let her slip into the bathroom before he even passed the threshold. How he didn’t say a word when she finally emerged and crawled into bed without explanation.

Laura understands better than anyone. Some secrets, especially those exposed by daylight, deserve their own shadow to hide in.

Travis releases a breath, and that’s the last time either of them make a sound for a long while. The road rolls out like a rope before them, on and on, as far as the eye can see. It’s once they’ve re-entered the landscape of pines and broadleafs, and the setting sun anoints receding storm clouds with a golden crown, that the phone rings again. 

The contact photo flashes on screen. There’s the Hackett matriarch, eyes dark and crinkled from a broad smile yellowed with age. Constance Hackett is spelled out boldly in white.

She doesn’t dare say a word. They’re already on edge with the looming time limit right on the horizon, and now there’s this. It’s the domino effect all over again.

This is the crazy old woman who talked about the ‘dumfuck in the lake’ all those weeks ago. Who spoke to her son like she was reading off of a script for a movie villain.

At least Eliza wants to keep Silas alive.

Dread drips into her stomach like an IV line with each phone vibration, but the only movement he makes is to turn the radio up. When he lets it go to voicemail, she starts to relax.

Then it starts to ring again.

Travis grips the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turn white. When he glances down at the phone, it’s with a league of despair so barely restrained that she doesn’t think twice before grabbing his wrist. 

“Don’t,” she says quietly.

Family is the most important thing in the world.

It’s not. Whatever lies on the other end of that line isn’t worth the cost.

The contour of his face shifts, then, and it’s like watching light shine through frosted glass. His attention lingers where her fingers wrap around the cuff of his sleeve. 

Haltingly, Travis slides out of her grasp and traces his fingers under her palm, resting his thumb atop her hand. It’s a delicate touch. Just enough pressure that if she weren’t looking, she might not even notice it at first.

But Laura is looking. And under the cover of his calloused skin, she’s never looked more soft.

The moment only lasts a breath. He releases his hold, and she plucks the phone up with slow, telegraphed movements, giving him time to object. When he doesn’t react, Laura holds the power button until it shuts off for good and locks it away in the center console.

No more phone calls. No more memories.

“There’s nothing we can do from this far away, right?” Laura says, and her voice sounds strange. “They’re just going to have to deal with it until we make it back to town.”

Travis doesn’t speak for some time. 

The last colors of the day’s light mix together like an oil spill, and several of the brightest stars are already peaking through the veil. Any moment now, the full moon is going to take its rightful place.

The radio blares the intoxicating beat of an old Metallica song, but it’s hard to focus on the words. She fiddles with the broken zipper of her jacket.

“Your hand looks nice. It’s healed nice,” he amends, blinking rapidly. “You’ve got a good white blood cell count.”

“...I guess so,” she says after a moment, splaying her pale fingers out. The scabs have thinned out into small lines. 

“I’ve always healed pretty well, thankfully. I take multivitamins.”

“That’s good.”

“How much further?” Laura baldly redirects. She swears he lets out a sigh in relief before responding.

“Fifteen minutes, at most. I’ll drop you off at the sheriff’s station. That should give me enough time to rendezvous with my family at our typical meet-up, and then I’ll check back in with you at daybreak.”

“I can help,” she starts, but he shakes his head.

“You can help like we planned, by researching.” At her silent judgment, he elaborates, “They already know something’s up. I can’t risk doing anything else that would make them want to investigate on their own.”

It’s a good enough excuse for tonight. But next time, she silently promises, I’m joining the hunt.

Travis’ radio erupts with static, which is the only warning they get before a man’s low, panicked voice fills the cabin.

“Travis! Travis, are you there?”

He mutters a curse before grabbing the receiver hooked to his chest. “I’m just finishing things up. I’ll be over in twenty.”

“Pa said you need to be here now, or he’s gonna go to the station and grab ya.”

“Tell him there’s no need. I’m on my way to the house right now. Didja get anything on the game cam?”

There’s a pause, and then, “No. He wants to meet at the station.”

He drops back against the headrest with resentment and dread warring on his face. Travis hisses out a long breath.

“I’m on my way,” he answers neutrally.

The woods are bathed with the cold glow of moonlight, and for just a second, Laura swears she sees a shadow dart between the trees.

“What’s the plan?” she asks when it’s clear there won’t be another response over the radio.

“The plan,” Travis says slowly, “has changed. I’ll drop you off at my house. It’s on the edge of town, and if they’re going to the station, I can’t risk you being seen.”

“Oh,” Laura says.

The look she gets is full of dry exasperation. “I have a spare bedroom you can use for the night.”

“Cool.”

“Sure. My brother used it anytime he pissed off his wife.” He doesn’t smile, but some of the harsher lines around his brow fade.

“I gather that happens a lot?” She aims for a lighthearted tone, but it does nothing to dispel the tension that has surely stained this car by now.

He purses his lips. “Happened. Amelia, Kaylee’s mom, passed away during childbirth. No one really uses it anymore. But it’s clean.”

“That’s… really sad.”

“That it’s clean?” he asks dark humoredly. “It just is what it is.” 

They pass by the North Kill welcome sign, and Travis takes them off of the main road and into a stretch of old forest that’s broken up by the occasional clearing. 

Travis jerks his head down to the glovebox. “Grab us a few vials of werewolf blood in there.”

“I thought you were leaving me at your house?” she asks with a raised brow.

“I am, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to be dumbasses about it,” he says bluntly. At her scowl, he adds, “You’d have to be out of your mind to go outside on a full moon without taking precautions.”

Especially with Eliza targeting our backs, goes unsaid.

She opens the glovebox and sure enough, several small glass vials roll together with a soft clink. Laura eyes them dubiously. He’s mentioned werewolf blood several times now, but she never considered how he stored it. 

Knowing him, these have been cooking in the car for weeks. No doubt it smells foul. If the blood has kept and still acts as a deterrent for werewolves, and not as a carcass ripe for picking like other typical predators, that says something interesting. 

If someone is cured of lycanthropy, are there any lingering effects on their physiology? And if someone dies while cursed, is their blood still that of a werewolf, or a human’s?

Clearly, despite having been extracted from the host, this blood is still that of the beast’s. Which begs the question, where does the curse live in the body? How does it latch onto someone after the bite, and how can killing the alpha wolf magically cure the infected?

Well, there’s the keyword right there, she thinks wryly. It’s magic.

She uncorks a bottle and yup, fuck, that reeks. Laura barely restrains a gag at the smell.

“Stop sniffing it and put it on,” Travis tells her impatiently. “We’re here.”

Lit up by only the gleam of their headlights, the two-story cabin looks eerie. She isn’t sure what she expected from him, but it wasn’t this. 

The bones of it are old, likely laid decades ago, but it looks decently kept. A grand stone chimney stands proudly on the western side, and the front porch wraps around the back. A lone fold-up chair sits out under the overhang.

He grabs one of the vials and pours a bit in his hand, smearing it across his face without hesitation.

It’s hard not to grimace at the feeling of cold— why is it so thick— blood, but Laura swallows back her disgust and slathers it on like moisturizer. If she doesn’t think about the smell, or the look, or the way it feels almost gritty against her skin, Laura can almost pretend she’s doing her skincare routine. Almost.

Travis leaves the ignition on when he snatches up her bag from the car floor and steps out. He’s well ahead of her, fishing in his front pocket for the house key when he falters. 

“What is it?” she asks, stepping out of the car. The answer makes itself apparent soon enough. 

There, crouched on the rooftop like a gargoyle, is a monster.

[tinyvoicejill]

[Part two of this story] ----- “I can’t believe we’re gonna die.”

“I mean, I’d like to think we’d at least consider tearing your sweater before reaching that point.”

“I’d rather we die.”

“Uh huh, and our lives are worth sacrificing for your job as a…?”

Carson is struggling on her toes trying to relieve some of the pressure on her wrist. It’s worse for her than Greta - the sleeve doesn’t cling tight to her wrist, whereas Carson’s bracelet is pulled tight against her skin. Greta keeps a firm grip around Carson’s waist to try and help alleviate the pressure. Somehow, despite being in this ridiculous situation with her hand about to fall off probably, Carson remains optimistic in her efforts to keep their spirits up. It’s ridiculous. It’s amazing. Greta’s pretty sure she’d have gone crazy if not for Carson. “I’m a personal assistant to a fashion designer. I wanted to be a designer too one day, but now that my life is over I’m just hoping I don’t get sued into the dirt.” “Oh yeah? What made you want to go into that?” It’s a ploy to distract, and Greta embraces it. She details her entire life plan to her captive audience, and for a while that helps. Everytime she stops talking, though, the panic restarts. Carson doesn’t seem to notice. “That’s so cool! It’s amazing how people can just do stuff like that, wow. And do you have a uh, a person that you share this with? Like, your life with?” In the entire time that Greta has known Carson (about twenty minutes, give or take) not once has she ever seemed nervous. Not until now. Panic subsides in Greta then, as the only distraction better than talking is flirting. “No. No girlfriend,” Greta says, and she can feel the way Carson swallows at that. “I am very single.” “Good. I mean, no I don’t mean… I-I’m single too!”

Greta feels like she’s been handed this opportunity on a silver platter. She’s been trying to hold her head tall and away from Carson to give her some space, but now she lets her face skim down the slightest bit, just enough to bump against Carson’s. She can hear the way Carson breathes in fast, can feel it in the way her grip tightens where it rests against Greta’s side.

“Guess we’re both single, then,” Greta says, and her nose brushes Carson’s. “Wonder what we should do while we wait for rescue?”

“I think you should take your top off.” That is not at all what she expected her to say. “Not even gonna buy me dinner first?” Greta teases back, and thinks about kissing her. Those thoughts stop when she sees the serious look on Carson’s face. The way she looks pained. “I’m sorry, I-I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Carson says quickly, like she thinks she’s offended Greta rather than turned her on. “It’s just… it’s really starting to hurt.” Greta looks up again to see Carson’s hand tangled up by her own. It’s purple now. She’s never seen a hand turn purple before.  “Oh shit, okay. Yes, okay, take my top off.” Greta tries to help with her free hand but stalls when she feels Carson stop tugging, her hand instead pressed to Greta’s stomach. “Sorry, I think I missed your undershirt-” “No undershirt,” Greta cuts in, earning a confused look from Carson. “Just the sweater.” “Oh. Okay! Cool,” Carson says, and her voice cracks. 

Greta can feel the way Carson’s hand lingers going up her abs - and okay, maybe Greta is flexing extra hard. So what! She’s worked hard as fuck to get this body, of course she’s gonna show it off - but slowly they manage to work her sweater up and over her body. Carson makes an embarrassing noise when Greta’s bra is revealed, which Greta revels in. She can feel the way Carson trembles pressed to her chest. Things are going swimmingly as they work the sweater up to her neck, her face, and she’s trying to pull her free hand out of the sleeve but it keeps getting caught and Carson’s trying to push the collar up over Greta’s face simultaneously but it gets stuck just above her nose, and she feels trapped and exposed then with her naked torso right in Carson’s face and now both arms once again tangled and trapped above her head and it doesn’t make sense why the sweater is so tight around her face until she remembers.

“Shit! I forgot there are buttons on the back of the collar, it’s not gonna fit. You gotta-” “Okay, okay.” Carson fumbles behind Greta’s head, trying to find the buttons, unintentionally jerking her head forward in her search. Their faces were so close already, so of course their lips brushed.

Greta whimpers, like a fucking loser. This is, unfortunately, the hottest thing that’s ever happened to her in her entire life. Greta is pinned against the door by a hot stranger who basically has her blindfolded with her hands tied above her head. What other choice is there if not to whimper and grind a little bit?

“Oh,” Carson breathes against her lips. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” Whatever excuse she intended to say is lost in Greta’s searching mouth and quickly forgotten. Carson kisses her back with an enthusiasm that makes her feel like her bones are melting, like she might turn to mush on the floor if not for her hands tied tight and Carson’s body holding her steady. They kiss for so long and no time at all. Until the bathroom door slams and they hear a loud sigh followed by, “Look horndogs, we closed ten minutes ago. Can you go do this somewhere else?”

It takes a lot for them to convince the worker they are, in fact, both stuck. The manager has to take the door off its hinges, and Greta has to take Carson home with her.

The cashmere sweater somehow, despite the odds, survives.

[afraidofchange]

[Sensual] Janeway/Shepard

@parallaxedcaptain | Janeway/Shepard - smut meme. ( accepting )

  “I never thought these uniforms were... the easiest to strip out of,” Shepard’s breathless response follows as Janeway’s hands undo each clasp holding her red and black uniform, sliding the heavy fabric off of broad shoulders, tracing fingertips all down her arms. 

  “Good thing I’m experienced,” hails the Captain’s answer, leaning up on her toes to press kiss after kiss along prominent collar bones, over the straps of her undershirt. The scent of that whiskey lingers on her breath; it makes her face warm, but Kathryn makes it warmer when she kisses her neck at the conjuncture of neck and shoulder - a sensation enough to make her eyes roll back, rewarded with a low, guttural moan.

  The Captain continues her descent; steadfast hands slide down her ribs, her waist, and settle along the line of muscular hips, just at the hem of her regulation pants. Spared not even a moment’s hesitation, Janeway untucks her undershirt, pulling and insisting it to be taken off - obliging, of course, Shepard lifts her arms, stomach shuddering at the rush of cool air against scarred skin; a myriad of barely healed scars, forked in the shape of lighting all down her left side. The Captain spends time tracing her fingers along each divot and valley, as if studying her. At one spot, along the prominent ‘v’ of her lower abdomen, Alice gasps sharply. 

 “Ticklish,” is all she manages. She sees Janeway grin before moving on, rising to her full height once more in favour of pulling at the elastic of her sports bra.

“Up and over,” she issues her command and her 2nd obliges, tugging at the item and slipping her arms out. With her breasts free, Janeway continues on her path, this time with her mouth, taking each one at a time, tasting, licking and flicking her tongue over hardening nipples. Alice lifts her head back, peering down but one particular slip of teeth forces a gasp. The familiar flush stems from between her breasts, along the hard surface of her sternum, to her delicate throat and finally, to high cheekbones where it settles, making her feel HOT in the face. “Easy, Commander. I’d expect you to keep it together a little longer.”

“Heh, well....” Shepard wets her lips, clearing her throat as Janeway then takes a nipple between her teeth, and the sensation immediately goes right to her cunt, and standing upright becomes that much more difficult. “I’m doing my best, Captain. Please. Continue.”

Alice can feel Kathryn grin against her chest, but she doesn’t linger much longer, favouring the option to undo the single button of her trousers, letting them fall from her long, long legs to the ground in a heap. What she doesn’t expect, is the Captain to go with them, assaulting her with kisses just above the knee, hands massaging her muscular calves, and then, for the older woman to look up at her - stormy blues bright and eager in the dimmed lighting of the Captain’s quarters. Manicured nails just lift the bottom hems of her briefs.

“Off they come.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

[bedlessbug]

I never woke up from my first performance as a sleep artist. I am still performing, though it’s not so exciting for the public.

All this time I have been practicing getting away with things. It is my belief that one can make anything up, and so - that one can get away with anything must also be true. In the former I exceed, yet it remains to be seen whether I can get away with this:

My eventual death will be by execution. I am a jack of many trades and rest assured I have my critics. I have got away with many things during my life, made unbelievably difficult – I might add – due to the fact that I have always had an audience. Imagine, for a second, you are a rat; a rat like me. Humble and timid, we rats know our place in the world. Now imagine that you are a rat with an audience, a strange occurrence I can assure you – I am impounded by fear. Nonetheless, my grand exit from this world might just write fear out of it altogether. Like I say, I exceed at making things up. It only makes sense that I picked up miming as a hobby. Perhaps mime is the ultimate fiction. Atheists would argue otherwise. Obviously, I am deluded with self-confidence. But this is not the greatest of my ills. Do I feel guilt for my deviance? That remains to be seen. If I can show them, and I do believe I will, then no crime is inexcusable. This is, after all, the future of humanity we are talking about. You see, making things up is taboo now. An idle pass time for the infantile or unconscious. And though the latter I am, my audience – yes – my audience, they are not. My infamy plagues me at times. My execution. The performance of a lifetime. This will not be one to miss. I am wearing a tailored vest of red wool and an undershirt – also red – with a comically large collar that spills out over my breast. I wear a pleated skirt that comes down to my calves and little pointed leather heels in which I have been practicing my last dance. The shoes are important; the sound they make – just you wait. They clack against the wooden stairs that lead up to the execution platform. As I ascend I trace the banister with my single white gloved hand; the other, at my side is bare and this is important. On stage now. The rope is lowered around my neck and silence sweeps through the crowd; in naive anticipation for my last breath, they all hold theirs. I wish I did my makeup differently. My thin brows, pale face and upturned red lips are too predictable I realise now. I am making history here! And after all, make up is my doctrine. God what a fool. I’ll never get over this. One can’t see everything at once I suppose, but still! – what an oversight! You’d think with all this time… never mind. No one will have ever seen dance moves like these…

With her curious ability to feign form, the mime eludes death by execution and the hangman scaffold serves as stage for the worlds’ greatest jest. When the lever is pulled and the drop on which the mime stands gives way she remains, the noose still limp around her neck. Below her, and invisible to the untrained eye, is a structure that mysteriously supports her weight. Instead of dropping to her death she blows the audience a kiss and upon her strange and fictional frame, she begins to dance.

[whatsbehindthefacade]

five times kissed: ( five times the receiver and sender kissed )(riff for velma)

The first time they kiss is a little bit awkward, but mostly just sweet. It's late, and they've both just come back from dancing together for the first time, and Tony's disappeared off inside, rolling his eyes at them because they've been giggling the entire way back to their building, and he's probably sick of it. But the two of them, they linger in the hallway, neither quite wanting to say good night just yet. For such a simple night out, it seems like it's been a dream to Velma, she's danced with no one but him all night and her feet ache, but it feels like her heart is filled to bursting. Saying good night means breaking that magic and coming back down to earth, to real life where she has to sneak in as quietly as she can to not incur her father's wrath and hope that nothing's made him mad in her absence. No, she'd like to hold onto this moment, just a little while longer.

So the two of them whisper softly, stifling giggles, and Riff twirls her under his arm, like they're still at the dance and not a draughty hallway with no music. Grinning, and feeling a little bold, she pushes up onto her tiptoes, leaning forward with the intent to kiss his cheek, but in the same movement his head has turned, and their lips meet. A soft blush tinges her cheeks as they part, but the grin on his face has any tension leaving her, and she can't help but grin herself. Quietly, she ducks her head, tucking her face into the crook of his neck, and she feels his lips briefly graze the top of her head. Yes. This is nice.

2.

Riff's such an idiot sometimes.

She'd been just about to get into bed when she'd heard the tap on the window and nearly fallen over in surprise. Tugging the thin curtain aside had revealed him, his face practically pressed up against the glass, with that shit-eating grin on his face that she loves so much. Never mind the fact she'd only seen him a few hours ago, he's apparently decided that climbing the fire escape to her window is the thing to do, even though it's eleven o'clock at night and both of them should be asleep by now. Glancing quickly towards her bedroom door, she gestures for him to wait before quickly padding over and sliding the dresser in front of it. Her dad's asleep, but better safe than sorry.

By the time she's done that, Riff has already slid her window open and is leaning halfway through it, looking particularly pleased with himself, even though there are goosebumps up his bare arms from the cold spring breeze that's blowing. When she asks him what he's doing, he just grins and says he's come for his goodnight kiss. She teases him that he's going to get a reputation if he starts creeping through ladies' windows like that late at night. Still, she pulls him forward by the collar of his undershirt and gives him a sweet kiss. She'll see him in the morning.

3.

The look on his face as he steps through the door of Doc's and catches sight of her tucked into one of the booths says it all: a mixture of horror and upset and sheer anger. He crosses the floor in two steps, sliding in beside her, and one hand comes up to tenderly brush her hair from her face; she hasn't even tied it back as she usually does, and it's a mess, just like the tear tracks down her cheeks and how her outfit is more a mismatch than normal. Still, his eyes lock on the more obvious thing: the slowly darkening bruising around her throat. She doesn't need to say their cause. He knows. It's no secret around these parts that Mr Miecinski likes to use his wife, and more and more lately too, his only daughter, as the outlets for his drunken anger. This though...this is the worst.

Shaking a little, Velma practically folds into him, hiding her face in his shirt. His arms wrap around her, and she sobs. In his arms, she feels safe, like no one and nothing can get to her there. Part of her wishes she could just stay there forever, a little part of her has dreamed of the two of them just running away, going somewhere away from the smoke and dust of the city, where they don't have to worry about their families or cops, where she doesn't have to fret that he's going to get himself killed by fighting with the wrong person. But it's a pipe dream, she knows that. For now all she can do is bury herself further into his embrace, and let herself be soothed by the gentle kisses he presses into her hair.

4.

It's nothing special, but it's everything all at once. It's just the two of them, curled up together on the fire escape, an old threadbare blanket tucked around their shoulders, and a shared bottle of lemonade between them, watching as the sun slowly sinks over the horizon of buildings. They've done this before, plenty of times, but each time it feels just as wonderful, a picture-perfect moment where two fractured souls can come together and just revel in a moment of peace and love. Riff's nose is practically tucked into the hollow of her neck- he likes the smell of her soap, or so he tells her, and his arms are around her waist, and if she could, she would freeze this moment and make it last forever.

She loves him, more than she's ever loved anyone before, more than she loves herself. Riff understands her. And maybe they squabble from time to time, but it's rarely about anything serious, and more often than not ends in them forgetting what even started the argument in the first place. Almost lazily, she tilts her head towards him a little, and lazy grin flits across her face as he responds by brushing a soft kiss across her lips.

This is all she needs.

5.

"I can't do this anymore Riff."

The words pain her to even utter, and Velma knows if she turns to look at him now, his expression will be her undoing. But she has to do this. Even though it hurts, they can't go on like this. She's loved him since she was thirteen years old, but she can't ignore everything that's been going on, that's only become more noticeable lately. He's hiding something from her. That alone doesn't bother her so much. He's entitled his own secrets and she'd never try to take that from him, never try and weasel it out of him. He's not seeing another girl, he's not that kind of guy and she trusts him without fail but this...it's not the secret that's bothering her. It's that he's either missed or been late for three dates in the past month alone, that he's been distracted, that for whatever reason, he hasn't really been with it.

She loves him, but whatever it is that's bugging him...she can't keep playing second fiddle to it. If he can't tell her what it is that's bothering him, that's taking up so much of his time, that's fine, but well...she deserves better. Even coming to that conclusion breaks her heart, but she tells herself it's the right thing to do. Give him space. Maybe one day they'll find their way back together. But now is not that time. Steeling herself, she turns back towards him, leaning up on her tip toes to give him one last kiss, savouring the moment one last time.

"I'm sorry. I love you."