#Surface Temperature maps

[cmaidaartworkblog]

The next phase of the Ayrum project was climate, which I'll introduce with the resource that made my work possible in the first place: these datasets created by Nikolai Lofving Hersfeldt, who runs WorldBuildingPasta and shared all of this with my client and me via Panoply. These were tremendously helpful and I wouldn't be able to achieve a fraction of the final detail without them.

My own adjustment to this data begins with Surface Temperature, which came down to correcting the coastlines (I mistakenly sent in a version of the elevation map that resulted in continental shelves appearing above sea level), refining the effects of elevation, and adding a color gradient.

I was then able to combine this data into Annual Minimum, Average, and Maximum temperature maps, seen above, which was pretty useful too.

One use for the Annual Average map, for example, was providing a baseline to compare each month's data against, seen in the sequence above.

And from the Annual Minimum and Maximum maps, I was able to create a map that presents the overall range of temperatures throughout the year, which does a good job of showing just how extreme the conditions are in higher latitudes and further inland.

[kariachi]

Stepped away from Erinaen isotherms because dear god to I hate adjusting isotherms to get the basic numbers for the eventual Osmosian ones set up. To give a bit of an idea as to the temp scales we're looking at for these planets- the highest and lowest projected averages before actually doing any proper temperature mapping (which will raise and lower shit).

Ha'n: Estimated Average Highest- 83 F; Estimated Average Lowest- 17 F

Eri: Estimated Average Highest- 79 F; Estimated Average Lowest- 3 F

Osmos V: Estimated Average Highest- 94 F; Estimated Average Lowest- 26 F

To give an idea of how these numbers can change from this point, since I already have my temp mapping done for Ha'n-

Estimated Average Highest- 83 F

Actual Average Highest- 103 F

Estimated Average Lowest- 17 F

Actual Average Lowest- 10 F

Add to this that the biggest jump in highs seems to come in desert regions, which Osmos V... just is, really.

Everyone thinks Osmos V doesn't take many tourists for cultural or political reasons, they just got tired to trying to clean up the melted remains.

[mapsontheweb]

Map of the world in the Spilhaus projection with the interconnected global ocean as the main focus, centered around Antarctica. It includes arrows of the global currents and sea surface temperature & velocity.

by huwiceandstuff/bluesky

[elikajinnie]

Cold Touch, Sharp Mirror - P.S

P: Dead By Daylight Killer!Sunghoon X Survivor!Reader (recommended age 17+)

Warnings: Death, Murder, Suggestive Content, Blood/Injury, Obsession, Chasing, Fixation, Temperature Play?

Synopsis: You’ve always liked snow, but you never liked the idea of being chased through it—too loud, too slippery. Luckily, the Entity’s maps were more muddy than snowy. That is, until a new killer arrived, bringing with him a snowy map. And it seems like he’s fixated on finding the perfect beauty to complement him and you're exactly what he’s looking for.

a/n: im so happy my pookies @aceheexx and @concerned-terrapin got dbd :3 also i went a bit overboard with the ending???

heeseung version | jay version

now playing: like a dream by thomas larosa | frzzn by ozzie | chills -dark version by mickey valen

--

Now, normally, you loved snow. Back before you were taken by the entity, you’d always be thrilled when it snowed—watching the snowflakes drift from the sky, each one unique and delicate, settling on the ground and transforming it into a soft, white wonderland. It felt comforting, like nature’s own little gift. But time doesn’t follow the same rules in the entity’s realm. Seasons don’t change, and winter becomes a distant memory, a concept rather than a feeling. You haven’t felt real snow in what feels like forever.

So, when you first saw it again you felt a flicker of joy. You landed on the ground, expecting that chill on your skin, the cold air filling your lungs. But instead, you were met with something... wrong. The snow didn’t fall naturally, but seemed to be pasted onto the world, cold only in appearance. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t alive. The snowflakes didn’t twirl through the air, and the ground beneath your feet felt too solid, too still. No crisp bite in the air, no damp chill seeping through your clothes. Just a hollow echo of the winter you once loved. The excitement quickly faded, replaced by a bitter disappointment. It wasn't real. It never was.

You didn’t expect much when you were called for a trial. They were all the same at this point—different maps, same routine. But as soon as you arrived, something felt… off. The air was sharp and biting, your breath fogged in front of you, and a chill ran down your spine as you took in your surroundings. You were standing outside a massive manor, its roof blanketed with thick snow and sharp icicles hanging from the edges like teeth. Snow drifted lazily from the sky, it was quiet and the crunch of snow under your boots felt too loud. You hugged yourself against the cold, shivering as it nipped at your skin.

This was new.

Your eyes scanned the manor, its grandness both stunning and foreboding. You didn’t recognize it from any previous trials, and that only made your chest tighten. This map was new. And if it was new, there was only one explanation.

A new killer.

You took a hesitant step forward, your nerves on edge as you climbed the steps to the manor’s entrance. The door creaked open with little effort and your heart sank as you took in the strange décor. The walls were lined with mirrors—some shattered, their jagged shards glinting menacingly, others cracked just enough to distort your reflection. A few were pristine, their surfaces smooth and unbroken, but something about them felt wrong. The reflections didn’t look quite right.

Your breath came out in quick puffs, the cold seeming to seep through the walls themselves. You forced yourself to keep moving, knowing you had to find a generator. The sooner you started, the sooner this trial could be over.

Your search led you to a massive ballroom, and your breath caught in your throat. It was unlike anything you’d seen before. The floor was a sheet of ice, polished to a mirror-like shine, and the room seemed to stretch endlessly. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, but instead of glass, it was crafted entirely from icicles, their razor-sharp points glistening as they swayed ever so slightly. The windows—or where the windows should have been—were replaced with cracked mirrors.

You stepped carefully onto the icy floor, your boots slipping slightly as you made your way further in. The cold seemed to deepen here, clawing at your skin and making you shudder uncontrollably. You glanced around, half-expecting to see a generator, but there was none in sight.

You huffed in frustration as you slid across the icy floor, your footing unstable. The sharp cold gnawed at your fingers and toes, even through your clothes. Just as you steadied yourself, a scream tore through the air, slicing through the quiet like a blade. It was distant but blood-curdling, the cry of a survivor encountering the killer.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you moved forward, walking through a pair of wide, icy double doors that led to a balcony. The scene that greeted you stopped you in your tracks.

Below you stretched a massive, frozen garden. Rows of tall hedges loomed like the skeletal remains of a long-dead maze, their branches brittle and crusted with frost. The labyrinth twisted and turned, the pathways obscured by fog that clung to the ground like ghostly tendrils. Scattered throughout the garden were ice statues—figures frozen mid-motion—but the distance made it hard to tell if they were just art.

Movement in the maze caught your eye. You squinted and leaned over the balcony’s edge. It was Nancy. She was running through the labyrinth, her hands flailing as she waved desperately in your direction. Panic was written all over her face, her wide eyes darting between you and something behind you.

It took a moment for you to process what she was trying to convey. That’s when it hit you—a cold breeze that wrapped around your body like icy fingers. Your breath caught as you shivered violently, your teeth chattering. Slowly, as if against your own will, you turned around.

And there he was.

A tall man loomed behind you, unnervingly still, his presence so cold. He was clad in a tailored suit, though it was torn and frayed in places. An icy sheen coated the fabric, frost clinging to him as if he were part of winter. His hair was white, and the tips seemed frozen, as though frost had begun to consume him from the edges.

But it was his face that sent chills down your spine.

The left side of his face was hauntingly beautiful—sharp, elegant features carved from pale skin, veins of icy blue tracing faintly on his neck. His lips, pale and slightly blue, parted slightly as a frosty mist escaped with every breath, and his eye, an unnatural, glowing blue, fixed on you with an intensity that rooted you in place.

The right side of his face, however, was hidden beneath a mask of cracked mirrors, the shards reflecting distorted images of yourself. The fragments shifted slightly, catching the dim light as if they were alive, twisting your reflection into a grotesque parody.

In his right hand, he held a massive shard of glass, its edges jagged and sharp, covered in frost that glittered like deadly diamonds. Ice crawled along the surface, spiraling down to the hilt where his gloved hand gripped it tightly. His other hand, bare and pale as death itself, hung loosely at his side, frost coating his fingertips.

He tilted his head slowly, the motion unnatural. You couldn’t tell if the sound you heard was the creak of his neck or the faint crackle of ice forming in the air around him.

Your breath hitched as you took a shaky step back, the icy floor beneath you making it nearly impossible to find stable footing. The cold wasn’t just external anymore; it was inside you, crawling through your veins almost like a parasite.

The killer took a step forward, the shard of glass dragging across the ground, leaving a thin trail of frost in its wake. The sound it made was sharp and grating, like nails on a chalkboard.

The only thought screaming in your mind was run.

And you didn’t hesitate. Your survival instincts kicked in, and you pushed off the icy floor, sliding awkwardly toward the edge of the balcony. Without a second thought, you vaulted over, your heart leaping into your throat as you braced for the impact below. The landing was rough but the adrenaline forcing you to ignore the ache.

As you straightened up, you glanced back over your shoulder, just for a split second, and froze.

He was leaning over the balcony, his hand resting on the icy railing, his head tilted again. He wasn’t rushing after you. He wasn’t angry or even fazed. Instead, he watched you with a cold calmness, like a predator confident in its prey’s inevitable capture.

That made it worse.

You didn’t wait to see what he’d do next. Turning on your heel, you took off running into the labyrinth, the snow crunching loudly beneath your boots. Every step a reminder of how exposed you were.

You didn’t know where you were going—just away. Away from him. Away from the cold and the glass shard that promised pain and death. Your breath came in quick, visible puffs as you ran, your lungs burning from the freezing air.

The labyrinth was a maze in every sense of the word, the fog making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. You turned left, then right, your boots sliding on patches of ice hidden beneath the snow. Your mind raced as you tried to recall the layout you’d glimpsed from the balcony, but it was no use. Every path looked the same—dead and endless.

Another scream rang out, sharper and closer this time. Your heart sank. You couldn’t tell who it was, so you forced yourself to keep going, your legs burning with the effort of running on the uneven, frozen ground.

Your legs burned, your lungs screamed for air, and the cold gnawed relentlessly at your skin. You finally skidded to a halt, leaning against the icy hedge for support. The snow beneath you crunched as you shifted, each breath coming out as shaky puffs of mist. You sniffled, shivering as you tried to gather your thoughts.

That’s when you saw it.

To your right, standing innocently against the frozen hedge, was a tall mirror. It was pristine, untouched by the cracks, the frame was silver, almost shimmering, and frost curled delicately along its edges like it had been painted there. The glass itself was so smooth it reflected everything perfectly, capturing your wide-eyed, disheveled image with startling clarity.

You tilted your head, your breath hitching as you stared. It had been so long since you’d seen your reflection—so long since you’d stopped to even think about what you looked like. The sight was strange, foreign even. You didn’t recognize the exhausted, frost-bitten figure staring back at you, but something about the mirror pulled you in.

Your feet moved before your mind could stop them, carrying you closer. You stood before the mirror, your breath fogging the glass slightly as you studied yourself. Hesitantly, your hand lifted, trembling as your fingertips hovered just above the icy surface. You shouldn’t touch it. You knew you shouldn’t. But something about it was calling to you, drawing you in like the lure of a siren.

The instant your fingers brushed the glass, it happened.

A sudden force yanked you forward, your breath stolen as your vision blurred. You didn’t even have time to cry out as the cold wrapped around you, dragging you into the mirror. The world flipped and spun, shards of glass and light flashing all around you. Your reflection fractured into countless pieces, each one distorting your image—your face twisted, stretched, broken in ways that made your stomach lurch.

When you finally came to, the spinning stopped. You opened your eyes, but the sight that greeted you was nothing like the labyrinth you’d been running through.

You were inside the mirror.

The world around you was endless and disorienting. Shards of glass floated in the air, twisting and turning, each one reflecting a fractured image of you. Some pieces were small, no larger than a coin, while others were enormous, towering over you like walls. Each shard seemed to hum faintly, a sound that vibrated through your skull and made your head throb. You reached out to steady yourself, but there was nothing solid to hold on to—just the endless, shifting glass.

You felt dizzy, your legs weak as you struggled to comprehend where you were. The reflections moved strangely, showing parts of yourself that weren’t in the same position as the rest of you. It was like watching a puzzle where the pieces didn’t quite fit.

Then, a voice.

It cut through the humming like a blade, low and smooth, with an icy edge that sent a chill straight to your core.

“Oh, you poor thing,” the voice purred, dripping with mockery. “So eager to touch what you shouldn’t. Did you really think the mirror was just for show?”

You whipped your head around, searching for the source, but there was no one there—just more glass reflecting your panicked face.

The voice chuckled, soft and cold. “Do you like it in here? It’s my little masterpiece. Every broken shard tells a story, you see. And now, you’ve become part of it.”

You spun in place, your breaths coming faster. “Where are you?!”

The laughter grew louder, echoing all around you, each shard vibrating with the sound, but he did not answer you.

Instead the glass around you began to shift, the shards rearranging themselves into new patterns. They moved closer, boxing you in, the reflections multiplying until it felt like you were being watched by a thousand versions of yourself—and something else.

In one of the largest shards, his reflection appeared. The killer.

He stood just on the other side of the glass, staring at you with a calm expression. Slowly, he raised his gloved hand and pressed it to the glass, the icy surface fogging slightly under his touch.

Your breath hitched as you stumbled back, you moved until your back hit something solid—the mirror you’d touched before.

Before you could process what was happening, the glass behind you pulled you in again. The world spun, shards flying past your vision as you felt that same sickening tug. A freezing chill washed over you, and then suddenly—

You were out.

Your feet hit solid ground, and you collapsed forward onto your hands and knees, gasping for air. The disorientation left you dizzy, your head pounding as you tried to steady yourself. The cold still clung to you, biting at your skin like a lingering phantom of the mirror world.

You forced yourself to your feet, legs shaky and unsteady, your breath coming out in frantic clouds. As you looked around, you froze.

This wasn’t where you’d been before.

Instead, you were in a dark, underground section of the estate. The air here was thicker, heavier. The walls around you were frozen, their icy surfaces glinting faintly.

Above you, sharp icicles hung dangerously from the ceiling. They were long and jagged, some as thick as your arm, and looked as though they could fall at the slightest provocation.

You took a cautious step forward, the crunch of snow under your boot echoing unnaturally loud. Your eyes darted upward, watching the icicles sway ever so slightly. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. One wrong move, one too-loud sound, and those deadly spikes could come crashing down.

“Stay calm,” you thought to yourself.

You continued forward, your steps careful and measured. The way revealed more of the icy corridor ahead, branching off into several paths.

Then you heard it.

A faint, distant crack.

Footsteps.

Your blood ran cold. He was here.

You turned, your eyes darting around for any sign of an escape, but you were offered nothing more but dead ends.

Then his voice cut through the air, smooth and taunting.

“You can’t run forever.”

You turned sharply, picking a path at random and running, your boots sliding on the slick ground.

Behind you, the footsteps quickened, you didn’t dare look back, the sense of him closing in enough to keep you moving forward.

You rounded a corner and skidded to a halt.

A dead end.

And the only way out was the way you’d come. You spun around, your back pressed against the frozen wall, your breath ragged as you watched the corridor you’d just come from.

The footsteps stopped.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, slowly, he stepped into view, his towering frame filling the narrow passage as he took a step forward.

You pressed harder against the wall, your fingers numb from the cold, your mind racing for a way out. But there was none.

He stopped just a few feet from you, his breath visible in the icy air.

He tilted his head ever so slightly, his gloved fingers brushing along the edge of the mirror shard in his hand and slowly, his gaze began to travel downward, starting at your face, moving over the trembling rise and fall of your chest, your arms clinging tightly to yourself, and finally down to your legs and boots, still trembling slightly from your desperate run.

A low hum escaped his lips, soft and almost contemplative, a sound that sent chills crawling up your spine, as if he were truly appreciating what he saw.

“You’re exquisite,” he murmured, his voice smooth. He took another step forward, closing the already-small distance between you. You pressed harder against the frozen wall, your entire body stiffening as he leaned closer.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe.

His pale hand rose slowly, as if to savor the moment. You flinched as his fingers brushed against your cheek, and the touch was so cold it burned. You froze entirely, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as your teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. The air left your lungs in short, visible puffs as your body tried in vain to fight the cold spreading from where his hand lingered.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly, his tone almost... tender. He tilted his head again, his lips curving into a faint, chilling smile. “No need to be afraid, my dear. I wouldn’t dare ruin something so... beautiful.”

You stared up at him, wide-eyed and trembling, your body refusing to obey your frantic thoughts screaming at you to move, to run, to do something. But the cold was paralyzing.

His hand trailed along your cheek, the frozen burn spreading as he brushed his thumb over your jawline, tracing the edge of your face with unsettling care. “Your face... so delicate. So perfect.”

His cold breath brushed against your face, his voice no louder than a whisper. “Your eyes...” His thumb stopped, resting just beneath one of them, his frosted breath clouding in the air between you. “So full of life. So bright, even now. You’re unlike any I’ve seen before.”

You couldn’t respond. The cold had stolen your voice, your teeth chattering too hard for you to form words. He didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he appeared amused by your silence.

“You’re trembling so much,” he murmured, his hand shifting to brush a strand of hair from your face, the motion almost... gentle. “Is it the cold? Or... me?”

He leaned in even closer, his lips almost brushing your ear as he whispered, “Perhaps both.”

You wanted to scream, to shove him away, to do anything, but all you could do was stand there, trapped in his icy grip. You felt like you were being frozen alive.

His hand moved to your neck, his fingers grazing your skin as he chuckled, his breath like a biting winter wind. “I could keep you here forever,” he mused, his tone almost dreamy, as if the idea truly pleased him. “Frozen, perfect, untouchable. Just... mine.”

His words sent a wave of panic crashing over you, momentarily snapping you out of the icy haze clouding your mind. Your body twitched, an instinctive attempt to break free, but his grip tightened slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you just how powerless you were in this moment.

“You’re frightened,” he said, his tone shifting to one of mock sympathy. “Good. Fear suits you.”

And just as the tears began to sting your eyes from the cold and helplessness, his fingers left your skin, and he pulled back slightly. He studied you for a moment longer, as if committing every detail of your face to memory.

Then, in a soft, almost wistful tone, he murmured, “Run.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your mind barely processing the command before his smirk widened and he stepped back, his hand once again gripping the icy shard at his side.

“Go,” he said, his voice sharper now, like the crack of frozen glass. “Let’s see how far you can get.”

The moment your body allowed it, you bolted, stumbling past him and into the freezing corridors, his cold laughter echoing behind you like the toll of a bell.

Your legs carried you forward, slipping and stumbling over the icy ground. The sound of his laughter followed you, echoing through the frozen halls. It was as though it bounced off the very walls, coming at you from all directions, mocking your panic and desperation.

The floor beneath you shifted unexpectedly, the ice slick and uneven. Your foot slipped, and you went sprawling to the ground with a sharp gasp. The impact jarred your body, pain shooting up your arm as you braced your fall. For a moment, the world spun, the sound of your ragged breathing filling your ears.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up already,” his voice called out, closer than it should have been.

Your head snapped up, and you realized the light above you had shifted. You turned your gaze slowly upward, and there he was, standing just above you.

“You’re quite resilient,” he mused, his icy voice calm, almost teasing. “But you’re slowing down. The cold is catching up to you.”

Panic surged through you, overriding the pain in your arm as you scrambled to your feet. You bolted again, ignoring the way your legs screamed in protest.

Then you spotted it.

A faint glow ahead—warm and flickering, like firelight. Fire.. fire meant heat, warmth and safety.

The glow grew brighter as you neared it, and you realized it was coming from an arched doorway. Beyond it, you could see the orange flicker of flames. You practically threw yourself through the opening, your body collapsing in front of the roaring fireplace in the center of the room.

The warmth hit you like a wave, washing over your frozen skin and sending sharp, painful tingles through your fingers and toes as the feeling began to return. You gasped for air, curling into yourself as the heat began to thaw the icy grip that had taken hold of your body.

But the relief was short-lived.

You turned your head slightly, and your stomach dropped. The room wasn’t empty.

Surrounding you were tall mirrors, each one angled slightly toward the fireplace. They reflected the room in perfect, chilling detail. And in every single one, he was there, standing behind you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you whipped around, but the room was empty.

The mirrors, however, told a different story. He stood just behind your reflection, his piercing blue eye meeting yours through the glass.

“Did you think the fire would save you?” his voice echoed around the room, no longer calm but mocking.

The flames in the fireplace flickered violently, the warmth suddenly waning as frost began to creep across the floor toward you. The temperature plummeted, the ice spreading like veins across the room and snuffing out the fire entirely.

You stumbled backward, heart racing as you turned to face one of the mirrors. He was no longer just standing there—he was moving. Slowly, deliberately, his reflection stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and yours.

Before you could react, a hand shot out of the glass, his icy fingers gripping your wrist with inhuman strength. You screamed as the cold burned your skin, his grip dragging you closer to the mirror.

“Don’t fight it,” he said softly, his voice echoing in your ears as the shards within the mirrors began to hum again. “You belong with me now.”

You struggled against him, your free hand clawing at the icy surface of the mirror as it began to pull you in. The frost crawled up your arm, spreading rapidly as the world around you began to distort, shards of glass spinning wildly in your peripheral vision.

With one final yank, he pulled you through the mirror.

The last thing you saw before everything went black was your own reflection, frozen in terror, staring back at you as the shards swallowed you whole.

You jolted awake with a gasp, your body trembling violently. The cold was overwhelming, gripping you like an unrelenting vice, and as you looked around, your heart sank. You were back in the mirror realm.

The shards around you showed you in unnatural ways. Every angle of yourself felt alien, wrong, like the mirror was trying to break you down piece by piece.

“No,” you whispered, voice weak and trembling, your breath fogging up the air in front of you. Your legs were shaky, but you forced yourself to stand.

There was no time to waste. You spotted another mirror—a whole one this time—standing pristine just a few feet away. Summoning every ounce of courage, you stepped toward the mirror. This time, you didn’t pause to study your reflection. You didn’t let yourself think. You pressed your palm flat against the cold, smooth surface.

The pull came instantly, like an icy wind yanking you forward. Your body jerked as you were sucked into the mirror’s depths once more. The same nauseating sensation returned and you clenched your teeth to keep from screaming.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

You stumbled forward, your feet catching against a thick rug as you fell to your knees. You blinked, the room slowly coming into focus.

It was another part of the manor, entirely different from where you’d been before. The walls were still coated in frost, but it was quieter. You looked up to see a grand fireplace crackling with warm, golden flames. A luxurious couch sat nearby, its velvet cushions looking inviting, though a thin layer of frost clung to the edges.

You didn’t hesitate. The fire called to you like salvation itself.

You dragged yourself to your feet, stumbling toward the fireplace. The warmth hit you in waves, and you let out a shuddering breath as you collapsed onto the rug in front of it, stretching your trembling hands toward the flames.

The heat seeped into your frozen skin, painful at first as the biting cold fought to stay. You held your hands closer, rubbing them together desperately as you tried to thaw yourself.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to relax. Your body still shook from the adrenaline and cold, but the warmth was soothing, grounding you.

You took a glance around the room, taking in your surroundings. It was richly decorated, though the frost and time had dulled its once-luxurious beauty. A massive portrait hung above the fireplace, but the frost obscured the faces in the painting, making it impossible to make out who—or what—it depicted.

The couch loomed nearby, its plush cushions tempting, but you didn’t dare sit. You couldn’t afford to let your guard down for long, not when he could appear at any moment. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, despite the fire’s warmth.

You stared back into the flames, your mind racing. The mirrors... they were clearly part of his power, his trap, but they also seemed to be a way to move through the manor.

But even as you thought that, the sound of footsteps echoed faintly down the hall.

Your heart leapt into your throat, the warmth of the fire suddenly feeling far too distant. You froze, every instinct screaming at you to move, to hide, but your body refused to obey.

You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. You could feel the chill creeping back into the room, the warmth of the fire retreating as if it couldn’t stand him.

“Found you,” his voice purred, low and laced with amusement.

Your body tensed as you slowly turned your head toward him, your breath hitching in your throat. He was closer than you expected—far closer. You hadn’t even heard him cross the room, but there he was, towering over you.

You gasped, your back pressing harder against the rug as though you could somehow melt into the floor to escape him.

He reached out, trailing dangerously close to your face, but he stopped just short of touching you. His icy breath curled in the air as he tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over you from head to toe.

“I should end this,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, but there was an edge to it—an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “You’re the last one left. There’s no one else. No one coming to save you.”

Your stomach dropped at his words. The others were gone. Nancy, the others—they’d all fallen to him. You were alone.

He crouched suddenly, leaning over you with a grace that felt almost unnatural. His free hand came to rest on the floor beside you, pinning you in place with his sheer presence. You tried to scoot back, but the icy chill radiating from him seemed to freeze you in place.

“But…” he continued, his voice softer now, contemplative, “I can’t bear to ruin something so… perfect.”

His words caught you off guard, and your eyes widened as he his hand brushed your jaw, his cold fingers gripping gently but firmly. You sucked in a sharp breath, expecting the freezing touch to sting, to burn like the cold always had before.

But it didn’t.

Instead, his touch was… comforting. The cold seeped into your skin, chasing away the ache from the fire’s heat. It was strangely soothing, like the cool side of a pillow on a restless night, or the air of an early winter morning.

Your body reacted involuntarily, your tense muscles relaxing slightly despite the fear coursing through you.

It all left you disoriented.

“You see,” he murmured, his fingers tightening slightly against your jaw, tilting your face up so your eyes met his. “There’s something about you, survivor. Something… different.”

His gaze roamed your features with an unsettling intensity, his icy breath brushing against your face. You tried to look away, but his grip kept you firmly in place.

“You’ve caught my attention,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, almost intimate. “And that doesn’t happen often.”

You didn’t even respond—couldn’t even respond.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his voice soft but commanding, “are you afraid of me?”

Your heart thundered in your chest, but the answer wasn’t as simple as it should’ve been. Fear clung to you, yes—but so did something else. Something you couldn’t quite name.

When you didn’t answer, his lips curled into a faint, chilling smile. “No matter,” he murmured. “I’ll find out soon enough.”

His hand trailed down to your throat. The cold seeped deeper now, sending a shiver down your spine. His grip was firm but not constricting.

“You’re lucky,” he said softly, pulling back slightly to meet your gaze again. “I’ve decided to spare you. For now.”

“But don’t think for a moment that you’re free,” he added, his voice colder now, sharper.

Before you could even react, his cold, strong hands gripped your waist. A startled gasp escaped your lips as he hoisted you effortlessly into the air, slinging you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

“W-What?” you stammered, your breath hitching as you felt the solid, cold muscle beneath his tattered suit.

He didn’t talk, nor did he falter as he began walking, his movements steady. You squirmed slightly, your hands pressed against his broad shoulder in an attempt to push yourself free, but his grip on you was firm, unyielding.

It was then that you noticed something strange—the ground beneath his feet was transforming. With every step he took, the floor froze over, leaving a trail of ice in his wake.

Behind him, the mirror shard he dragged in his hand left another trail, the jagged glass carving faint grooves into the icy floor. It gleamed faintly, catching the dim light of the room, but it was the strange magic in it that drew your attention. The frost along the edges seemed alive, swirling and shimmering in ways that didn’t seem natural.

And the mirrors along the walls reflected your current state back at you. It was almost unrecognizable.

Your hair was dusted with frost, strands glittering like they were laced with snowflakes. Your lashes and brows were coated in icy crystals, and your lips… they looked pale, almost blue, like the color had been drained by the biting cold. Even your skin had taken on a frosty tint, its natural warmth replaced by something delicate and ethereal.

You blinked at the reflection, your breath catching. For a moment, you almost didn’t look like yourself. You looked… otherworldly, like you belonged here, in this frozen hellscape he commanded. The thought sent a shiver down your spine, and not just from the cold.

“I see you’ve noticed,” his voice rumbled, deep and laced with amusement. You jolted slightly at the sound of it, and your gaze darted to the back of his head.

“What—what’s happening to me?” you demanded, though your voice came out shaky, far weaker than you intended.

“It suits you,” he said simply, his tone calm, almost admiring. “The frost, the cold. It brings out something… exquisite.”

His words sent a strange mix of emotions coursing through you. You weren’t sure whether to feel flattered or horrified.

“Let me go,” you hissed, though there was little force behind your words.

“No,” he replied, almost lazily, as though the very idea amused him. “Not yet.”

His footsteps echoed as he carried you deeper into the manor. You couldn’t tell where he was taking you, but the icy walls became thicker the further you went.

The air felt colder than ever when he suddenly stopped, and without warning, he threw you down, the impact rattling through your body as you hit the frozen ground. A hiss escaped your lips at the cold biting into your palms, but the sting didn’t linger for long—because that’s when you saw it.

The hatch.

It was right in front of you, its familiar wooden frame stark against the glistening frost around it. Your heart leapt in disbelief. He was letting you go.

You looked up at him, confusion and suspicion warring within you. Was this some sort of trap? But when your eyes met his, he was already staring at you, his calm, piercing gaze sending shivers down your spine.

He crouched down, his movement eerily graceful, and brought his hand to your cheek once more. The coldness of his touch was no longer unbearable—almost like your skin had adjusted to the frost.

“You survived, little one,” he whispered, his voice soft and low, laced with something unidentifiable.

His breath curled in a frosty mist around your face as he leaned closer, his lips just a whisper away from your ear.

“I’ll see you real soon.”

Before you could say anything—before you could even think of a response—he rose to his full height, turned, and walked away.

You didn’t wait to see if he would change his mind. Scrambling forward, you gripped the edge of the hatch and pulled yourself in.

The cold vanished immediately as you fell, the icy chill replaced by a strange weightlessness. For a moment, you floated in nothingness, then, with a thud, you landed on the soft, familiar dirt of the survivor’s camp.

Warmth washed over you instantly, and you sucked in a deep breath, relief flooding through you. You looked around, the familiar sights of the campfire, scattered supplies, and makeshift shelters grounding you. It was over. The trial was over.

But as you sat there, staring into the fire’s comforting glow, the memory of his voice lingered in your mind. His words. His touch. His frost.

He had let you go.

--

Your next few trials were nothing short of a nightmare—though, what else was new? First, it was The Trapper, he had almost caught you at the exit gate, but a perfectly timed flashlight save from one of the other survivors gave you just enough time to slip away.

Then, there was Ghostface. His knife had grazed your back once, almost claiming you as you worked on a generator, but somehow, you managed to outmaneuver him, staying just steps ahead of his blade. The trial ended with you sprinting through the exit gate, heart pounding and lungs burning.

But just when you thought you could catch your breath, the Entity had other plans.

The next time the fog swallowed you up and spat you into a new trial, the familiar chill hit you like a slap to the face.

Your boots crunched against the snow as you took in your surroundings, your breath already visible in the icy air. Dead, frostbitten hedges towered around you, stretching into a labyrinth.

Your stomach dropped.

His map. Again.

You took a cautious step forward, trying to steady your breathing as the icy wind bit into your skin.

It didn’t take long before the sound of a generator humming faintly reached your ears. You turned a corner in the maze, spotting one sitting in the center of a small clearing. A teammate—Claudette—was already crouched by it, working diligently.

Relief washed over you as you made your way to her. If you could stick together, you’d have a better chance of survival. But as you reached her side and knelt to help, you couldn’t shake the sensation of being watched.

Your hands trembled slightly as you worked, the cold making it hard to grip the wired properly. Then, without warning, Claudette stiffened beside you, her eyes widening in panic.

“Run,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the howling wind.

You didn’t need to ask why. The frost on the ground spreading, creeping toward you like a living thing, said as much.

You turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of him.

The Frost Warden. At least that is what you and the other has started calling him.

You bolted at the sight of him, the snow crunching loudly beneath your feet as you tore through the maze. The icy wind whipped at your face, stinging your skin, but you didn’t dare look back.

The sound of Claudette’s scream echoed faintly behind you, and guilt clawed at your chest, but you couldn’t stop now.

You turned another corner, your lungs burning from the cold air, and skidded to a stop, nearly stumbling when you saw it—a generator, partially hidden by the frost-covered hedges. Relief mixed with panic surged through you. You had no idea where the others were, but you couldn’t let this chance go to waste.

You ran to it, skidding slightly on the icy ground, and immediately knelt by its side. Your fingers, stiff and numb from the cold, fumbled as you began working. The gears groaned faintly, resisting your touch, but you forced yourself to focus, biting your lip to keep your hands steady.

The sound of the Frost Warden’s footsteps had faded behind you, but you knew better than to assume he’d given up the chase. He didn’t need to run to catch you. This map was his domain, and you were just another mouse trapped in his frozen maze.

The generator sputtered as you fixed another wire, the hum growing louder with each successful connection. Your breath clouded the air in front of you as you worked, the sound of the engine beginning to mask the distant howling wind.

But then, a faint shimmer in the corner of your vision made you freeze.

You glanced up, heart sinking, and spotted a mirror embedded into the wall of the hedges just a few feet away. Its surface rippled faintly, like water disturbed by a pebble, and your reflection stared back at you—pale, frostbitten, and wide-eyed with fear.

For a second, nothing happened. The mirror was still, almost taunting you. But then, the rippling grew stronger, and your blood turned to ice.

You didn’t wait to see what would come through. You turned back to the generator, frantically working to finish it, but your trembling hands slowed you down. The gears groaned again, protesting against your haste.

Behind you, the mirror shimmered one last time, and then the unmistakable sound of footsteps crunching through the snow filled the air.

Slow, deliberate, and far too close.

“Fixing something, are we?” The Frost Warden’s icy voice was low and calm, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

You whipped your head around, your heart leaping into your throat. He stood just a few feet away, his tall figure looming over you.

For a moment, neither of you moved. His piercing blue eye studied you, sharp and calculating.

“I have to admit,” he said, taking a slow step closer, “I enjoy watching you struggle. It’s... captivating.”

You scrambled to your feet, hands trembling as you backed away from the generator. He tilted his head slightly, his calm expression never faltering, and took another step forward. The frost beneath his feet spread outward with each step, creeping across the ground and curling around the base of the generator.

You wanted to run, to put as much distance between you and him as possible, but your legs felt like lead. The cold seemed to seep into your bones, rooting you in place as his icy gaze bore into you.

“Go on,” he said softly, gesturing with the shard. “Run. Fight. Survive. That’s what you do best, isn’t it?”

His words felt like a taunt, and something inside you snapped. You turned on your heel and bolted, the sound of his low, icy chuckle following you as you disappeared into the labyrinth once more.

Your boots slipped slightly on the frost-slick ground as you sprinted deeper into the labyrinth. Every turn you made felt like the wrong one, the frozen hedges looming high around you, cutting off your sense of direction.

You refused to look back. You couldn’t.

Panic clawed at your chest as you skidded around another corner, narrowly avoiding an ice-coated statue that seemed to glare down at you like a silent sentinel. Your breath was visible in the air, coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

A faint light caught your eye—another generator. This one stood in the center of an open clearing, its dull hum barely audible over the wind. You didn’t hesitate. Sliding to a stop, you crouched beside it, your trembling hands fumbling as you grabbed your tools.

Your fingers were numb, making it even harder to work, but you forced yourself to focus. The wires were stiff and brittle, like they might snap under too much pressure, but you managed to connect them, one by one.

The generator sputtered to life, its engine coughing loudly as it struggled against the cold. You winced at the noise, glancing over your shoulder, half-expecting to see him standing there, watching. But there was no one. So you took that chance.

Standing up up you sprinted back through the labyrinth, turning sharply around a frozen hedge, when a faint hum caught your ears. Another generator. Your heart leapt with a sliver of hope, and as you rounded the corner, you saw him—Bill.

He was hunched over the last few wires of the generator, his rough hands expertly finishing the job. Sparks flew, and the machine roared to life just as you skidded to a stop nearby.

"Bill!" you gasped, barely able to get the word out as you stumbled toward him, your breath clouding in the icy air.

He looked up sharply, his cigarette dangling from his lips, and his eyes widened when he saw you. "Kid, what the hell are you doin'?" he barked, but before you could answer, the faint crunch of footsteps made both of you freeze.

You didn’t need to say a word. Bill’s face hardened instantly, his sharp instincts kicking in. “Go. Now,” he growled, stepping between you and the sound of approaching frost.

“Bill—”

“Don’t argue with me! Get your ass outta here!” he snapped, pulling his flashlight from his belt.

After a moment of hesitation you turned and bolted, your feet slipping slightly on the frozen ground as you took off deeper into the maze. Behind you, you heard Bill shout, “Come on, you bastard! You want someone? Come get me!”

You risked a glance back just in time to see the Frost Warden emerge from the mist, his tall figure cutting an imposing silhouette. His icy blue eye locked onto Bill.

“Come on dammit!!” Bill yelled, his voice fierce.

You didn’t look back after that. You ran, your legs burning as you pushed forward, weaving through the labyrinth. The sound of their confrontation grew fainter with each step, replaced by the distant hum of generators and the faint howl of the wind.

It wasn’t until you burst through a gap in the hedges and saw the glowing lights of the exit gate in the distance that you realized you were finally in the clear. Your chest heaved, your lungs burning from the effort, but you forced yourself to keep going.

As you reached the gate, you found one of your teammates already there, working frantically to pull the lever. They glanced at you, relief washing over their face as the gate screeched open with a metallic groan.

With one last glance at the icy maze, you stepped through the gate, the warmth of safety washing over you.

--

You hated the smug, talkative killers. The ones who couldn’t just do their job silently but instead had to taunt, flirt, or throw out some sarcastic quip every chance they got. It wasn’t enough for them to hook you or slash at you—they had to make it personal, priding themselves on the mental games they played.

Killers like that were rare, but when you encountered them, you dreaded every moment of the trial. They made it unbearable, turning what was already a desperate fight for survival into a drawn-out performance where they were the star of the show.

The worst part? They always had that air of superiority, acting as if they were untouchable. They thrived on your frustration, your fear, and sometimes even your silence.

“Aw, don’t run now. We were just getting to know each other!”

You could hear their voice ringing in your ears even now, a mocking lilt that made your skin crawl. Some of them flirted, their words dripping with twisted charm as they chased you through the trial, their weapons raised.

“You look so cute when you’re terrified.”

Others just talked endlessly, like they needed you to know how clever or sadistic they were. They’d narrate every move, every mistake you made, as if you weren’t already painfully aware of how close you were to getting caught.

“Really? That’s the best you can do? You should’ve vaulted back there—might’ve lasted a bit longer.”

And then there were the ones who wouldn’t shut up when they hooked you, leaning down like they had all the time in the world, their breath hot against your skin.

“Don’t take it personally, sweetheart. It’s just business… though you do make it so much fun.”

You hated them. All of them.

It wasn’t just the humiliation—it was how they got under your skin, how their words stayed with you even after the trial was over. You could still feel the phantom weight of their hands brushing against your skin as they carried you, hear the mocking laughter as they walked away from the hook, leaving you there to struggle.

And yet, even if he wasn’t as insufferable as the others, he still had that pridefulness about him—this confidence that made him believe he was better than you, better than all of you. He didn’t need to taunt or jeer with endless, childish words like some of the others, but when he spoke, his voice carried weight. His words lingered, cutting deep, mocking you with a sly edge, and worse, when he flirted… it wasn’t just for show.

There was no humor in his tone, no casual arrogance like the smug Ghostface or the loud-mouthed Trickster. When he spoke to you, it felt like there was intent behind every word. Like he meant it.

That’s why, when you dropped into the Hawkins Lab, you let out a quiet breath of relief, assuming the Demogorgon was the killer this time. The mechanical hum of the underground facility echoed faintly, and you thought maybe you’d gotten lucky for once.

But then you felt it—the subtle, growing thump of your heartbeat.

You froze.

The air changed. A chill crept over your skin, one that was unmistakable.

The frost.

Your breath hitched as your eyes darted around the dimly lit corridors, and when you saw the faint mist curling along the ground, your stomach dropped.

It was him.

He was the killer this round.

Your pulse quickened, the memory of your last encounter with him flooding your mind. You didn’t know if you were ready to face him again. But ready or not, he was here. Somewhere.

And he was already hunting.

You crept through the winding halls of the lab, the flickering fluorescent lights casting eerie shadows on the steel walls. The chill in the air followed you, prickling at your skin as if a warning.

Finally, in a quieter part of the lab, tucked into a dead-end room, you found a generator. Relief washed over you as you crouched beside it, letting your fingers hover over the familiar knobs and wires. You could do this.

Your hands worked quickly, tightening bolts and rewiring panels, the sound of the generator humming softly beneath your touch. But then, from somewhere deep in the lab, a scream pierced the silence.

It was sharp, panicked, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

One of the others had found him—or, more accurately, he had found them.

Your instinct screamed at you to stop what you were doing, to run and hide before he got too close. But you couldn’t afford to waste time. You couldn’t leave the generator unfinished, and there was no guarantee you’d find another quiet spot like this again.

So you stayed.

Your fingers trembled as you twisted the last wire into place, forcing yourself to focus on the task. Every tick of the generator felt like an eternity, each movement of your hand making your heart pound harder.

And then you felt it—the subtle change in the air.

The frost crept in, curling along the edges of the room like icy tendrils reaching for you.

Your breath fogged as the chill kissed your skin, and your stomach sank just as the generator roared to life, cutting through the silence of the lab.

And then you saw it.

To your left, just beyond the doorway, the faint red glow.

Your heart sank.

The telltale light killers carried with them—always a warning, always a death sentence if you weren’t fast enough. And just past the glow, you saw him.

He stood there, completely still for a moment, then his head tilted slightly, almost curiously, before he took a single step forward. The frost beneath his feet deepened, spreading faster across the floor, as if it were alive and hungry to reach you.

"Impressive," he murmured, his voice smooth and cold, yet carrying a dangerous edge. "You finished the generator all alone? Clever little thing, aren’t you?"

Your legs finally obeyed you, and you stumbled backward, your shoulder hitting the wall as you tried to put distance between yourself and him. But there was nowhere to go—no other exits, no windows to climb through.

He stepped fully into the room now, the red glow of his presence bathing the small space as he closed the distance with unnerving calmness.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, his lips curling into the faintest smirk as his free hand reached out, his frosted fingers brushing lightly against the wall beside your head.

"I’ve been looking forward to this," he whispered. "Don’t disappoint me now."

Well.. he said it.

With your back against the wall and his towering figure leaning in too close, you knew there was only one way out of this.

Before he could react, you drove your knee up with all your strength, slamming it into his stomach.

He staggered back, a sharp groan tearing from his throat as his hand instinctively moved to his abdomen.

"Really?" he hissed, his voice low and laced with irritation.

But you didn’t stick around to hear what else he had to say. The moment you saw him falter, you bolted.

You sprinted past him, your boots skidding slightly on the frosted floor as you rounded the doorway and darted back into the dimly lit hallways of Hawkins Lab.

You could hear him behind you now—not running, but walking. Slow, deliberate, as if he wasn’t worried about catching up.

And that made it worse.

You risked a glance over your shoulder and immediately regretted it.

He was there, just a few meters behind you. “Running again, are we?” he called out. “You should know by now—you can’t outrun the cold.”

You turned sharply around another corner, your breath hitching in your chest, but suddenly—bam!—another survivor came barreling around the corner.

“Watch it!” they hissed, just as panicked as you. It was Meg, her red hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, her eyes wide with fear. But before either of you could exchange another word, an icy gust cut through the hallway, and Meg’s eyes widened further.

“Run!” she shouted, but it was too late.

With a flick of his wrist, the shard slashed across Meg’s side, cutting through her jacket and drawing a scream from her lips.

You stumbled back, gasping as you watched in horror.

“Pathetic,” his cold, deep voice echoed, reverberating through the hallway. He stood over Meg, who writhed in pain at his feet, clutching her wound. “So flawed… so imperfect.” His tone was cutting, condescending, as if she were beneath him.

“You’re not worth my time,” he added, tilting his head as he stared down at her, his frostbitten fingers twitching.

Meg groaned and tried to crawl away, but he pressed the tip of his shard into the ground beside her, the ice creeping out in sharp, jagged patterns. He didn’t strike again, though—he didn’t need to. His words alone cut deeper than the shard itself.

“You’ve already been broken,” he sneered, stepping away from her as if she were nothing more than a discarded object.

From his side, he produced a small shard of mirror, its surface gleaming. He turned it in his hands with a strange gentleness, his icy fingers trailing along the edges of the shard as if it were a delicate treasure.

Meg whimpered, flinching as he tilted the shard toward her face. The distorted reflection that appeared in its surface made your breath hitch. It wasn’t just her face—it was a fractured version of her, revealing her deepest insecurities, her doubts, and fears. Her lips trembled as she stared at the cruel image, her reflection seeming to cry out silently as if begging for release.

"You see," he murmured, his voice quiet yet cutting, "this is what you truly are. Flawed. Fragile. Broken beyond repair."

Meg tried to look away, but he held the shard steady, forcing her to confront the image.

And then, with cold, unflinching precision, he drove the shard into her chest.

Her body arched with a strangled cry, her breath coming out in shallow gasps as the mirror shard pierced her heart.

Meg's movements stilled, her eyes glassy as the frost crept across her skin. He remained kneeling over her, watching as her life slipped away, the satisfaction in his expression subtle but unmistakable.

Standing slowly, he looked down at her lifeless body, his frosted hands carefully wiping the shard clean. He inspected it briefly, as if ensuring it was free of imperfection before tucking it away.

Then, he turned to you.

His icy blue eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“You however,” he said softly, his voice like frost creeping over glass, “are nothing like that.”

Your heart thundered in your chest as he began to move toward you, his steps slow and deliberate.

“So perfect,” he continued, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “But even perfection can be elevated.”

He stopped just a few feet away, his presence overwhelming as he tilted his head. “How much more beautiful you’d be…” His voice dipped, a cold whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “…as part of the ice.”

Before you could move, before you could even think, he was on you. His cold hand pressed against your shoulder, driving you back until your spine hit the wall with a muted thud. The opposing sensations—his cold and the warmth your body clung to—warred within you, leaving you frozen in more ways than one.

His gloved hand remained firm on your shoulder, holding you in place, while his other hand brushed against your cheek. The frost that followed his touch bloomed across your skin like a winter’s kiss, cold yet strangely… soothing.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and hypnotic, each word curling around you like an arctic breeze. “The warmth of life… fighting so desperately against the cold I bring.”

He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your skin like a whisper of frost. “It’s beautiful… the way your body responds. How it resists, yet…” He tilted his head, “you don’t pull away.”

Your teeth chattered as you tried to speak, but no words came.

“You’re so… fragile,” he continued, his voice soft yet laced with a dangerous edge. “So alive. And yet…” His hand moved from your cheek to trail along your jawline, his touch featherlight but freezing. “…it would take so little to turn you into something eternal. A perfect sculpture of ice.”

Your chest heaved as you struggled to keep your composure, the weight of his words sinking in. He leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours now, his cold breath mingling with your warm exhalations.

“But not yet,” he whispered, his lips curling into that same pleased smirk. “Not when you’re this… captivating.”

His hand lingered for a moment longer before he suddenly stepped back, releasing you. The frost clinging to your skin and the wall behind you melted away almost instantly, leaving you trembling.

He turned away without another word, his presence still heavy in the air. For a moment, you thought he was leaving you, but then he glanced over his shoulder, his icy gaze piercing through you.

“Run,” he said softly, the word laced with chilling intent. “Let’s see how long that warmth of yours can last.”

Your breath hitched as the word settled in the air like a command, and without hesitation, your body obeyed. You pushed off the wall and bolted.

A sharp whoosh cut through the air, and you instinctively ducked, feeling the chilling breeze of his mirror shard slicing the air just behind you. It didn’t hit you—no, it never did—but it was close enough to send shivers crawling up your spine. He wasn’t trying to injure you. He wanted you to feel the cold, to know how close he was, to remind you that you were his to chase.

You rounded a corner, vaulting over a low counter in a desperate attempt to create some distance, but when you landed on the other side, his red light loomed just behind you. A low, cold laugh followed, echoing in the empty halls.

You made a sharp turn, vaulting over another obstacle, and finally, finally, you saw someone. A flash of movement—another survivor! Relief flooded through you as they ran toward you, their eyes wide with panic.

It was Jake.

He looked at you, then past you, his expression hardening as he realized who was chasing you. Without a word, he stepped forward, drawing the killer’s attention as you scrambled to the side, ducking into another hallway.

You hesitated for just a moment, watching as the killer’s calm gaze shifted to Jake. He didn’t speak this time, but there was something in his posture as if he were almost… displeased at the interruption.

Jake shouted, waving his arms to draw the killer further away. “Come one!” he yelled.

With one last glance, you turned and sprinted in the opposite direction, the sound of their footsteps fading behind you.

Eventually you found a dark, quiet corner where you could catch your breath.

You slumped against the wall, your body trembling from adrenaline and the lingering chill of his presence. Jake had bought you time, but you knew it wouldn’t last forever.

You stumbled into another corridor, your heart still racing as you scanned the area. The faint hum of a generator reached your ears, and you followed it like a lifeline. Turning a corner, your eyes landed on a half-finished generator sitting in the middle of a secluded room. Relief washed over you.

Quickly, you moved to it, crouching down and setting to work. Your hands shook, partially from the cold and partially from the lingering adrenaline, but you forced yourself to focus.

You flinched at the sudden distant sound of a scream. Someone had gone down—it was hard to tell who in the chaos of the trial—but you couldn’t think about that now.

Finally, the generator sparked to life, the room lighting up with the mechanical glow and you allowed yourself a small, shaky exhale of victory.

But then, the warmth in the air shifted.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as the icy feeling grew stronger. You froze in place, barely breathing, your eyes darting around the room.

The ground near your feet began to frost over, thin trails of ice spreading across the floor.

Panic surged through you, and your eyes scanned the room desperately. There—a locker, tucked into the corner. Without hesitation, you sprinted for it, careful to avoid making too much noise. You slipped inside and shut the door as quietly as you could, pressing your back against the wooden wall.

You bit your lip to stop yourself from making a sound, every muscle in your body tensing as the steps grew louder, closer. The frost crept higher on the walls, spiderwebbing like cracks in a mirror.

You crouched lower in the locker, your eyes fixed on the small gaps in the slats. Through them, you could see his figure moving closer, the frost trailing in his wake. It spread across the walls, over the floor, and finally, onto the locker itself.

You could feel the chill seeping through, making the air inside colder and colder. Your breath hitched in your throat as you tried desperately to stay silent, but the icy metal at your back made it nearly impossible to stay still.

Through the small gaps, you watched as he stopped right in front of the locker. He stood there for a moment, his back partially turned, scanning the room.

You thought he might leave, but then he turned back, facing the locker directly, standing perfectly still, only inches away from where you were hiding. For a moment, he seemed to just stand there, listening, the silence pressing down like a weight.

The frost continued to spread, climbing up the locker door and along its edges. The cold bit into your skin, making you shiver involuntarily. And that was your mistake.

The faintest sound of your breath slipping past your lips was enough.

His head tilted slightly, his sharp blue eye narrowing as he leaned forward. From the small gap, you could see his mouth curl into a smirk.

“I know you’re in there,” he said, his voice a soft, chilling whisper that made the frost seem warmer in comparison.

You stiffened, pressing your back harder against the frozen wood as he tapped a single finger on the locker door. “Are we playing hide-and-seek now?” he continued, his tone laced with amusement. “I thought you’d know by now—” he paused, leaning closer, so close that you swore his frosty breath was fogging the slats, “—I always win.”

For a horrifying moment, you thought he was going to rip the door open, his hand hovering close. But instead, he straightened up, taking a step back.

You let out a shaky breath, thinking for a second that he might leave. But then he raised his mirror shard and dragged it lightly against the edge of the locker door, the screech of ice making you wince.

“You know,” he began, his voice smooth and quiet, almost too calm, “there’s something about you… something that exhilarates me.” He let out a low chuckle, dragging the shard along the door one last time before stopping. “I’ve encountered many survivors, and they all blur together after a while. But you…” He paused, leaning closer so his breath frosted the slats of the locker. “You’re not like that.”

You could barely breathe, your entire body frozen—not from the cold, but from his words. The way he spoke wasn’t like the other killers you’d faced. There was no mockery, no irritation at your defiance.

“You’re so... special,” he murmured, the shard now resting against the locker as if he were caressing it. “Every time I see you, it’s like I’m looking at something perfect.” He chuckled again, low and chilling. “It makes me want to keep you forever. Preserve that beauty. Make it mine.”

Your heart stopped as his words sunk in, your breath caught in your throat. Before you could think to do anything—before you could even try to scramble or scream—the door to the locker swung open.

“Caught you,” he said softly, as if this was nothing more than a game.

You gasped as his arms reached in, effortlessly grabbing you. The frost where his hands touched your skin seeped into you immediately.

“Struggling won’t help,” he said, almost teasingly, as you tried to push against him. “Not that I want you to. I quite like the way you tremble.”

Before you could protest, he hoisted you up with a strength that made your attempts at resistance seem laughable. Your world tilted as he threw you over his shoulder, his grip firm but not painful. Before he started walking through the lab, while you squirmed in his hold, but it was no use.

--

Before you could fully comprehend what was happening, he shifted you off his shoulder and set you down with surprising care onto a cold, metal control table in the center of the lab. The frost beneath his boots crept up the legs of the table, spreading like spiderwebs across the surface and surrounding you in a halo of icy mist.

You tried to sit up, but he leaned forward, his hand pressing against your shoulder to keep you in place. “You’re quite predictable, you know,” he said, his voice low and smooth, with a tinge of amusement. “Always fighting. Always running. But here you are under me again.”

His lips curved into that same faint, knowing smirk that made your chest tighten. He shifted slightly closer, his free hand resting on the edge of the table, boxing you in.

“You’re the last one left again,” he murmured, almost like he was savoring the words. “Everyone else has fallen. And yet… here you are. Stubborn as ever.”

Your stomach twisted at his words. The others were gone. You were the last survivor again, and there was still one generator left to finish.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, your pulse thundering in your ears as you glanced around the room, searching desperately for some kind of opening, anything to get away. But his body blocked most of your view, and the frost on the walls behind him seemed to spread as if sealing off any potential escape.

“Such a mouth,” he teased, his voice almost a whisper now, his frosty breath grazing your lips. “But I like your fire. It makes it so much more satisfying to snuff it out.”

His hand moved slowly to rest on your chest, the chill of his touch sinking deep into your skin. A shiver ran down your spine as you watched in wide-eyed disbelief. Frost spread outward from where his palm met your chest, intricate patterns blooming like frozen flowers across your skin. It didn’t feel painful—it was cold, yes, but strangely gentle, almost mesmerizing. You couldn’t help but stare at the crystalline designs etching themselves over you.

“You see?” he murmured, his voice low and velvety, laced with a quiet satisfaction. “Perfection.”

Your gaze snapped up to meet his as he stepped back slightly. His free hand rose, tugging at the edge of his cracked mirror mask. With a deliberate, almost theatrical motion, he removed it, letting the light fully illuminate his face for the first time.

He was… beautiful. His features were sharp and striking, carved with the same precision as the frost he wielded. A few thin scars adorned his face, faint but noticeable. His eyes glowed faintly, studying you intently, as though you were some kind of masterpiece he’d just completed.

“You complement me so perfectly now,” he said softly, as his eyes lingered on the frost spreading over your skin. His gaze was equal parts admiration and possessiveness, as if you were a creation he had shaped with his own hands.

You wanted to speak, to tell him to stop, to push him away, but the words caught in your throat. There was something about the way he looked at you that made it impossible to move.

“You’re so beautiful” he continued, his cold fingers tracing a line along the frost-covered patterns on your arms. “Now… now you’re mine. A canvas perfected by my touch.”

Your breathing hitched as his hand paused, his icy fingertips resting just over your racing pulse. His face was so close now that you could feel the frost in his breath, mingling with the warmth of yours.

“You’ve always stood out,” he said, his tone softening, almost tender. “Among all the others, you are the only one worth keeping.” As his hand rested on your chest, he leaned closer, his lips curling into a faint smile. “I wonder,” he mused softly, his voice almost a whisper now, “how much more beautiful you’ll be… once the ice fully claims you.”

Before you could react, he leaned in, his cold lips pressing against yours. The icy chill of his kiss sent a jolt through your body, and you gasped sharply, the frost on your skin seeming to tighten as if it were alive, responding to his touch. His lips, though cold, were strangely soft it left you reeling, unsure whether to pull away or melt into it.

His hands moved swiftly, capturing yours as your instincts kicked in to push him away. He intertwined his fingers with yours, locking them together. His grip wasn’t forceful, but it was firm, as though he was making sure you wouldn’t escape. The frost from his hands seeped into yours, spreading the intricate, shimmering patterns further up your arms.

When he pulled back, his lips hovered just inches from yours, and you could see his breath crystallizing in the cold air between you. “You even sound so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate, as though sharing a secret meant only for you. His thumbs brushed lightly over the backs of your hands, sending another shiver coursing through your body. “I could get used to hearing the sounds i could get out of you.”

You tried to tug your hands free, but his fingers tightened slightly, holding you there. “Why fight it?” he whispered, tilting his head, his tone almost coaxing. “You belong here. With me. Look at yourself—you’re already becoming part of the ice.”

Your gaze flickered downward for a moment, catching the glittering frost climbing your arms, wrapping around your wrists like delicate, frozen chains. It was as if the cold itself was claiming you, binding you to him.

“Don’t you see?” he continued, his voice filled with a chilling certainty. “No one else could ever understand your beauty the way I do. No one else could ever deserve you.”

His hands tightened just slightly around yours, pulling you closer as his lips brushed against your ear. “Let me show you how much you mean to me,” he whispered, his breath icy against your skin, sending another shiver down your spine.

His hands suddenlt slid to the hem of your sweater, the cold of his fingers making your breath hitch as he slowly pulled the fabric upward. The icy chill wrapped around you like a second skin, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

As the fabric bunched up, exposing more of your skin, you felt his lips brush against your stomach—a fleeting, ghostly kiss that left a trail of frost in its wake. His kisses were cold but delicate, as if he were crafting something beautiful out of your very existence. The frost spread wherever his lips touched, etching intricate, crystalline patterns onto your skin like a frozen work of art.

You shivered, your teeth threatening to chatter as the frost claimed more of you, but the chill didn’t burn.

“You don’t even realize how perfect you are, do you?” he murmured against your skin, his lips grazing along the curve of your collarbone. His voice was softer now, almost tender. “Each mark I leave… it suits you. Makes you mine.”

His hands trailed along your sides, the frost blooming under his touch like winter flowers. You gasped softly as his lips pressed against your chest, leaving behind more intricate frost.

“I could cover every inch of you,” he continued, his voice deepening as he leaned back to admire his handiwork. His eyes sparkled with an unearthly glow as they traced the frosty designs now covering your skin. “You were made for this. For me.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to say something, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in again, his lips brushing yours so faintly it was maddening. “Don’t fight it,” he whispered, his voice as chilling as his touch. “You’re already mine.”

The frost tightened its hold on you, the cold sinking deeper into your skin as if binding you to him, you couldn’t tell whether it was fear or something else entirely keeping you from pulling away.

a/n: my mom is sick so i was filling up a hot water bag but i squeezed too tight so i spilled the water on my chest :p pray my piercing dont get irritated...

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[kagrenacs]

Long awaited, here is the soil map of Skyrim using the Canadian System of Soil classification. Brief description of my conclusions under the cut:

Chernozem: Whiterun Hold is likely home to the majority of Skyrim’s Chernozems. The majority of biological carbon sequestering in grassland environments are below ground, within the root systems. Organic material- humus, builds up, causing the upper layers of the soil to take on a dark colour. Additionally, Solonetzic soils could be present, peppered throughout the hold if the parent material to the soil is salty enough.

Cryosols are formed in Skyrim’s far North and high alpine regions. The mean annual soil temperature being 0 degrees C, with permafrost conditions. Freeze-thaw cycles lead to permafrost at the soils surface, but also cryoturbation: soil movement arising from frost action.

Additionally in mountainous regions, you would find Regosols. Soils which develop on unstable landforms and have had little time to develop, such as mountain slopes, or river floodplains.

Gleysols occur across the landscape of Skyrim, but primarily in Hjaalmarch. Gleysols are commonly found in depressions or low-lying areas where water saturates the soil continuously, leading to a molted characteristic to the soil.

Organic soils would primarily be found in the water saturated soils of Hjaalmarch. These are wetland soils found in forested areas and are commonly known as peat, muck, bogs or fens.

Borrowing from the USDA soil taxonomy, Inceptisols are light colored soils with moderate alteration, occurring under cool and cold climates. These soils would be found in the Eastmarch caldera.

Luvisols are associated with forested landscapes overlying loamy glacial till, or on clayey lacustrine deposits. Lake Honrich dominates a large portion of the Rift, according to UESP, seemingly draining from the lake. I believe this to be the site of a melted glacier, the lake being meltwater. Clay sediments are associated with lakes because of their deposition, coarser sediments bordering the lake near the shore, and finer particles at the deepest reaches. Additionally, at the end of the Karth river, where sandy deposits would be deposited at Solitude, before the stream looses power further down the river, leaving only clay to be deposited.

Podzols are associated with igneous parent materials, coniferous vegetation and high acidity. Primarily they are found in Falkreath Hold and Southern Eastmarch.

Brunisols are an intermediate stage between Regosols (undeveloped soils), and Podzol or Luvisols. I believe with the unstable, mountainous landscape of the Reach, soils would remain still rather undeveloped. Brunisols would also be interspersed among the Luvisols.

[wonders-of-the-cosmos]

Mariner program

The Mariner program was conducted by the American space agency NASA to explore other planets. Between 1962 and late 1973, NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL) designed and built 10 robotic interplanetary probes named Mariner to explore the inner Solar System - visiting the planets Venus, Mars and Mercury for the first time, and returning to Venus and Mars for additional close observations.

The program included a number of interplanetary firsts, including the first planetary flyby, the planetary orbiter, and the first gravity assist maneuver. Of the 10 vehicles in the Mariner series, seven were successful, forming the starting point for many subsequent NASA/JPL space probe programs. 

The name of the Mariner program was decided in "May 1960-at the suggestion of Edgar M. Cortright" to have the "planetary mission probes ... patterned after nautical terms, to convey 'the impression of travel to great distances and remote lands.'" That "decision was the basis for naming Mariner, Ranger, Surveyor, and Viking probes."

Each spacecraft was to carry solar panels that would be pointed toward the Sun and a dish antenna that would be pointed at Earth. Each would also carry a host of scientific instruments. Some of the instruments, such as cameras, would need to be pointed at the target body it was studying. Other instruments were non-directional and studied phenomena such as magnetic fields and charged particles. JPL engineers proposed to make the Mariners "three-axis-stabilized," meaning that unlike other space probes they would not spin.

Mariner 1 and Mariner 2

Mariner 1 and Mariner 2 were two deep-space probes making up NASA's Mariner-R project. The primary goal of the project was to develop and launch two spacecraft sequentially to the near vicinity of Venus, receive communications from the spacecraft and to perform radiometric temperature measurements of the planet. A secondary objective was to make interplanetary magnetic field and/or particle measurements on the way to, and in the vicinity of, Venus.

Animation of Mariner 2's trajectory from August 27, 1962, to December 31, 1962. Mariner 2 · Venus · Earth.

Mariners 3 and 4

Sisterships Mariner 3 and Mariner 4 were Mars flyby missions.

Mariner 3 was launched on November 5, 1964, but the shroud encasing the spacecraft atop its rocket failed to open properly and Mariner 3 did not get to Mars.

Mariner 4, launched on November 28, 1964, was the first successful flyby of the planet Mars and gave the first glimpse of Mars at close range

This archival image is an enhanced contrast version of the first Mars photograph released on July 15, 1965. This is man's first close-up photograph of another planet -- a photographic representation of digital data radioed from Mars by the Mariner 4 spacecraft. Data was either sent to Earth immediately for acquisition or stored on an onboard tape recorder for later transmission.

The pictures, played back from a small tape recorder over a long period, showed lunar-type impact craters (just beginning to be photographed at close range from the Moon), some of them touched with frost in the chill Martian evening. 

Mariner 5

The Mariner 5 spacecraft was launched to Venus on June 14, 1967, and arrived in the vicinity of the planet in October 1967. It carried a complement of experiments to probe Venus' atmosphere with radio waves, scan its brightness in ultraviolet light, and sample the solar particles and magnetic field fluctuations above the planet.

Mariners 6 and 7

Mariners 6 and 7 were identical teammates in a two-spacecraft mission to Mars. Mariner 6 was launched on February 24, 1969, followed by Mariner 7 on March 21, 1969. They flew over the equator and southern hemisphere of the planet Mars.

Mariners 8 and 9

Mariner 8 and Mariner 9 were identical sister craft designed to map the Martian surface simultaneously, but Mariner 8 was lost in a launch vehicle failure. Mariner 9 was launched in May 1971 and became the first artificial satellite of Mars. 

Mariner 10

The Mariner 10 spacecraft launched on November 3, 1973, and was the first to use a gravity assist trajectory, accelerating as it entered the gravitational influence of Venus, then being flung by the planet's gravity onto a slightly different course to reach Mercury. It was also the first spacecraft to encounter two planets at close range, and for 33 years the only spacecraft to photograph Mercury in closeup.

Venus in real colors, processed from clear and blue filtered Mariner 10 images

Mariner 10's photograph of Venus in ultraviolet light (photo color-enhanced to simulate Venus's natural color as the human eye would see it)

This mosaic shows the planet Mercury as seen by Mariner 10 as it sped away from the planet on March 29, 1974.

source x, x | images x

[lilacargent]

How cold is too cold?

The Quelec had been left alone after their adamant refusal to join the Conclave. This draconian looking species viewed most other creatures as lesser, which made the conclave just as happy to ignore the Quelec and their nearly uninhabitable icy planet.

It didn’t take long before the Prideful creatures couldn’t stand being put to the side like they didn’t matter. Requesting a diplomatic convoy to reopen the conversation was only a ploy to take them hostage and issue ridiculous demands to capture the Conclaves attention.

It is now that a conclave mother ship is hanging just out of orbit to make a plan to get them back. Above a massive map of the icy landscape with one thin line of forest across its median, the three crews tasked with the retrieval are discussing loudly.

“No they can sense electrical currents, and any blast from their breath weapons will shut down our vehicles.” The tall bipedal alien that looks remarkably like a yeti yells at the other people around the table ‘going in with a full frontal attack is going to get everyone killed and if they don’t the cold will. The hostages are held at this planets south pole, which functions as a great prison because of its insane cold!’ The group of Lokachs (a more serpent like alien) hiss at the hostile tone ‘ssssoo far you have not gotten a better idea. Perhaps think for yourself Loquacious.’ When a fight is about to break out the human mediator steps forward. Followed by a tall bearded man and a woman dressed in remarkably non uniform clothes, with markings on her face. ‘No fighting here, they send all of us because we have different experiences with the cold. You, Loquacious of the Relokip, can keep your internal temperatures high like the Quelec can but you’re saying they can sense how you do that?’ the second in command responds ‘Captain Drissum, sir. We generate static electricity in our fur and change it through our nerve system into heat. But the energy will set off the sense of the Quelec.’ With a slow nod Marcus will gesture to the people with him ‘We specifically picked people from a cold climate with generations of experience for this mission: Katjuk from the united Inuit tribes, and Bjørn from the high north and re-established viking society. After many humans left the planet because space travel became widely available the sudden climate changes from the departure of all these people caused an ice age to some degree. All of a sudden skills their people had perfected over generations became increasingly valuable, now they come to share this with us.’

Stepping into the middle of the group Katjuk is the first to speak, ‘we have means to travel the icy tundra without alerting the Quelec, and my friend and his crew have the skills and weapons to protect us during this track. The air is almost good for us the only dangerous aspect is the sulfur and a simple respirator will fix this without using electricity.’ Loquacious lets out a loud bellowing laugh ‘How in the eternal universe are you going to survive the cold without your electricity run suits then? And if you people are soooo cool why do you need us?!’ Marcus just facepalms and Bjørn shoulders past him towering above most people here, but only at eye hight with Loquacious ‘Unless you want us to drop you at the surface with us, you get to sit in your pretty ships and shoot up the other pole and if you are actually brave you can make a bigger splash by going into orbit and making sure they leave their hidey holes.’ kitjak pulls out several packages of fabric and shows one of them to the groups ‘these are a type of clothes our ancestors have used to keep warm in horrible cold, we are going to use them now to do the same. Now on how to get on the planet we are going to do a dead drop, with parachutes. No electricity involved.’ With a thoughtful expression the elder woman looks at the main Lokach, ‘we are going to need your biggest stealth ship, i have been told that it can start up with unheard of speeds almost straight up, is that correct? If so we would need it dropped with us, it is going to be our way out, hopefully it is too quick for the Quelec to respond and we can be picked ultimately outside of orbit.’ Taking a step forward the male bows his head ‘thisss iss the cassse indeed, how do you know it exists?’ Marcus laughs ‘we know most things, but that is not the point now.’ Seemingly having decided that the other groups knew all they needed the humans start speaking with eachother about how they are going to time all of it.

After the fact Loquacious recounts with stunned admiration to the Conclave ‘they dropped down from our highspeed ships with 30 creatures they call dogs, specifically trained to pull sleds and run in packs. The sleds flew over the icy landscape with no regard for the cold. Once they arrived at the strong hold Bjørns men put on spikes on their feet, ropes all around them and scaled the walls like it was nothing. Somehow it took no more than 30 minutes for them to return with the hostages, dropping them down with the ropes like they weighed nothing. Immediately being clothed by Kitjacks group put on the sleds, to return at breakneck speeds.’ Loquacious is silent for a bit when Ilsop (the head Lokach) speaks up ‘with no regard for their own safety they returned the people to the ship we had dropped in the forest line, the dogs are trained to not fear anything their people will tell them to do. There was no sign of exhaustion on these creatures, i believe they would have been able to walk so much further.’ Shocked faces all around look to the massive windows overlooking the internal park of this garden world where a dozen humans are playing with dangerous predators without a fear in the world.

The humans will always find a way.

Outside Bjørn is speaking with Kitjak ‘You know it wasnt even that cold, a Canadian would have worn shorts’ Laughing loudly the woman agrees.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tadah

As this is not my culture i did a lot of research, if i have represented things wrong please tell me. Because of that i have remained vague on certain aspects i could not find clear info on.

This took a bit but in response to @caffineandsugar s request for nordic/inuit/ scandinavian focussed.

[trashmouth-richie]

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 : part 2

꧁ eddie x female reader  :: read part 1 here

a multi chapter mini series— based on thoroughfare by ethel cain

listen here (apple music) + here (spotify)

summary: jumping into his truck at seventeen, eddie takes a journey in hopes to find love. years pass with no such luck, along the way he stumbles across you, a timid drifter who reluctantly agrees to join him, heading west. you’ve never trusted men, but something in those kind, deep colored coffee eyes stirs up a feeling you’ve never felt before. strangers to lovers trope, one bed trope. 

5.6k triggers: 18+ only, smut, piv no condom, oral m&f receiving, loneliness, hard times heartache, finding yourself, humor about rocky mountain oysters 🐂 🦪 etc.

Indigo thunderheads belt a rhythm of applause across the Schell Creek Range. Strikes of lightning shred the sky into a kaleidoscope of colors, sharp acidic white and lavender swim in the night sky. The temperature had dropped enough to create the perfect recipe for a late summer storm, and Eddie’s truck was in the center of it. 

  The windows had been fogged up for a while now, the heat from your skin causing the condensation to build across the windshield. Frustration laid sourly beneath your surface, aching for his touch, high on his movements and the way he kept licking his bottom lip.  

  The tension bubbled and boiled so hot you could barely handle the extra heat emitting from your body. 

Eddie had readjusted himself more times than he probably had in any part of junior high. A single glimpse of your legs uncrossing and recrossing would start the process all over again. 

  You tried to busy yourself with counting the yellow dashes on the road, naming the fifty states in alphabetical order, but nothing- nothing, was stopping that steady roar of want.

  Rain had pelted the windshield in steady drops, but the last ten minutes had increased into a torrential downpour, just enough for the windshield wipers to have a hard time keeping up. There was simply no outrunning this storm. 

  “Shit,” Eddie hums, squinting at the disappearing road, “we’re gonna have to pull over, gettin’ hard to see.”  

  The small talk between you and Eddie had been just that today. Miniscule conversations that were cut short with one word answers, and longing glances so thick you had to physically peel your eyes from the way his throat danced when he took a sip from his water. 

  “There’s a town coming up,” you say, heart thumping your delicate finger moving along the lines of the map.

  Eddie looks at you, his throat going bone dry at the way the shadows played on your skin, and he has to swallow more than once to utter a response, “s-sounds good to me.” 

  Another night on the road. Another shady motel that smelled of stale cigarettes and regretted decisions. The weeks behind you were spent exactly like tonight. A day filled with burning rubber on the asphalt and exploring the smallest of towns on the map you had insisted on buying. 

  Sometimes, you’d both tuck in early for the night, checking into the nearest motel with a vacancy and the promise of a hot shower. Other nights you ate a questionable cheeseburger and fries at some shithole of a bar listening to live music, nursing a beer or two. 

  No matter what the day held, Eddie’s gentlemanly ways never faltered. He always let you shower first. Offering you first dibs on the paper wrapped soaps and the mini bottles of shampoo, and you made sure to leave enough conditioner for him.

  He was traditional in that way, any diner you went to he sat facing the entrance, eyes sweeping for exits. In the motels, he slept in the bed closest to the door, there was no use arguing with him over these small little acts of preservation. Your groans of protests were met with the same kind of answer each time. Take note sweetheart, I might just be the last chivalrous guy around. 

  What Eddie didn’t realize is that he probably was. 

  “… should have realized she was up to no good when she kept feeding me drinks all night and eyeing my ring.”

  You nearly choke on a slice of pizza you’d ordered while waiting for Eddie to get out of the shower. The bathroom door swings open and he emerges from the steamed room, wet hair beading against his bare shoulders. 

  The greased stained corners of a pizza box sat on your bed. Feet crossed beneath your legs, hair wrapped in a towel, you held up a finger and spoke with a mouthful, “Wait, wait wait. When was this?” 

  The same sweatpants he always wore to bed were slung low on his hips, showing off the gray elastic of his boxer briefs. He threw a white tank top from a pack of six over his head, and you watched as it clung to his chest still wet from his shower, hiding the silvery peek of a chain necklace. 

  “My first week leaving home,” he sighed, reaching for a slice, leaning his long frame onto his side laying on the edge of the bed, “just a tad bit naive.” 

  A laugh bubbles from your throat and you try to hide it behind your hand, “so, innocent little Eddie got his ring stolen after thinking he hit the jackpot with Tracie?” 

  “No no, this was Tiffany,” he said, chucking a parmesan packet at you playfully, a laugh erupting from him, “c’mon now, listen to the story.” 

  “Okay, okay!” you surrender, “what happened next?” 

  He sits up animatedly, smile stretched like taffy across his face, “well, we went back to the motel and when I woke up…truck was still there, cash never even touched. The only thing she took was the ring and the boots right off of my feet.” 

  “Nah uh… you’re lying.” 

  Eddie’s smirk grows wide, and he takes another bite of his pizza, “looked pretty dumb walking into that boot store with just socks on.” 

  You both laugh until the tears slide down your cheeks. Like old friends who had known each other for years, giggling at jokes only the two of you found funny. Eddie made you feel comfortable the second you sat in his truck, with him it wasn’t complicated. Something foreign to you, but you found it easy to adjust to his easy going ways. 

  “Alright,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “you heard all of my on the road woes, time you tell me something I don’t know.” 

  You slink further down the bed, head resting on the pillows, ankles crossed by Eddie's outstretched legs. 

  “I don’t like olives, or mushrooms.” 

  Eddie raises his eyebrows, “whoa, pump the brakes… you’re gettin’ a little too deep here.” 

  You hold up a suggestive finger in front of your smirk and he laughs, “c’mon honey, tell me why you were walkin’ on that road the day we met.” 

  Flashbacks of slamming doors and yelling voices ring loud in your ears, and you sigh, “it’s a long story.” 

  “Good thing we don’t have anywhere to be, huh?” 

  Picking at your nails you think back to the childhood— or lack thereof, that you were raised in. The anger, the hurt, the emotional pain still heavy on your chest. From the sound of his life and the way he talks about the love his parents had for one another, you doubt he wouldn’t be terrified of the demons you’d faced. 

  A slow shake from your head and you look up to his eyes in the warm auburn light. Brimmed with care and full of trust, you shudder from the intensity. 

  “No judgment here,” he says softly, laying a hand on his chest, “I promise.”

  Taking a deep breath you stare at the chipped polish on your toes, working your hands into a rub as you begin the wretched story of your life. 

  The small town you’d seen on the map shouldn’t have been given a name at all. A one horse town would have been too much to describe the absolute barren grounds of what laid ahead of you. 

  A green sign proudly stated the name of it and the population count “8 , no services.” A building that should have been scheduled for demolition had a single light above the sign that said “vacant” flickering like morse code. Looking around, this was it, the entire motel looked to be the size of a small home. 

  Eddie eased the pickup in front of what seemed to be the front office after noticing a television glaring through a filthy window. The rain fell harder now, beating down against the truck so loud you could barely hear him as he told you to stay put.

  A large sigh heaves from your lips the second his door clicked shut. You needed to get a grip on yourself. But you can’t, finding yourself smoothing down your shirt, rummaging through your bag to rub deodorant beneath your arms. 

  Pulling down the visor, you can see the heated flush on the apples of your cheeks in the tiny cracked mirror. You’re a mess as your mind slips to the way his jeans squeezed on his ass and seem to tighten against the zipper, the flutter of his lashes when you caught him looking— your thighs shut together to find relief.

  The driver's door opens the same time you snap the visor back into place and there he stands, drenched from head to toe. A look of bewilderment on his face. The eyes that sparkled were suddenly set into a gloom as he slid behind the steering wheel and sat, staring ahead. 

  “Everything, okay?” 

  “Oh yeah, no worries, just uh.. little snag, but I have an idea,” his smile warms you from the inside out and your thighs press together tighter, air breached from your lungs as your stomach plummets. 

Your voice grows small as you finish the lengthy tale of your life, and you wipe your runny nose against the end of the towel. 

  The radio plays Elton John’s Your Song gently in the background and you tuck your feet under your legs. Picking at the pilling fabric of the comforter, letting out a gentle morose sigh. 

  “Sorry to be a Debbie Downer.”

  Seriousness clouds his eyes, and he looks almost sad as he leans forward and hooks a finger under your chin until your eyes meet his, “dance with me?” 

  Warmth radiates from him, the feeling of home lies in the depths of his eyes. Reaching out. 

  “Here? Now?”

  He climbs from the bed leaning a hand down to yours, “yeah,” he shrugs, “I like this song.” 

  Don’t have much money but..boy, if I did

I’d buy a big house where, we both could live.

If I was a sculptor but then again no

  He stands tall above you, looking down the slope of his nose, a smile on his lips at the timid way you approach him, hands held out in an offering of you weren’t even sure of what. 

  “Just letting you know now, that I haven’t danced since the Prom, and even then it was—”

  Eddie grabs your hands and pulls you gently into him, stepping back to leave space. Your hands slither up against his biceps and land on his shoulders, thumbs flicking gently over the firm muscle there. 

  “I’ll lead,” he says, keeping his hands above your hips, touching the bottom of your ribs with his large fingers, “this okay?”

  Screaming internally, you simply nod with your eyes closed. Going solely on his touch as Eddie begins to sway you both from side to side. 

  Where you are clumsy, Eddie is surprisingly limber on his feet. His hands move you this way and that, and he chokes on his laugh when you move your feet forward when they should have gone back and your toes crush into his. 

  But the suns been quite kind while I wrote this song

it’s for people like you that keep it turned on

So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do

  Your skin is ablaze where his palms hold you tight, heart thumping in your chest in a rhythmic staccato of its own accord. His eyes look dreamy in the low light, long lashes sweeping the highs of his cheeks when he blinks. 

  You're so caught up in his beauty that you don’t hear the low murmur of his voice the first time he speaks. 

  “Sorry?”

  Eddie chuckles and you can feel it bubble from his chest, “I said, it’s nice right?” 

  “The dance?” 

  “Well,” he says with a small smirk, “that too, but I was talking about the song.” 

  Heat rises in your cheeks and you bite your lip, but he doesn’t notice because he’s soon leaning forward, his nose brushing the shell of your ear. 

  His voice is like liquid smoke, curling around you and wrapping you into the warmest embrace, one that you’d gladly die in. 

  “You’re not half bad at this,” he says with a grin that you can hear with the squeak from his cheeks.

  Leaning back you look him in the eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity in the desert browns, “maybe i’ll take up line dancing.” 

  “That,” he says with a laugh, twirling you away from him in the most un-graceful way your body could move. Ankles knocking into one another, toes burning against the short carpet. “I would pay to see.” 

  You spend the rest of the song dancing and giggling at his stupid jokes and the way he whips his long hair around.

  More than just friendship brews between you. His arms held you against him, not letting you go. Eddie’s voice curls into a whisper against your ear, his barely dry hair tickling your shoulder,  “I’m happy you’re here with me, and I’m sorry you were treated that way.” 

  Your head angles into his chest, and you lay your cheek against him, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “I’m happy to be here too.”

  The cheese had gone stone cold on the forgotten pizza, song after song you swayed back and forth until Casey Kasem started taking requests on the radio.

  The rain seeps through your thin shirt as you stand at the door with your bag slung over your shoulder, patiently waiting for the key to work. 

  Eddie must have jiggled it into the sweet spot after a few minutes of working the handle, swinging the door open and ushering you inside just as a loud clap of thunder booms across the sky. 

  You jump on instinct and Eddie snuffs out a snort as you run your hand along the wall to find the light switch. 

  The lights sputtered and hummed to life, showcasing cobwebbed corners and illuminating the orb of dead flies. The wallpaper was peeling away from itself in long tawny strips, curled to a crisp on the edges. A sign written in cursive was crudely taped to the tv saying “out off of order”. 

  But out of all of the eyesores in the room, there was still something off. 

  One bed. 

A week and hundreds of miles stretched on from the night you and Eddie had danced together. He noticed you smiling more, the barriers you had up were lowered,  and no matter how much he tried— he couldn’t stop thinking about you. 

  The bar you had stopped at to get supper was packed. Peanut shells coated the floor and there was a fight breaking out in the back corner. Eddie’s hand warmed your lower back as he pointed you towards a small table. 

  A waitress dumped handwritten menus with faded ink at your table. He watched your eyebrows raise in question as you read the appetizers. 

  “Fresh Rocky Mountain Oysters fried in a cornmeal blend?” you questioned, “what even is that?”

  Eddie’s lips pressed tight to hide a laugh, “well they’re not real oysters… and the Rocky Mountain part is more or less a nod to where they came from.” 

  Your eyebrows tick up in confusion and then disgust as he explains just exactly how and what those “oysters” are made from. 

  “Yeah… think I’ll just stick with the cheese balls.” 

  He laughs as your mouth turns to a frown. “Good choice. The sign outside claimed they had the best bison burgers in the state, that’s what I’m gonna get.” 

  “Does that come with or without testicles?” 

  He doesn’t miss a beat, “hopefully without those suckers are expensive.” 

  Your laugh sounded loud in his soul, your smile sung to him anytime he saw it, and fuck, he wondered if you knew just how gorgeous you really were. 

  A singular mattress. For you and for Eddie. 

  Before you can say anything Eddie’s already apologizing, “I swear, this is all they had…” he says, letting out a large sigh, wiping the rain from his face with the sleeve of his soaked shirt. 

  He shuts the door and clicks the locks into place before he moves his things to the other side of the room, “you take the bed, I’ll make do with the floor.” 

  Your brows crease and you pout in disbelief, “don’t be ridiculous Eddie, I’m not gonna let you sleep on the fl—” 

  “I’ll be fine, sweetheart,” he smiles, a tired look on his face as he hauls his duffle bag into the bathroom, wet fringe sticking to his forehead, “don’t worry bout me…gonna change quick.” 

  Rifling through your bag you dress into your pajamas quickly. Your stomach turned. It wasn’t right, you would not let him sleep on the floor of this dirty room. This entire trip he had been paying for the motel stays, and you’d be damned if he was going to have a sore back because of… this. 

  A single curse is muffled through the thin walls followed by a chuckle, “hey, you can add another thing to the list of shit going wrong tonight.” 

  The carpet was damp beneath your feet as you moved to the bathroom, “what happened?” 

  Eddie throws open the door, sporting a black pair of boxer briefs sprinkled with rain drops, and nothing else besides a splatter of pink blush on his cheeks. You almost choke at the sight of him. 

  Despite the circumstances, a smile remains on his pink lips, “all of my clothes are soaked.” 

  With the burning tension and your body screaming all day in the cab of the pickup, your mind was preoccupied. Not even registering that his bag had been in the bed of the truck, soaking up every drop of rain it could into its blue canvas shell. 

  You’ve seen him bare chested before, but the way the rain clung to his skin, he looked ethereal, and your stomach lurched when he stepped around you, his arm sliding against yours with a potent electricity. 

  “We um…” your tongue felt like velcro stuck to the roof of your mouth, peeling the first layer off of it for sure as you spoke. Grabbing a pair of his jeans from his bag to hang up over the back of a dusty chair, you suggest, “we can hang your stuff up to dry, hopefully by tomorrow they’ll be alright.”

  You work quickly, pulling pants and shirts from the bag and hanging them in various places, hoping that the heat from your cheeks would subside if you didn’t look at him. 

  He holds the last pair of pants in his large hands. Holding them out he suddenly withdraws, holding the bundle of wet fabric high above his head, laughing as you reach on your tiptoes to grab them. 

  The pout on your lips makes his quirked smile spread across his cheeks as you stretch further to reach his arm. Laughter erupts from him. 

  Your thin cotton shirt is smushed into his wet chest, your breath catches in your throat when your nipples harden from the cold touch of his skin skimming over yours. He stops entirely, bringing the pants down and tossing them on the nearest chair, those deep eyes never leaving yours. 

  His hand runs the length of your arm, starting at the knob of your shoulder, trickling with feather light touches down to your fingertips, entwining them with his. Pulling you gently closer into him.

  A sigh fell from his lips so beautiful it could make Medusa blush, and you nearly passed out from holding in your own breath. 

  His other hand rubs against your cheek, calloused and strong, and your insides melt to jelly at his touch. He  presses his forehead to yours, and you move your hands around his waist, pressing your fingertips into the meat of his lower back. 

  For years you have been afraid, never trusting anyone, especially men. But with him it was different, he was gentle, kind, and caring. It was as easy as breathing, and came on as quickly as falling asleep. Here in his arms you felt content for the first time in a long while. 

  Eddie’s heart beat is thumping loud but sure. “You’re beautiful… do you know that?” 

  The heat ignites in your core as his words seep into your skin. Shaking, you clear your throat to steady yourself, “you really think so?” 

  He nods his head, “It’s been a long damn time since I left home,” he nearly whispers, “nothing left… but now that I met you, I finally know just where I’m headin’.” 

  A tear leaks from your eyes and he kisses it away. His lips felt like satin on your skin, and you sucked in a breath at the feel of them. His eyes looked into yours and he whispers, “don’t cry, sweetheart.”

  You needed him, craved to have all of bim. And you surprised yourself as you raised on your toes, pulling him towards you. His lips pressed lightly into yours and you swore your breath was taken away even though you were expecting it. You open your mouth and welcome his tongue, eyes rolling in your head as he massages it with yours. 

  Eddie’s hands wrap against your shirt, feeling your bare skin pressing you further into him as you whimper into him. 

  The carpet squashed beneath your feet as you walk backwards towards the bed, a frenzy of locked lips and wandering hands. Fingers tugging into his curls, Eddie moans against your mouth, his hands squeezing at your hips. He breaks from your lips, his wet and spit licked. 

  The brown eyes you’ve been accustomed to staring in never leave yours as he sits on the bed, leaning back on his elbows. The shine of his chain gleaming in the dull light. 

  Thunder raps loud outside, wind thrashing and howling against the window. Your fingers roll against the hem of your shirt and you don’t think twice before hauling it over your head, moving towards Eddie and the impressive length bulging from his boxer briefs. Your knees touch lightly.

  His lips suck between his teeth as he drinks you in. Lazily eyeing over every curve, every imperfection, the tight peaks of your nipples. 

  You climb over, your knees sinking into the bed on either side of his narrow hips, resting on his lap. With one hand cupping his cheek, you lower your lips to his skin. 

  He groans when you kiss the hollow of his throat, kissing up his neck until you nip at his ear lobe, sucking that small silver hoop into your mouth.

  “So pretty like this,” he murmurs into your ear, “like an angel.” His hands roam over your skin with blunt nails. Up and down your back his touch electrifies you. Your own noises unravel as he grows beneath you. 

  Murmuring his name, you arch into his touch, elongating your neck until his ravenous hands skim the delicate skin of your breasts, thumbs rolling against your nipples. His mouth attaches to your skin and you whimper when he rolls you over and lays you down on the dusty comforter. 

  Your ankles cross behind his back as he grinds into you, kissing you so deeply you couldn’t get enough. He was gentle with you, waiting for your nods of approval as he slipped your panties off. He trailed kisses down your cheek to your neck as his fingers swirled up and up your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their trek. 

  Thunder and lightning competed for attention outside but you were lost in Eddie. Wrapping your fingers in his hair when he circled your clit, whimpering when he slipped his finger into your wet sex. 

  You weren’t sure where your moans ended and his began, but when he added a second finger you swore lightning broke through the window and struck against your eyes. 

  He was deliberate yet slow as he coaxed you along, kissing and licking at your neck, his hair sticking to his sweaty skin and yours. The wind picked up more and rattled the door as your legs shook beneath him, coming undone by his hand. 

  You laid in a dreamy haze and when you opened your eyes you realized the lights had gone out from the storm, but a flash of lightning lit Eddie’s skin in sheets of white light as he pushed himself up, taking one last kiss from your lips. 

  He didn’t hurry you along as you reached for the waistband of his underwear, only groaned when he popped up heavy against his stomach, a beaded pearl already formed on his tip. His impressive length seemed to grow before your eyes as you placed a hand on him, and he hissed as you tugged him. 

  He was stunning, kneeling before you, shining with sweat, his lips bit between his teeth from your hands stroking him. You laid down again, opening wide with a smirk twisted on your mouth. 

  Lining himself up with your entrance, your hands skimmed down the muscles of his back, feeling the way they rippled when he pushed himself in, your combined whimpers deaf against the thunder cracking. He was large, an ache you wanted between your legs again and again if he wanted. 

  Eddie’s eyes meet yours as he collects your lips with his, and you nod for him to go deeper. He stretched you until your breath quickened, making sure you were okay, kissing your cheeks, your eyelids, the spot behind your ear. It was soothing the way he took care of you, and when you told him he could move, he drug out of you slow, your walls constricting around him. 

  Cursing he squeezed his eyes shut as you clamped around him, and when he drove back into you, again and again, you swore you found Heaven. 

  You were both hard-pressed for air and sweating, your name falling from his lips in broken syllables as you both unraveled. Heaven was in his arms, in his smile, in the way his fingers laced with yours and pressed down into the mattress as his kisses deepened. 

  The storm raged war against itself outside but neither of you noticed. Tangled in eachother’s arms and once again joining together under the sheets, this time his lips pressed to your ear as he held you tight to him and took you from behind as you both laid on your sides. 

  Hours passed taking the clouds and thunder away. The only thing remaining on the mattress was a bottom sheet, one end still tucked and clinging for dear life. You didn’t know when you both ended up on the floor, and you didn’t mind the bite of the carpet on your knees as you wrapped your mouth around him. His moans spread across the room, no thunder to mask it. 

  When sunlight streamed through holes in the moth bitten curtain, his head laid on your bare chest, your hand in his curls. Dust danced in the warm rays across the room, laying heavy with the rest of the unkept space. 

  The buttery rays spread across your naked bodies, displaying the wine splotched skin marks on your chest. Your thighs had similar stains, ones that were licked better by the one who gave them. He had traces from last night on his neck and hips too, uneven stamps of purple and red painted from your mouth as you claimed him. 

  The two of you slept until the sun wavered to the west. . You had curled into him like a caterpillar in a cocoon, his breathing fanning your face as he gently snored, curls messy and frizzy. 

  Eddie’s clothes finally dried in the musty motel room, and you packed up and left when the sun was starting its radiant descent behind the mountains. 

  The small town was covered in wreckage from the storm, White Fir needles sprinkled the roads like confetti, branches laid across sections of the road that Eddie had to maneuver the truck around. But you finally made it back to the highway. 

  Back on the road. 

Weeks passed and things went back to the way they had before. You didn’t share a bed again, and you didn’t bother to ask why. Looks still lingered, but neither of you crossed that line again. 

  You knew Eddie was looking for something that was more than what you could offer, and maybe he was caught up in the heat of the moment, maybe the storm swayed his opinion on you just for that night. 

  It killed you to not feel his touch, not feel the warmth from his body heat as he slept, not feel those lips on your neck your thighs your chest. The ache between your legs lasted days, but it was nothing compared to the hurt in your chest. 

  He didn’t know you wiped tears away every night when the lights went off or during your shower. What you had together that night was something special, and you’d cherish it for the rest of your life. 

  It wasn’t until you were on the border of the western state that you noticed him starting to act differently. His stares became longer. He stayed up talking with you until the witching hour. Maybe he would miss your friendship when he got to where he was going, you’d miss him. But you knew your time together was coming to an end.

  Still, you braved a smile on your face for him. No strings attached, the only thing left between you was the shared bench of his truck and that stormy night where you both spent the storm in each other's arms until dawn. 

  He was still Eddie, still made you laugh and was the gentleman he always had been. But whatever started in that motel room lived and died there. 

  Those feelings you had for him were smoldering and you had to remind yourself that once you hit California it would be the end of your journey with Eddie. The man who saved your life in more ways than you could imagine, showing you kindness and compassion. 

  That was why he was on the road the same day you were. Fate brought him to you as a gift, an offering to soothe your soul from the wickedness you’d encountered, and for that, and Eddie, you’d be forever grateful. 

  California was on the horizon, and you had stopped at a small restaurant on the Nevada border before crossing into the final stretch of your journey. The food was good but the conversation was light, as if you both knew the end was nearing. 

  He had to look away from you more than once, shaking his head in the middle of a conversation as if to preserve himself from being hurt. 

  On the way back to the truck you felt the book start to close between your stories, and you nearly wept at the thought of never seeing him again. 

  “So,” Eddie asked, kicked a rock back to the truck after finishing up supper. “Where to now?”

  You slurped the rest of a Cherry Coke and made a confused face, “what do you mean? I thought you were going to California, lookin’ for love?” 

  He paused when you reached your door, eyes peering into the distance. “I made it this far without it.” He turns to you, looking so deep into your eyes your soul waved back at him. A smile creeps on his face, “well maybe not, cause look at what I’ve got.” 

  Your breath hitched in your chest and he closed the space between you, his hand on your cheek, the other on the door, “you might not be my love, but baby… I doubt it.” 

  Your eyes brim with tears as he presses his lips to yours. Lacing your fingers around his neck, he lifts you up into a hug, spinning you around in the desert sand. 

  He sets you down, placing his hands on your lower back, moving you gently in the same dance you had done months before. “I never told you,” he began, murmuring into your ear, “that day we met, not a single radio station would come in, I drove a hundred miles that day and nothing. But when I popped over that hill, and saw you walking with nothing but turmoil and angst on your shoulders, a song finally played, something I hadn’t heard in years.” 

  You move your head from his chest and smile looking up to him, “what song?”

  “The same one that played the last time we did this.” he said with a smile, “I knew when it played again that you were meant for me baby, that I’d found what I’d been looking for.” 

  And for the first time since you were a child, you knew that not all men were angry and hateful. Some of them were good, and handsome, and made you smile so much your cheeks ached. You felt your heart finally heal. Eddie sewing it shut, and the smile on your face mirrored his own. 

  “Told you I was lucky…now tell me love,” he said, kissing your lips and holding your face in his hands, “where are we going next?”

  You squeezed him against you and looked up at him, at the love you had also found that you weren’t expecting, “anywhere with you and all of your dumb luck is the only place I think I’d ever wanna be.” 

  …and you said “hey, do you wanna see the West with me? Cause loves out there and I can’t leave it be.”

  And I said “honey, loves never meant much to me, oh, But i’ll come with you if you’re sure that’s what you need.” 

🌵 taglist: @joejoequinnquinn @micheledawn1975 @dashingdeb16 @hereforshmut @welc0me-t0-hellfire

@aropodcastfuck @erinekc @sage-glowstick @emma-munson @b-irock

@miaajaade @bastardstevie

[wreckedandpolemic]

thinkin’ lots about your mouth - matty healy

(mdni) in which your boyfriend (yes, boyfriend) has an oral fixation, and you give him exactly what he wants. part of the regret me universe and summer75 2024. 1446 words.

warnings: mild temperature play, handjob, gagging, praise, degradation

Matty, you’ve noticed, has something of an oral fixation. If his mouth isn’t moving a mile a minute, there’s something between his lips, whether it’s a cigarette, his lower lip or a necklace. Or, today, an ice lolly. He’s lounging by the pool, licking and sucking pornographically on it, lips stained red as a bead of juice trickles from his lip.

You’re sweating from something entirely besides the weather, watching him push the lolly as far down his throat as it’ll go and locking eyes with you. He pulls it out of his mouth and lifts it in a toast, grinning proudly and licking the juice off his lips. Heat prickles in your belly and you wander up to him, perching at the edge of his sun lounger and lifting your sunglasses to stare into his eyes. “Little show-off,” you tease, but it comes out soft, fond, a little fragile as you map the edges of your new dynamic with him.

After your little outburst the last night of tour, Matty had confronted you and begged for the two of you to make a real go of it; try an actual relationship after years of denying you felt anything for each other. Obviously, because neither of you are capable of being fucking normal about the other, letting a relationship develop naturally, you immediately moved in with him. It still holds an element of unreality, feels like a vacation, like one wrong move could shatter the tenderness blossoming between you. He finishes the lolly, smacks his lips obnoxiously and grins over at you.

“Always need that pretty mouth filled up, huh?” you smirk, nudging Matty forward so you can sit behind him, resting your head on his shoulder and pressing a soft kiss against his cheek. A gentle smile crosses his face as he tips his head back to bare his neck, curls brushing your bare shoulders. “You gonna be a good boy for me, baby?” you ask, trailing one hand down his stomach and feeling his muscles tense under your touch. He nods, grinning dopily like he can’t believe how gentle you’re being. “C’mon, darling, words,” you add, brushing over his cock through his shorts just to feel his hips jump.

“Yeah,” Matty gasps, a flush spreading across his cheeks. “Yeah, m’a good boy. Your good boy, only f’you,” he promises, and your heart flutters a little. It’s hardly the first time he’s said those words, not even the first time he’s meant them, but it feels different now. Now that, after so long, he’s really, truly yours.

You press slow, lazy kisses along his neck, cupping his jaw with your free hand and turning it towards you. “All mine,” you grin, your words finally free of the bite that usually accompanies them, the bitter untruth finally dissolved into sweetness on your tongue. His lips are still cold when you kiss him, gloriously soothing in the summer heat with the sugary taste dripping into your mouth.

Leaning down, you reach into the cooler that sits on the floor next to you and pull out another ice lolly. Unwrapping it, you do the kind of disgustingly couple-y thing you never could have dreamed of even a month ago, licking slowly across its surface before lifting it to Matty’s lips. His tongue comes out eagerly, lapping at the treat as you palm his cock slowly. “Please,” he murmurs, low and reverent. “Feels good. Want more, want you to touch me,” he pleads, hissing when you press the ice against his neck.

“Such a sweet boy, askin’ so nicely. You gotta keep quiet, though, princess. We’re outside, anyone could hear those slutty little noises you make.” Matty shivers and you slowly trail the lolly down his chest, leaning down to lick the melted sugar off his neck. “Those are just for me now, right?”

Biting into the lolly, you let the ice melt on your tin for a moment as Matty whimpers, “Yeah. All f’you. M’yours.” You grin proudly, catching his lips and slowly pressing the ice into his mouth as you draw sticky, red circles across his chest.

Your cold lips meet his neck and you slide your hand under his waistband to free his cock, slowly stroking him and savouring the way he twitches helplessly. “So sweet,” you murmur. “S’okay, princess. Fuck my hand if you wanna.” His hips jolt, his cock drooling precum against your fingers as you kiss and bite at his neck.

“Thank you,” Matty gasps, instinctive and syrupy-sweet in your ear. You dig your nail into his slit in reward and he whines, a sweetly pathetic little sound that falls straight between your legs.

“Shh, baby. Gotta be quiet, remember?” you murmur. “S’okay, princess. Such a dumb little slut, can’t think about anything but how bad you want it, huh?” You kiss the corner of his mouth, just because you can, a little giddy with the feeling. “Let me help you, yeah?” You drop the ice lolly, letting it melt on the hot stone, and stroke across his flushed cheek.

Matty nods eagerly, and you slide two fingers into his mouth, drool pooling under his tongue, still cool from the ice. He moans softly around your fingers, sucking gently, almost absently, as you jerk him off. Hips stuttering, he gives a garbled whine that might be your name, the sound stoking fire between your legs.

Despite the gag, he seems determined to make as much noise as possible, whimpering pathetically as you stroke and squeeze just the way he likes. “God, just can’t help yourself, can you, darling? Sound so pretty, baby. You can take a little more, right?” Matty nods as best he can, and you press your fingers a little deeper. The obscene sound of his gag sends a pulse of heat washing over you, and you speed up your motions over his cock in reward.

“Such a good boy,” you croon softly; the sweetness of the words on your tongue is unfamiliar but far from unpleasant. Kissing his neck, you taste an intoxicating combination of sweat and sugar, licking eagerly over his damp skin. You can feel Matty getting closer, cock leaking precum stickily over your fingers as he fucks into your fist with abandon.

He’s moaning helplessly around your fingers, trembling at your touch and drooling messily under your fingers. “Aw, baby. You waitin’ for permission?” Matty nods frantically, something like Yeah, m’your good boy spilling from his lips, red and spit-slick. “God, so sweet. Trained you so well, haven’t I? My little slut.” You play with him a little longer, teasing his head and squeezing him gently. “So gorgeous. Go on, princess. Cum for me.”

At the last second, you slide your fingers free, wiping his spit against his chest an instant before his orgasm rips through him. A moan tears free from Matty’s throat, high and loud, cum splashing over your fingers as his body quivers with effort. Grabbing his jaw, you turn his head and kiss him as he comes, swallowing his moans as he comes over his stomach. “Thank you,” he murmurs against your lips, grinning dopily. “Felt s’good.”

“Made such a mess,” you croon, lifting your hand to his lips. Without even needing to be instructed, Matty takes your fingers in his mouth, cleaning them off with a greedy moan. “Dirty boy,” you giggle, getting to your feet and sliding back down into his lap. You grab his hand and slip it into your bikini, gasping as he finds your clit instinctively and brushes a slow circle. “See how wet you make me? I need you,” you murmur against the shell of his ear, his responding shudder endearingly pathetic.

“Lookin’ at me like you wanna eat me,” he groans, cock twitching between his legs as your smirk only grows.

Matty draws sloppy figure-eights on your clit, pleasure spiking in your core and dripping against his fingers. “Mhmm,” you moan. “Been such a good boy, Matty. Gonna let you fuck me, if you want.” He nods so hard you’d almost think his neck was going to snap. “So eager, princess. I don’t wanna do all the work again, though. Come fuck me into the mattress?”

It’s almost comical how fast Matty scrambles to his feet, tugging you inside by the hand and frantically pulling at your bikini. He slides home with a sweet little moan, and you tangle your hands in his hair and kiss him, hungry and content. You lose yourself in each other’s bodies, a tangle of limbs and hands and messy kisses. “That’s it, baby. Makin’ me feel so good. My good boy,” you moan against his lips.

“All yours, promise m’yours.”

[mbari-blog]

#tfw you don't know which way is up #HumpDay⁠

⁠Volcanic activity on the seafloor creates scattered oases known as hydrothermal vents. These underwater geysers spew superheated water rich in dissolved minerals. When that scalding-hot water comes in contact with frigid deep-ocean water, the minerals crystallize, raining tiny flecks of “ash” to the seafloor. Those mineral deposits build up over time, creating breathtaking spires and “chimneys” that can grow to hundreds of feet tall.⁠ ⁠ Less than 25 percent of the seafloor has been mapped at the same level of detail as the Moon or Mars. MBARI’s mission is to advance marine science and technology to understand our changing ocean—from the surface to the seafloor. For nearly four decades, MBARI has explored the deep ocean, recording thousands of hours of video with our remotely operated vehicles and mapping thousands of kilometers of seafloor using advanced robots. Together, these tools are helping to create a clearer picture of the amazing environments hidden in the ocean’s inky depths. ⁠ ⁠ The astonishing communities that live on and around hydrothermal vents have evolved to flourish under extreme temperatures and chemical conditions. The remarkable tubeworms, crabs, clams, and more that thrive here are found nowhere else on Earth. Now, with more companies looking to extract mineral resources from the ocean, it is more important than ever to study the deep sea and the wonders it holds. The maps we create and data we collect can help resource managers make informed decisions about the ocean, its inhabitants, and its resources. Together, we can safeguard these unique biological and geological treasures.

[cmaidaartworkblog]

This video showcases my Blender model of the planet that the Scud aliens call home, the fourth and final world I've mapped out for @jayrockin's "Runaway to the Stars" project. A *lot* of maps were created in service of this final render, and also in service of presenting the special qualities of this planet. I intend to show you as many of these as I can under the cut, and also in subsequent posts focusing on some of the more interstitial, ancillary maps and figures that played a part in producing the primary maps you'll see in this main post.

Before I show the first maps I made for this project, what you see below are the satellite-style maps for the Equinoxes and Solstices, in order of (Northern) Spring, Summer, Fall, and Winter, the latter serving as the texture for the Blender object you saw in the video.

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With that matter covered, our next focus is this project's foundation: Geology. While I didn't spin as elaborate a tectonic history for this planet as I did for the Ayrum commission, I did work out as much detail as I could for the more recent geological activity, to set the stage for the elevation data - including a narrower focus on the coastal shallows that host the Scud populations.

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Once I could move on to climate, my first step was finding this planet's relative Insolation, which I managed thanks to @reversedumbrella's code and coaching. With an obliquity of only 16 degrees, this planet's yearly maximum Insolation levels stick close to the equator, compared to pole-to-pole oscillation we see on Earth

__________

Having a rough sense of where heat would concentrate seasonally and how the landmasses would deflect water in light of the planet's retrograde spin, I was able to set down the bi-annual ocean currents (Northern Summer above and Northern Winter below), then the monthly water temperatures pushed around by said currents, and finally -after factoring in many other considerations- the monthly land temperatures as well (combined in the second gif)

__________

Next came the seasonal air pressure maps and subsequent wind patterns (my first time creating those from scratch), which later factored into the precipitation maps. The incredible temperatures at the largest continent's interior make a desert of most of it, and the other interiors are fairly dry too, but all that heat on the equatorial ocean generates a *lot* of evaporation which ends up coming down elsewhere.

__________

With temperatures and precipitation mapped out for each month, I was able to find how the accumulation and melt of ice and snow played out, too. Given such a hot equator it's surprising to see freezing temperatures hold out in some places, but low obliquity and high elevation shield what areas they can, it seems.

__________

All this monthly data was then painstakingly combined and compared and plugged into equations to produce maps of discrete climate zones, using both the Köppen (left) and Trewartha (right) classification systems. The higher latitudes see some overlap with Earth's conditions, but the Tropics...

__________

I never really finished the map I wanted to make with my own loosely customized classification system, but I *did* get as far as this breakdown of the areas that sometimes surpass 56.7 degrees Celsius, Earth's record for highest surface temperature ever directly measured. And as you can see, that earthly record is broken by a *significant* fraction of this planet's surface, and far exceeded by the equatorial continent's deep interior

__________

The final phase of this project dealt with creating satellite maps of this planet's surface (which you saw at the top of this post), which started with a map of dry and submerged substrate, then a density map of the vegetation that sits atop it, then the colors of that vegetation under annual average conditions (demonstrating how they would appear in-person, rather than the area's appearance from orbit), and finally plant colors under seasonal conditions (same conceit as previous). In concert with the seasonal ice and snow maps, it was the four maps in the last sequence which were overlaid on the Substrate map, using the plant density map as raster masks, to produce the final Satellite-Style maps.

__________

This planet's sophonts being a marine species, it was then worth focusing on the conditions underwater, which included monthly seafloor temperatures (first gif), annual discharge of sediment from rivers (magenta in the 2nd gif), and seasonal upwelling of nutrients from deeper water (blue in the 2nd gif).

The creation of all my maps seen in this post was possible thanks to Photopea, which has been my go-to for several years now. The resolution kinda got crunched when I uploaded these here, so when I share them on Reddit later I'll add those links under this. These have also already been posted on Twitter, which you can see here if you like. Thanks for scrolling all the way down here!

[muscari-midala]

Your Heart Pulling Against Mine - pt 2

David 8 x Reader Words: 1352 Part one is here Crossposted on Ao3 a/n: Thank you all for your love and support, you inspire me and I appreciate every single one of you! The chapter got overhauled for the added Prologue, its actually around 500 words longer now - woops.

The next day was spent training, getting your muscles back into shape to prepare for exploring the unknown planet.

You endured more of those unpleasant protein shakes to restore your nutrient balance and took the time to get to know your crewmates better.

For instance, you learned that the funky tattoo man was named Fifield - a geologist with a rough exterior.

Millburn, on the other hand, tried enthusiastically to befriend him, and to your amusement, so did you.

You had this odd feeling that the three of you - Fifield, Millburn, and yourself - might make for an amusing trio if given the chance.

Your respective fields were so different, yet so similar.

The captain, Janek, proved to be kind and approachable, with a knack for singing old songs when the mood struck.

Dr. Shaw turned out to be a fascinating and passionate conversation partner, brimming with enthusiasm about her work and theories.

Her boyfriend, Dr. Holloway, was another story entirely - quick to scoff at anything that didn’t come with absolute, irrefutable proof.

The contrast between them was almost entertaining.

Sharing a word with the Prometheus’ director, Miss Vickers, was, however, an impossible task.

The woman exchanged words only when absolutely necessary, and apparently, speaking to you was not.

With everyone else, you only got to exchange friendly nods till now, even though the two Co-Pilots, Ravel and Chance, seem to be fun as well.

Later that night, you once again found yourself lying in bed beside David, neither of you spoke, content to simply study the other's face.

It was a first for both of you, to be this close to someone of the opposite kind.

David had spent years near his "father," serving as both butler and later as his caretaker, but those interactions had always been bound by duty and distance, serving and performing tasks.

And you? Androids were a normal part of life, and you'd worked with them before, but... it was never like this.

You felt like a giddy teenager exploring their first partner's body.

Slowly, you reached up to touch his cheek, your fingers tracing his skin gently, searching for a difference from your own - but there was none.

He was convincingly human, if it weren’t for his slightly colder temperature.

Perfectly imperfect, you could even feel the artificial pores and fine wrinkles that textured his surface.

A small mole near his Adamsapple caught your attention, along with subtle pigmentation specks.

Such details served no purpose - they were excess, added on a whim by Peter Weyland simply because he could.

With equal carefulness, he mirrored your movement, his hand lifting to brush a thumb over your warm cheek, exploring you just the same.

When you offered for him to stay, he accepted without hesitation, sharing your bed because it helped you fall asleep faster.

At least you told him that was the reason for letting him stay with you.

You had been really furious when he let the information slip that he only got a small storage room for himself, oh, how furious you had been on his behalf even if he did not mind at all. Or did he? Did he mind?

Either way, it was nice, really. He technically didn’t need the human comforts of this room, but he still enjoyed them.

“Can you feel my touch?”

You asked quietly, your fingertips tracing the curve of his brow, then down along his cheekbone to his jawline,  mapping every subtle feature and detail.

“My sensors register the pressure, yes,” he replied, his gaze briefly flicking up to meet yours before returning to the path his own fingers traced along your face.

Humming, you continued your exploration and wove your fingers into his blonde hair, feeling the texture before giving it a small tug which brought his attention back to you.

“How about pain? Can you feel that?”

David observed you for a moment, then shook his head.

“No pain. I was designed to endure harsh conditions - it would have been impractical for pain to interfere. At least, I never really experienced it before. Discomfort, yes, but never pain.”

This made sense, and you didn’t know if you felt sad for his lack of sensations or if you were jealous of it,

thinking of all the stinging nettles you fell into and all those cuts and pricks from thornes you gathered in your studies.

Lost in your thoughts, you suddenly inhaled sharply as his fingers glided down your neck, causing a warm shiver to ripple through you.

Noticing your body's reaction, he propped himself up slightly, his gaze fixed on the goosebumps forming on your skin.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, his fingers drifting over your collarbone, down to your arm, exploring the subtle changes in texture, his ongoing touch doing nothing to ease the shivers.

You caught his hand with your own, clasping it tightly as heat rushed to your cheeks and your heart gave a traitorous flutter.

This was becoming way more than just cuddling.

David’s brow furrowed slightly, confusion flashing in his eyes before understanding dawned.

"I'm sorry, Miss." he murmured, sounding almost chastised as he tried to pull his hand back, but you didn't let go.

Instead you wrapped your free arm around him, pulling yourself closer.

“Please, don’t call me ‘Miss,’ David. My name is (Y/N),” you said, your voice muffled as you tucked yourself against his chest to hide your reddened face.

But here you were, nestled in his arms. 

Uncertain, he sank down again, his gaze lingering on the crown of your head before enveloping you with his arms, testing your name on his tongue.

He knew it, of course he did. He knew everyone's names, but no one had ever offered him the intimacy of using theirs so casually before.

His hand found its way to your hair, fingers threading gently through the strands.

He imitated something he’d seen in movies, read about in books, wanting to calm you after noticing your racing heart, your quickened pulse.

But why? Why did you not push him away? Why did you seek his presence? Why did you treat him with warmth, like a person?

Peter Weyland, his ‘father,’ had declared in that video introduction that he had no soul and only treated him like an employee, a subject, not a son.

His ‘sister’ threatened to deactivate or destroy him at least once a day.

And the crew? They didn’t see the point in kindness - why bother with pleasantries for something that wasn’t human?

As long as his father lived, he would not be free, he would have to do his bidding - but with you he felt autonomy.

With you, something shifted.

You didn’t command him, you asked.

You asked if he would like to do things.

What he wanted.

A concept he was not allowed to grasp until he met you.

When you finally mustered the courage to meet his gaze again, you froze.

There was a wet shimmer in his eyes.

You blinked, once, twice, as if trying to dispel an illusion, but there was no mistaking it. David was crying.

Gathering yourself, you sat up, your hands moving instinctively to cradle his face, wiping the tears away.

His name trembled on your lips, but before you could speak, he whispered yours.

You were not sure who moved first, maybe it did not matter.

All you know was that you found yourself with his lips on yours, yours on his, tentative, careful, as though either of you might shatter if the other pressed too hard.

Until you exhaled a soft sigh and leaned into him.

That was all it took, his lips pressed more firmly against yours, the careful restraint melted away as you let yourselves fall into it together.

It was just the two of you.

The ship, the universe, all of it faded into the background.

This moment was yours and yours alone, surrounded by the endless vastness of space, by millions of stars.

Tangled in soft sheets, bodies intertwined.

Had he needed air, he would’ve been breathless.

David realized something, something he never experienced before.

Someone cared for him.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: The Moon (pt. 4)

Moon Profile

Diameter: 2,159 miles (3,474 km)

Average surface temperature: –63°F (–53°C)

Length of lunar day: 27 Earth days

Time to orbit Earth: 27 Earth days

Gravity (Earth = 1): 0.17

How the Moon formed

Scientists think the Moon formed as a result of a collision between Earth and a planet 4.5 billion years ago.

The debris was pulled together by gravity and became the Moon.

Impact - a planet smashes into Earth and blasts molten rock into space:

Moon formation - a disc of debris forms. The particles slowly join to form a Moon:

Phases of the Moon

As the Moon orbits the Earth, a changing amount of its face is bathed in sunlight.

The different shapes we see are the Moon’s phases.

One cycle of phases lasts 29.5 days.

New Moon || Waxing Crescent || First Quarter

Waxing Gibbous || Full Moon || Waning Gibbous

Last Quarter || Waning Crescent || New Moon

The Far Side

The Moon keeps the same face toward the Earth all the time.

The face we never see—the far side—can only be viewed by spacecraft.

Its crust is thicker and more heavily cratered than the near side.

Elevation (height) maps reveal high and low areas of land.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ On the Moon

[thyras]

→ of the purest heart

PAIRING → halbrand | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 4k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → more angst, arguments, and sacrifices

SUMMARY → you continue to struggle with your emotions over your husband, but in one final act you make your choice.

AUTHORS NOTE → so i originally was not going to go past twelve parts, but in normal sam fashion that looks like it will not be enough. i am for real taking a break after this, i need to watch s2 again so i can map out that part of the story, i have things in the works but i need to refresh my mind on stuff. hope y'all enjoy 💕

PARTS → one // two // three // four // five // six // seven // nine

The heaviness in your chest pressed down on you as you stared blankly at the ceiling of your chambers. The weight of your emotions was nearly suffocating, yet the crisp morning air filling your lungs brought a fleeting clarity. But even the coldness in the air carried a presence—one so distinct that it made your skin prickle.

You rolled over, expecting to find something, someone, yet all that greeted you were the soft rays of sunlight streaming through the slits in your balcony doors. The quiet stillness of the room should have been reassuring, but instead, it unsettled you.

Then, something caught your eye.

A flicker—a silver glint in the light. It drew your attention so sharply that you sat up, your breath catching in your throat. Across the room, on your dressing table, sat an object you thought long lost to time and memory.

It was unmistakable.

A piece of your old life, placed so carefully that it seemed almost like an offering of peace. Yet, as you swung your legs over the side of the bed, you hesitated. The mere sight of it made your heart race, both in recognition and in dread.

It was not the same as you remembered.

The object almost radiated with a shadowy presence, its aura heavy and dark despite the faint trace of light that still clung to it, reminiscent of the night you were wed. The silver’s once pure gleam was now marred, the diamond-like gems that once adorned it replaced with shimmering sapphires that mirrored the one on your chain. The delicate etching and petals in the silver twining were new, masterfully crafted, but there was an unease in its beauty.

A tear slipped down your cheek, unbidden, as though your soul mourned its transformation. The craftsmanship was breathtaking, yet it carried an undeniable malice, a darkness woven into its very ore.

You dared not touch it.

Its beauty was a lie—a shroud masking the malice and hate you knew it held within. To touch it would be to invite its shadow into your heart, and you could not bear to carry its weight.

So you sat there, staring at the object that had once symbolized love and light, now twisted into something unrecognizable. It was a reflection of him, a reminder of how far he had fallen—and of the distance that now lay between you both.  

But that part of you that still craved him—coveted him, even—seemed to pull you toward the hairpiece. It called out to you in the same way the mark on your arm did on certain nights, an irresistible pull that you could neither fight nor understand. Slowly, you rose from your bed, your bare feet silent against the cool floor as you crossed the room.

Your hand hovered over the piece, suspended in indecision. You braced yourself for the familiar burning, the searing pain from the mark that would drag you into the darkness threatening to consume you. But there was nothing—no pain, no fire.

Tentatively, your index finger traced the silvery metal, its surface cold beneath your touch. The sensation was chilling, but it was not the temperature that sent shivers through you. It was the shadow, the unmistakable weight of his presence, like an embrace both tender and suffocating.

The sharp fingers of his darkness seemed to clench around your heart, pulling at the very core of your fëa. How could you not love him? It was a question that gnawed at you, sharp and relentless. He was intertwined into your very being, woven so deeply that no force in Arda could unravel it.

But then, how could you also hate him so profoundly?

Your body and heart betrayed your mind as your fingers continued to caress the ridges and delicate flows of the metalwork. The intricate design spoke of his brilliance, his mastery, his unrelenting pursuit of perfection. It was undeniably Mairon. It would always be him—no matter what shape he took, no matter what form or mindset he inhabited, it was always him.

The void that was Sauron, the shadow he had become, could never erase the memory of the light that was Mairon. And despite everything, despite the grief, the rage, and the pain, a part of you would always reach for him. Always.

Your fingers closed around the hairpiece, gripping it tightly as if to crush the weight of its presence. The tightening in your chest returned, sharp and unrelenting, a familiar ache that you refused to succumb to. You squeezed the delicate metalwork, the cold silver biting into your palm as you reached for your robe with trembling hands.

How dare he, you thought, your anger flaring to life and burning away the sorrow, if only for a moment.

You stormed out the door, your steps quick and determined. The corridors blurred as you moved, each stride fueled by the fiery indignation coursing through your veins. You would confront him. You would demand to know how he dared to think that this one relic of the past, however beautiful, however meaningful, could sway you.

And yet, as the thought settled, you faltered.

Because, for a fleeting moment, it had swayed you.

The memory of his touch, his voice, his presence wrapped around you like a phantom, and you hated how much you wished to fall into the void with him. To forgive him for everything—for the destruction, for the betrayal, for the pain he had wrought upon your lives and your love.

The thought shamed you, but it was there, undeniable. That fragile piece of your heart that still yearned for him, that whispered of a life where the darkness had not taken him, where the light of Mairon had shone brightly beside you, untainted by shadow.

But you couldn’t let it consume you. Not now.

You tightened your grip on the hairpiece, the cool metal grounding you as you pushed forward. The confrontation would come, and when it did, you would remind him—and yourself—of the strength that still burned within you. A strength forged in the love he had destroyed and the resolve you had built in its place.

As you followed the invisible tendrils that bound you to him, they led you to the courtyard, where the sight before you stopped you in your tracks. He stood with Galadriel, their heads inclined toward one another, their conversation low and intimate. You lingered by one of the ivy-covered pillars, your elven ears catching fragments of their words. Though the content was veiled, the tone was not.

The heat rushed to your face, anger and jealousy blooming as you watched him lean in to whisper something into her ear.

She stepped back, her expression unreadable, and his lips curved into a soft smile before he turned away from her. Your heart pounded, your grip tightening on the hairpiece in your hand as he began to walk, his long stride quickly closing the distance between you.

His dark emerald eyes met yours, and you knew instantly that he had seen everything—your fury, your pain, the jealousy that you couldn’t fully conceal. He lingered before you, his gaze intent, a hint of amusement dancing in those cursed eyes.

“Something wrong, my lady?” he asked, his silvery voice smooth and teasing, the knowing smile that played on his lips only adding fuel to the fire raging in your chest.

He knew. He always knew. He was playing you, twisting the strings of your emotions with precision, as though it were a game only he could win.

“No,” you hissed, barely restraining the venom in your voice. But before the word fully escaped your lips, you forced yourself to collect your composure.

He inclined his head slightly, the motion laced with mock courtesy, and stepped away, moving toward the forge with a grace that only deepened your frustration.

You stood rooted to the spot, your hand trembling with the effort to keep from reacting. As his figure disappeared from view, the fire in your chest only burned brighter. You hadn’t noticed Galadriel approaching until her soft voice broke through the haze of your fury.

“Thilwen?” she asked gently.

Your gaze snapped to hers, and you quickly softened your expression, letting go of some of the tension in your features.

“What can I do for you, my lady?” you asked politely, tilting your head slightly as you observed her curious expression.

“Is Lord Halbrand spending all his time with Lord Celebrimbor?” she asked.

The question was not unusual, given your position as Celebrimbor’s most trusted confidant. You nodded slightly, masking your unease.

“It would seem so. Is something the matter I should know?”

Galadriel smiled warmly, but her sharp blue eyes betrayed the hidden suspicion beneath her outward kindness.

“No, I wish not to worry you,” she said, though her gaze dropped pointedly to your hands. Her eyes lingered on your fingers, still tightly gripping the hairpiece. “That piece— is it yours?”

You glanced down at the hairpiece in your hands and then back up at her, nodding with measured calm.

“It is,” you replied, carefully choosing your words. “A gift from someone very close to me. I wore it when I was wed.”

You dared not say more, aware of the quiet scrutiny in her gaze. Galadriel’s curiosity was often masked in diplomacy, but you knew better than to underestimate her perceptiveness.

“May I?” she asked, holding out her hand.

You hesitated for a moment, your grip tightening instinctively around the piece. But after a pause, you placed it in her outstretched hand, watching her carefully as she examined it.

She turned it over gently, her fingers tracing the delicate silver etching. For a moment, you half-expected her to recoil from the shadowy aura that clung to it, but she showed no such reaction. Instead, her expression remained serene, almost thoughtful.

Something inside you stirred uneasily. She had touched your husband’s darkness before—you could feel it. And unlike most, she seemed unbothered by its sweet, insidious allure.

Galadriel handed the hairpiece back to you, her movements smooth and deliberate. You accepted it wordlessly, your mind racing.

“It looks like something I wore at my own, though this one is far more exquisite. Thank you for letting me see it.” she said softly, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before she turned to leave.

As she walked away, you clutched the hairpiece tighter, your heart pounding. Her quiet interest left you with an unsettling sense that she understood far more than she let on.

You slammed the hairpiece down onto the workbench, the sharp sound echoing through the empty forge. Halbrand, standing opposite you, removed his gloves with deliberate slowness, laying them carefully on the other side of the bench. His brow lifted slightly as his gaze lingered on you, watching your seething anger with an expression that bordered on amusement—satisfaction, even, as though he was reveling in the effect he had on you.

The forge was quiet at mid-afternoon, but you knew better than to assume you were entirely alone. Elven ears were keen, and whispers traveled quickly, so you fought to keep your voice low, controlled.

“What is this?” you asked, your voice sharp but composed, though you could feel the fury bubbling just beneath the surface.

A sickly smile spread across his face as he leaned in, the distance between you shrinking until there were only inches left. His emerald eyes glimmered with that same insufferable arrogance, yet they drew you in despite yourself.

“It’s a gift,” he breathed, his voice smooth and laced with something dangerous. His breath was warm and spiced, washing over your face, making your heart hammer uncontrollably in your chest. “To complete your set, as I always meant to all those years ago.”

Your index finger jabbed at his chest, your glare unwavering even as his fingers wrapped around your wrist. The touch sent a jolt through you, electric and impossible to ignore, just like the brief contact you’d had the night before.

“If you think this—” you began, your voice trembling slightly, but he cut you off.

“Will do what, Mori?” he murmured, his voice low and intoxicating as he leaned even closer. Your noses were nearly touching, and your eyes fluttered shut involuntarily as the heat of his presence enveloped you.

You braced for the searing pain you always felt when he was near, but it didn’t come. There was only a dull ache in your wrist, a strange reprieve that left you off-balance. Your finger faltered, dropping from his chest as confusion mingled with the fury roiling inside you.

“You claim to not want to forgive me,” he continued, his voice soft but cutting, “but all I can taste on your fëa is the urge to forgive.”

His fingers traced up your wrist, slipping beneath the sleeve of your robe. The warmth of his touch against your bare skin sent a shiver down your spine, one that blossomed outward and left you trembling. It was a sensation you hadn’t felt in an Age, awakening something you had long buried, and it frightened you how easily he was unraveling your defenses.

“Your thoughts betray you,” he whispered, his lips so close you could feel the faintest brush of his breath.

Every fiber of your being screamed at you to pull away, but the pull of his presence, his words, was impossible to resist. He was plucking the strings of your harp, and the melody was one you both knew far too well. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, the faintest contact sending ripples of heat through your very core. “Come to me,” he breathed, his voice a low, magnetic pull that wrapped around your mind. “Fall back into my arms, and let’s be who we were always meant to be.”

Your breath caught, your chest tightening as your eyes slammed shut, shutting out everything but the sound of his voice and the warmth of his touch.

You wanted to. You wanted to more than anything. The desire burned within you, an ache that refused to be extinguished, no matter how much you fought against it. His hands gripped your forearms softly, almost reverently, and the darkness he carried wrapped around you like a sweet, intoxicating fog. Its scent was alluring, tempting you to surrender.

But then, with a sharp intake of breath, you opened your eyes and yanked yourself back from his embrace.

“Get out of my head,” you snarled, your voice sharp and unwavering.

His eyes darkened instantly, the brilliant emerald of his gaze bleeding into a rich, consuming black as he stared down at you. The shift would have terrified most, but not you. It never had.

You were not frightened of him—not of his darkness, not of his power. You were frightened of the part of yourself that still longed for him, that ached to fall into his arms despite everything he had become.

But you would not yield. Not to his silvery words, his gentle touches, or the manipulations that dripped from his every word.

Like he had with you.

You had pledged to love him, no matter what—but that pledge had not included this. The schemes, the grand desires, the manipulations, the lies. You had promised to love the being he truly was, the Mairon you had once known, not the manipulator he had become.

You stood taller, meeting the dark abyss of his gaze with defiance. “I loved the light in you,” you said, your voice low but steady. “Not the shadow that consumes you now.”

For a moment, his expression flickered—just a moment—but you held firm. You would not be swayed. Eru had given you that power—the strength to resist, even when the very song that created both of you cried out for you to lose yourself in him, to let the harmony bind you once more.

“Keep it, deceiver,” you said forcefully, your voice sharp with finality. You spun around to leave, but his fingers caught your wrist with startling speed, blunt nails digging into your skin just enough to make you wince.

Your eyes snapped to his, meeting those abyssal depths that seemed to pull at your very soul. They were dark, unrelenting, and they watched you with a fierce intensity that made your chest tighten.

“I have never once deceived you, Mornelótë,” he said, his voice low and edged with darkness.

You swallowed hard, the use of your name a dagger to your resolve, but you steadied yourself.

“Then what were those centuries when you hid who you really were?” you retorted, your voice trembling with anger. “Stop deceiving yourself in these attempts to rationalize what you’ve done, Sauron.”

The name cut him, just as you knew it would. He snarled, his grip tightening as he yanked you closer. Pain surged through your wrist as his blunt nails seemed to sharpen with the force of his fury. His abyssal gaze bore into you, and you could feel the weight of his hatred for that name.

“Do not call me that,” he growled, his voice thick with barely restrained rage.

“That is who you are, is it not?” you countered, your brow arching with mock sincerity. “Or have you taken on another I should know about?”

He said nothing, his silence stretching between you like a taut string ready to snap. His gaze never wavered, unblinking as he studied you, but the minutes dragged by, and still he did not speak.

Finally, you yanked your wrist free with a sharp motion, shaking his grip off violently. “You know what?” you said, your voice cold as you reached for the hairpiece on the workbench.

With a mock smile, you let out a chilling giggle, the sound reverberating in the quiet forge. “I think I’ll keep it. I could get a pretty penny for these jewels and ores, you know. Since they’re the work of a master smith of Aulë himself.”

You gave him a mocking bow, your sarcasm biting, and turned on your heel to leave. Without looking back, you strode into the corridor, your steps quick and purposeful as you disappeared from sight.

The moment you were out of his presence, you let out a shaky breath, the tension in your chest loosening slightly. Relief washed over you—not only from being free of his dark gaze, but from the knowledge that you had stood so close to him, felt his power pressing down on you, and still had not given in.

For now, you were still yourself.

He did not invade your mind, nor did he speak to you during the moments when you checked on Celebrimbor’s progress. Yet, you always felt the weight of his gaze, dark and heavy, lingering on you like a shadow. He was waiting, hoping to provoke you—a word, a reaction, anything—but you gave him nothing.

So when he didn’t appear, and Galadriel stormed in, soaked to the skin with Elrond close behind her, your stomach twisted in unease. Her fear was palpable, reflected in her wide eyes, and the look she gave you—somewhere between understanding and resolve—confirmed what you feared most.

He told her. And he was gone.

You thought grimly, though you didn’t dare voice it.

“None of us are to treat with him again,” Galadriel declared, her voice steely and final.

The words sent chills down your spine, and you struggled to keep your emotions in check as Elrond pressed her for more. Their voices blurred together, becoming background noise as your mind raced, your heart pounding in your ears. He would return. You were certain of that. Celebrimbor was what he needed, and you—you—were what he wanted.

He would not abandon either.

“So, do we proceed?” Celebrimbor asked, rubbing his temple as though the weight of the moment was bearing down on him.

“No,” Galadriel said firmly. “We must make three.”

“Three?” you asked, hesitant to even speak, unsure if you could fully trust your voice.

“One will always corrupt. Two will divide,” she explained, her tone decisive, and you silently cursed yourself for not having thought of it sooner.

“But with three, there is balance,” you finished, the realization dawning as you met her gaze.

She nodded softly, her sharp eyes sweeping across the room, resting on each of you in turn. “What we forge here today must be for the elves, and the elves alone.”

The tension in the room grew, each word she spoke carrying a weight that settled over all of you like a heavy cloak.

“Galadriel, I have determined that the purity of the lesser ores in the alloy is crucial,” Celebrimbor said, nodding toward her brother’s dagger still clutched tightly in her hands.

You saw where his thoughts were leading and placed a steadying hand on his arm.

“Lady Galadriel has already sacrificed enough,” you said softly, your voice resolute. “Let me.”

You turned to the workbench where the hairpiece rested, its gleaming silver and sapphires catching the light. Taking a deep breath, you picked it up, its familiar weight in your hand grounding you for what came next.

“Use this,” you said, your voice firm, though your heart ached with the enormity of the gesture. You reached for the golden chain around your neck, unclasping it carefully. “And this.”

“My lady,” Celebrimbor said, his voice heavy with disbelief.

“They are the past, my lord,” you replied, meeting his gaze with quiet strength. “A past I have clung to for far too long.” You placed the chain into his hand alongside the hairpiece, gently closing his fingers around them. “True creation requires sacrifice,” you said, barely above a whisper.

“True creation requires sacrifice,” he repeated, his expression softening into a small, grateful smile.

You watched as he moved to the furnace, beginning to remove the jewels and prepare them for their transformation. Tears welled in your eyes and spilled over as the realization of what you were giving up settled over you.

That chain, that ruby, held Mairon’s light, the essence of the man you had loved—your husband, before he was swallowed by shadow. And the hairpiece, no matter how he had reforged it, held a piece of your soul. Together, they were the hearts of beings destined for each other, even through ages of pain and separation.

But no longer.

You had tried to heal him, to pull him from the darkness with your light, but it had not been enough. He was too far gone, and now you were finally letting go.

Galadriel stepped up beside you, placing a firm but gentle hand on your shoulder. Her grip was grounding, and her words carried a rare warmth. “The Valar will smile upon you this day, Thilwen, for your sacrifice. And you will see the golden shores for it.”

You turned to her, a faint, bleak smile on your lips. “Thank you, my lady,” you said softly, “but there is no place for me there. No ship could bear the weight of my fëa longing for its other half.”

“I know,” she whispered, taking your hand in hers as Celebrimbor placed the jewelry into the furnace.

The fire flared brightly, the glow lighting the room as if the pieces themselves mourned their destruction.

True creation requires sacrifice.

As the flames consumed what you had held so close for so long, you felt something shift within you. To heal the dark part of yourself, the part that had clung to what was, you had to let go completely.

You had been called to this moment, and with a pure heart, you had answered.

[logorrhea5mip]

As you might know, the sky is due to get a new star any time now, in a few months at most.

What is happening? The recurrent nova T Coronae Borealis, by far the brightest one known, is a star* in the northern constellation Corona Borealis that, once every 80 years or so, increases in brightness from completely invisible by naked eye to among the ~100 brightest in the night sky. This increase is called a nova, from the Latin word for new, as it looks like a new star has appeared.

Where can i see it from? Basically all human inhabited latitudes, all except the far south. In the northern latitudes, however it is visible the entire night, while near and below the equator you will need to 'catch' it at the right time of night, which in August and September is just after sunset.

How will it look? Let's not get your hopes up too high. It will, at the brightest, reach a magnitude around 2 at most, so about as bright as the north star, relatively unremarkable and completely unnoticeable as unique to someone who doesn't know where to look. But still, it's the most visible sudden change to the relatively fixed pattern of the heavens any of us will live to see, so you should still go give it a look.

Where is it? Currently, the constellation is best visible about 1 or 2 hours after sunset. You will need to be relatively far away from light pollution, so at least a couple dozen stars are clearly visible. While learning the constellations, and finding the star by orienting via those is imho half the fun, you could use one of many sky map apps and websites to tell you the star's location. If it didn't happen yet, there should be nothing visible at that location. However, if there is, congrats! You just did an astronomy™ :3

It will appear in the circle next to the star labeled ε

Why is this happening? Most stars spend most of their lives in a stable, hydrogen fusing state. However, when hydrogen in their cores begins to run out, they switch to helium fusion, which makes them swell up to enormous sizes, turn red due to lower surface temperature, and are thus called red giants. After this helium runs out, the star will (in most cases) throw off the inflated outer layers, while its hot, dense core shrinks and keeps on glowing due to how hot it is, while not actually doing any fusion and not producing any new energy. Those are called white dwarfs, and because they don't fuse, aren't technically stars at all, therefore the asterisk in the first sentence of this post. The T-CrBo system is a red giant and white dwarf binary, where the red giant has grown so big, that the parts of it closest to its partner aren't gravitationally bound to it anymore. Therefore, the gas falls and accumulates on the white dwarf's surface (which otherwise has no hydrogen on its own), untill a critical point is reached where the pressure of the gas causes it to all fuse at once, resulting in a huge thermonuclear explosion bright enough to be seen from over 2500 light years. The explosion however, isn't big enough to blow the dwarf apart, and it starts accumulating new matter from its partner right away. Because of this, it with re-explodes every 8 decades, and it is due to go any day now.

@green-mountain-goose @brightgreendandelions

[sgiandubh]

For calm winter afternoons:Τεμπελόπιτα (tembelopita) or Epirote lazy pie

This is one of the easiest Greek recipes you will ever find. Requires zero cooking proficiency and takes a flash to make and bake. The result is so satisfactory, it quickly became a go-to solution when you don't feel like baking, but still crave a good savory treat.

It hails from Epirus, a coastal region of North-Western Greece. On this basic map, it's colored in orange:

Epirus is nowadays one of the poorest regions of Greece, but two thousand years ago it was anything but. It's also smack dab in the middle of the coastal Balkans, and that makes it a hub for all the cultural influences you can imagine: Turkish, Italian/Venetian (see the island of Corfu -red arrow - one of my favorite places in the world), Albanian and even Vlach (a sensitive topic I shall not dwell upon). Those two traits explain why its local cuisine is very close to the concept of cucina povera (tasty treats out of virtually nothing) and features some unusual, but still easy, baking techniques. For instance, pies are seldom made with phyllo dough, which makes the whole process considerably easier.

I found this recipe during my first month of posting to Athens, in the gastronomy supplement of I Kathimerini, the highly respected Greek daily we all loved to use for our dispatches ;). I whimsically made it for the first time for a New Year's last minute invitation. It was a roaring success and remained a firm staple in our home, I usually make around the same date (for New Year's Day, it's always, always Pasta Perestroika/Penne alla vodka).

For this tembelopita (this makes me smile, because in Romanian, we borrowed the word tembel from the Greek τεμπελό/lazy, except it means 'idiot'), you will need:

1 3/4 cups (400 grams) flour; 1 cup (250 ml) milk; 2 cups (500 ml) cold water; one egg; 2 yolks (separate); 1/3 cup (80 ml) EVOO; 1 cup (300 grams) feta cheese; 1/3 cup butter (directly from the fridge!); salt, pepper, onion powder, dried mint, cayenne - your pick.

Line a sheet pan with baking paper, slightly oiled with a bit of EVOO (use the corner of a soaked paper towel, it works wonders). Place tray in the cold oven, start heating it at about500 Fahrenheit (250 Celsius) with the tray inside - no more than five minutes!

In a big bowl, loosely mix the flour with the milk (at room temperature), add the water - mix the whole until just incorporated. Add the egg, the EVOO and the seasoning.

Take out the tray from the oven, immediately pour the above mixture into the heated pan.

Sprinkle over it the feta cheese (coarsely crumbled, using a fork or even your hands - the chunkier, the better). Make sure you cover the entire surface of the tray.

In another small bowl, beat lightly the two yolks, pour evenly over the entire surface of the tray. End up with the cubed cold butter spread evenly.

Bake for 45-50 minutes until the edges are burned (I am dead serious) or at least golden brown. Take out, let cool, cut and devour.

It should look like this:

Tip: if the feta is very salted, skip the salt. You can also combine with a bit of grated cheddar (or Gouda, or Edam, or Manchego...), for enhanced flavor. In that case, add the second cheese immediately after the feta - but it's going to be your own version of the tembelopita, still glorious. ;)

You are welcome.