Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Was it everything you hoped for?”

Pause.

“Now that it’s been 3 years?”

Ripley’s tank top is pushed up. Lambert’s head resting on his chest. Blankets pushed away.

Lambert’s finger tips graze the hair on Ripley’s belly.

His hand slides up her waist. Ripley hums. He stares at the ceiling.

She gently twists happy trail hairs.

“Yes.”

She smiles. They both are. She tilts her head.

“It’s everything I need…”

She watches his Adam’s apple move as he speaks.

“I’m getting there, my body is mine now.” He shifts and kisses her forehead.

“I see myself now.” Ripley pulls her closer, “Was it everything you hoped for too?” He caresses her jaw.

Pressing into you

“Yes. Very much…”

Hold me closer

“ More please.”

Melting into you

“You’re so good to me.”

Don’t stop

“Always.”

Please

“Let me be good to you.”

Breathe.

Chapter Text

Keep waking up in a cold sweat. As if the cold space air wasn’t enough. Sweating through another fucking tank top, even more tired than when she woke up. Too awake to rip the tank top from her body but not awake enough to want to expose skin to air. To expose her self from the blankets again.
Her hands shake, breathing shallow. Her gaze strained ahead of herself. At the dark shadows.

Their writhing slimy bodies dance behind her eyelids.
She’s unable to form the words. Perhaps her muscles and tendons are crawling. 
Was it enough?
Perhaps somewhere deeper this thing cries out.
Scared that this would mean she’s running away from it all.
Push away a self proclaimed ignored ‘chaos’ she needs to conquer. Tears roll down her cheeks. Seemingly endless noise.

Oh her doe eyes.
She knew. “I can call you something-“
Crackled shouting blasts through the speakers of the Nostromo. Fading whispers grow to shouts in her eardrums. 

She reached her hand out. “You seem more confident when-“
Saliva drips from the alien’s mouth. Its teeth glistening. Lips pulled back. A low rumble starts in its throat. Hissing. Its jaw elongating.

This time they were alone. In Joan’s room.

I was…there too…

Noise encapsulates Ripley’s vision. Blurry soft shapes. “Ripley, maybe you’re-“ her voice garbles.

The smell of oil and metal fills her nostrils. the alien’s body thrashes. Piercing cries. Ripley’s breath fogging her view. “You are m-my lucky star.”

Lambert put out her cigarette. Her face softens. Ripley’s eyes met Joan’s. Ripley doesn’t say anything.

The room is dead silent. Jonesy presses against Ripley’s legs. Suddenly she’s facing the kitchen counter. One hand griping the ledge, the other hanging limply with a lit cigarette. Her tears have since dried.
A soft meow breaks the silence.
Ripley puts her cigarette out. She sniffs. Looks down at Jonesy. Silently grabs the bag of cat food from the counter. The bag crinkles. Jones paws at her legs, enthusiastically meowing. She tips the bag. The dry food clinks against the bowl. She stares at it, filling up. Jonesy shoves his face into the bowl. It spills over onto the floor.
She doesn’t recognize her voice, it is too quiet “at least someone deserves something good.”
Ripley leaves the bag open on the counter.

The dark circles under her eyes are a testament to her sleepless nights. Slightly hunched with tense shoulders. She trudges back to bed. Under the covers. Ripley turns on her side. She curls in on herself. Her eyes barely open. Afraid of what’s crawling behind her eyelids. They close despite her protests.

There’s still time. When you’re ready.

Chapter Text

“Bishop, can you please do my blood work?” Newt says quieter as they leave the waiting room.  His hair is cut short, spiked the same way as Dwayne used to. His jean jacket has a heart on the left pocket.
“I’m sorry Newt.” Bishop will do it. He is finding a way. He has to. 
“It’s not your fault.”

“Everything else is fine, he said my prescription will be ready today. But why did…they have to say that.”
Bishop opens the car door for Newt. 
“Tell me about it if you’d like?”
-
Newt's name is called he enters another room this time with 2 doctors. He silently gives them his ticket. 
“Why does he need estradiol tests?”
They say to each other as they gather empty vials. 
“This must be some kind of mistake?”
One of them checks the computer. 
“Why would the doctor order this?” The other one mumbles. 
As if he wasn’t there. Newt looks away from his arm as he feels a pinch. He didn’t un-clench his fist until the doctor gently unfurled his hand.
-
Bishop understands that sometimes it’s easier to talk about difficult things with others before parental figures. He continually feels honored every time Newt trusts him with these conversations.

“Thank you for taking me.”
Bishop couldn’t help a small smile. “Of course.” 
Newt sips a water. The coldness he feels in his fingers dissipates as they idly chat about a TV show they’ve been watching together. He peels open a granola bar.
“Hey kid. How’d it go?” Hicks usually goes with to all of Newt’s appointments. It’s only twice a year and they usually make a day out of it since it’s a bit of a trek to get there. He’d wait in a cafe near by, they’d find a new restaurant to try or a bookstore. Sometimes Bishop would tag along. He’d wander, neither of them questioned it but he’d always be back when they were ready to head home. 
Hick’s had a work thing. No big deal.
“It was fine for the most part.” 

Hicks looks to Bishop in search for answers but knows Newt will come to him when he’s ready. 

Hicks knew Newt would feel tired after his appointment. Newt gladly accepts the blueberry muffin on the kitchen table. 
“Thanks Dad.” 
It’s been 12 years and that still puts a smile on Dwayne’s face. 

The tension in Newt’s shoulders relaxes with each bite. His thoughts swimming from the previous 2 hours. 
Disappointed that he was called Miss over the phone when he scheduled the appointment (a couple weeks ago). 
Grateful that Hicks was there to lean on after, literally. 
Happy he got to spend time with Bishop, Bishop took him to a bookstore beforehand (Newt didn’t end up buying anything but it filled Bishop with joy to watch Newt write down the titles of books he wanted to read after he finishes the ones he has). 
This time he had a few questions during his appointment and is thankful for his doctor’s patience. 
Angry that the doctors drawing his blood refused to mind their business. 
Happy that he’s home. 
Hoping that Ripley would be proud of him.

Newt didn't end up telling Hicks about the appointment that night. He wasn't ready. The three of them settle in for a movie later that night, Newt doses off between the two. Hick’s leans his head back against the couch cushion. He’ll go with Newt to pick up his hrt prescription tomorrow. Both him and Newt know that Newt is capable of going on his own, but Dwayne’s unconditional support feels so much better than going alone.

Dwayne is so very proud of his son. He knows Ellen would be too, wherever she is.   

Chapter Text

"I want to feel your cum all over my dick."
Arthur can't even look him in the eye. Kirsh's face in his hands.

Kirsh quickly flicks off his cams. He wants this moment all to himself. It's the filth that comes out of this un-seeming man that he pulls Arthur closer by his belt loops. "You disgust me..." He peppers kisses along Arthur's neck.
It excites him in the way he can feel his insides pumping faster, cataloguing, stringing together variables and outcomes-
Pressing their hips together. Rubbing at each other. Kirsh's jumpsuit unzipped and loose around his hips. Arthur's shirt unbuttoned. 
These experiments consuming Kirsh's objective seeking nature.
These encounters consuming Arthur's desire.

Arthur's hand tangles in Kirsh's hair. Tugging. Panting in his ear.
Kirsh's eyes flutter, reaching for the keypad on the wall.

Chasing after the interweaving heat between them.
Kirsh pushes him back against the windows of Dame's office. The glass cold. 
"What if someone sees us?" 
Kirsh runs his hands over the soft hair on his belly. 
"No one will except for me."

As he shivers. 
As he runs his hands over his biceps. 
As he bunches kirsh's shirt. 
Admiring him like he always does.

Kirsh sighs when his shirt hits the floor and Arthur's lips kiss between his neck and his collar. 
He can't give in this time.

Arthur is sure to leave a mark this time. He wills it to stay. 
A soft groan from Kirsh. The pain canting his hips forward. A variable to look into another time.

Unbuckling Arthur's pants Kirsh kisses swollen lips. "Please."
Arthur can't take it anymore, pushing Kirsh's hand beneath his waistband.
"I was wondering where your manners went...You seem to have found them." 
Arthur smiles his head falls against the glass at Kirsh's hand around him.

  
It's the view of Arthur whimpering with need and the green of the trees and shrubs outside. Pretty thing against a pretty view. Their foreheads touch watching their cocks slide against one another in Kirsh's hand. Entranced.
Arthur captivated, worries of being watched long gone.  
Breathy gasps overlapping.
Tightening his grip to stroke them both. Arthur jutting his hips.
Kirsh swipes his hand along the head of his cock. Hand slick from the both of them.
  
The pressure, the noises he can only label as obscene, Kirsh can't believe how good it feels, the way Arthur looks at him like he's sculpted from marble, that such external simulation as enthralling as this-
Arthur can't put words to it, it's the build he feels, the ghosts of his touches, his kisses, his lingering gaze, the fact that his dick is-  
Kirsh unable to stop himself from prolonging any longer. Much faster than he would have liked.  
A low mechanical growl from Kirsh. Arthur's head drops to his shoulder, softly moaning as cum spills over Kirsh's hand. Coating each other. Arthur shudders, catching up.
The mix intoxicating them both.

"You're as filthy as the rest of them dear."
Arthur flushes, eyes roving around him once more. He'll fall into him again and again. To see Kirsh branding his mark, panting, eyes lidded.
Both dizzy from how it all escalated.  
Does he want as much as I do?  

In his garden of statues, Kirsh visit this memory again tonight.    

Chapter Text

The lumpiest gourd rests next to Call. 
Call pays no mind when Ripley leaves in the morning. It is usually to go blow off steam and she's back by the time breakfast is done.
Call sits up, lumpy green and yellow gourd in hand. Hair plastered against her head. Hard reset (diagnostic run) after last night.

3 pumpkins stare at Call on the kitchen table. 
She had carved 2 of them earlier this week. Ripley had watched for a while in rapt attention at Call's concentration. The way that Call's eyebrows knit the longer Call carved away. Watching Call create her own objectives to completion. Ripley carved a ghost. They both spent long hours talking by the light glowing from the pumpkins.     
Watching Ripley gut a pumpkin was something Call didn't know she needed, her biceps flexed. Until she came after her with tendrils hanging off her fingers. Trapped against the wall. Threatened to bake her into a pie.

Call clicks the oven on tossing pumpkin seeds onto a pan. The pile of pumpkins in the corner will last them a while. Who knew that trading vegetable broth would get them so many pumpkins. 
Call studied the seeds and concluded the magnesium, zinc, and tryptophan would be beneficial to Ripley's internal systems. She decided to give growing pumpkins a shot.

While the oven is warming up, she brings a pumpkin out to the front porch. She has read about Halloween, seen it in movies. This is this is the first time she's done anything for it. 

Ripley sniffles, even this chill is starting to get to her. She puts her hood up tying the strings to keep her hair out of her face. 
In the distance is a groan. 
Creeping towards the noise.

She makes no attempt at hiding. This noisy thing has its back to her. A branch snaps. It turns to face her. She steps back at its weak attempt to swing its hand at her face. It growls. a chunk of skin flops to the ground. 
She lightly touches its arm. Much too soft. Its eyes dark and blood shot. 
She side steps and it lags behind her. Jaw unhinging. 
"I might melt your face off if you do that." 
It trills.
Ripley pushes it back. Claws sink into its soft stomach, she shivers. Hand locking her grip, pull. 
It swings at her again, dark thick liquid spills onto its shredded pants. Shrieking. 
It coats her hand, it stumbles back.
She looks down at her hand flexing her hands to watch it leak between her fingers. Shaking her hand of its gritty texture. Droplets stain her sweater. Now she's annoyed.

Pinning it to a tree with her tail, she unwraps the chain around her waist. Sometimes picking up random things has its benefits. It reaches for her, she swats its hands away "You're making this much harder for yourself."

The chain falls slack in her hands. It reaches for her again. Pushing it's neck forward. She wraps the chain around one of the wrists and pulls opposite ends, biting into it's decaying flesh. One hand falls to the ground with a squelch, followed by the other. 
"I'll chop your jaw off too..."

One hand bloodied the other holding onto the chain, it is pulled by Ripley. 

The house smells much more pleasant than Ripley. 
"What is on your hand?" 
"My decoration had other ideas." 
"Are you hurt?" 
"No."
"I made breakfast."
Call looks around, concluding no other physical presence in the house. Decoration? 

Ripley recalls Ellen enjoys holidays. She can't remembers specifics, only the feeling. Hallow ween seems interesting. Celebrating the undead. 
I am undead.
Ripley tried pumpkin and spearheaded a stockpile. 
"I like the pumpkin you put outside." 
"I thought we could put a candle in it tonight, also a good treat for the squirrels." 
The faucet turns on, blood flowing down the drain. Washing her hands well from the strange texture.   

Call takes 2 pans out of the oven. The smell rousing a growl from Ripley's stomach. 
"What is that?" 
"The creature that lives in my stomach." 
"No...is something outside?"

Ripley follows after Call, to her treat. 
The door knob rattles open. 
It's the perfect day to be scary. 
The porch creaks. 
"YOU CHAINED A ZOMBIE TO THE GROUND????"

It lurches towards the noise, towards Call. Yanked by its restraints. 
"Hallow ween is for scary things." Ripley's body heat ghosting Call's back.
"True, you could've gotten bit.."
"Yeah if a zombie is enough to get me I might as well die. This fucker was easy." 
Call scoffs. Ripley's hand closes on hers. 

Tilting her chin, pressing her cheek against Call's and sighs, "A second guard dog for when I'm not around..." She flashes her teeth. 
Call doesn't need protection but the fact that Ripley would throw herself between Call and an aggressor (and she has). 
"This one is slow and falling apart."
"You don't like my gift? I searched all morning."
"Well, it'll detract other zombies that come through."

Tugged back into the warmth of their home, Ripley shucks off the sweater.
Call testing her creation, "Trick or treat?"