#Winter Tundra (character)

[ordheist]

chilly knight

[black-suns-rim]

Tundra region Loreirrans

I can’t sleep and I’m too impatient to wait for the poll to end, so I’m just gonna jump right in and talk about my OG alien species, the Loreirrans. Let’s start off with one of the regional appearances.

This group of loreirrans live in the cold and harsh environments of Icera-5. They have adapted to the cold weather with thick fur and the ability to breath in the dry, cold air without discomfort. The babies are hatched without fur but they quickly develop a thick coat only hours after hatching. The tundra Loreirrans prefer to live in homes that aren’t filled with technology, being more connected with their spiritual side. They have a more tribal way of living and regional government compared to other regional Loreirrans. Their homes are traditionally built out of the materials available to them in their area, such as wood, snow, moss, animals pelts and so on. Since there aren’t that many cold places on Icera-5 besides the small polar caps, this species of loreirran isn’t as plentiful as the others.

[numbugwritingblog]

Welcome to the New Realm! (Chapter 4)

Previous Chapter

Index

---

04/05/2018

Ah, the potion of waking.

While it cannot stave off sleep indefinitely, it’s more than a suitable option when you only need to stall sleep for one extra day.

Jett knew it was the last potion he was provided for a reason, so that Grace could at least afford him the chance to relax from the radio. Indeed he drank it all down at once, giving Grace a distinctly casual kiss on the cheek before teleporting off.

Indeed, Jett knew that Grace would not be offended by that like most people would, that was as usual of a goodbye as they ever gave.

Trailing a finger along his bag, checking that he had all of his potions at the ready Speed, Strength, Echolocation, Tracking, Reverse Injuries, Invisibility, Teleport Sense, Reverse Injuries…

Yep, check.

Oh?

There’s a potion of Crustacean Strength, too. He was not going to get up close against Scythe, but he supposed it’s there if he needs it.

Finally, he checked his spare ammo and emergency vials of arcane energy - he still did not understand how any mage can do that yet alone Grace, he’s tried to store arcane energy like that and kept accidentally casting spells.

All good.

So Jett began walking forwards towards where he can tell Scythe’s presence is. The short but uneventful walk was quickly stopped as his echolocation picked up two people, with something in their hands - presumably guns by the way they were carrying it and their posture. “Halt! Identify yourself!”

Jett stopped as instructed, waiting patiently. “General, another intruder is present.”

Even behind his sunglasses, his raised eyebrow was barely visible to them. “Are the other intruders one who speaks like an animal and another who’s been described as pale? I’m here to stop them.”

“Stay right there!” Soldiers alerted.

Well cooperation’s out of the question now. Bullets could be a threat to him, but with his potions readied up hitting him in a vital area is an unrealistic problem. Still though, best to avoid conflict.

“Sure, I’ll wait right here. You don’t mind if I take a drink, right?”

“I guess that’s fine…”

Good. Jett trailed the potions carefully, selecting the potion of invisibility and drinking it right down. He could feel his body - skin, internals, even his eyes - shifting and morphing to match the changes made by the potion.

Light no longer reflected off of him (nor his clothes, after the New Realm experimented with the spell for about 300 years - he would’ve hated the idea of stripping entirely just to use this), instantly rendering him invisible.

“Open fire!”

Jett leapt right past them before they could even pull the trigger, leaving the two of them shooting at nothing.

Being invisible also meant being blinded, but that didn’t mean anything to someone who was already blind.

But it did mean that Jett had to be far more stealthy from here on, largely relying on foreign sounds for his echolocation to avoid giving himself away.

Not that he was particularly worried, he’s trained in invisible stealth precisely as one of the few mages who could utilise it without drawback, and that’s with the New Realm knowing that it’s realistically possible. No, his only concern was how his targets would deal with him.

Afterall, he knew Valentine’s speciality…

---

This treasure hunt was nearing its end.

Valentine made no attempt at stealth - she didn’t need to with her bodyguards and her magic combined - instead casually walking forth with Scythe in the front. Trailing right behind was an absolutely massive lizard, carrying a large, two-handed axe in one hand.

Her excitement at being so close contrasted with his dull expression, despite doing everything he could to guard the rear end.

Not that there was much need. Scythe’s magic was a perfect counter to firearms, most soldiers only getting a single shot before she reflects it into a vital organ and striking them dead immediately.

Indeed, these ten guards in the hallway in front of them were technically the greatest threat they’ve faced so far.

Yet eleven bullets was all it took to incapacitate them, and Scythe took the moment to slice into each and every one, the rapid necrosis doing the job of killing them.

“It would be more efficient to let them live,” the lizard at the back spoke up, his helpful words in direct contrast to the venom in his voice.

“Thoroughness is of the utmost importance until we find the Final Spell. A living soldier could serve as a distraction or even speak on their strange devices to destroy it.” Besides the cruelty behind killing everyone they came across, Valentine had no reaction to any of it, besides one. “Besides, none of them are of any value to us alive. This is their punishment for daring to oppose us while they’re as weak as they are.”

The lizard let out a low growl, glaring directly at Valentine, gripping his weapon.

Valentine stopped, prompting Scythe to stall in kind. She turned to the lizard, grinning wide. “Well, Winter Tundra, you wish to oppose me?”

The lizard, codenamed Winter Tundra, let out a low growl in response, gripping his weapon - the posture making it clear he was quite capable of wielding this two-handed weapon with one hand. Then he ceased, anger fading away as he lowered his stance.

“Good boy.”

Anger flared back up, Tundra swung his weapon without a moment’s hesitation towards Valentine! Nobody demeans him like that!

The weapon passed through Valentine like she wasn’t there, before she approached him and flung a pin-point “needle” - one that was pure black as it pulled in nearby light - which pierced through Tundra and knocked him down onto his hands and knees.

Effortlessly defeating him, she put a foot on top of his head. As she looked down to him she grinned wide. “What are you?”

Tundra growled in a low tone.

“Say it.”

He hated this with every single fibre of his body, and yet he could not disobey. “... I’m a good boy.” Just the words sickened him.

“No, you’re a naughty boy, thinking you stood a chance against me. Remember that for next time.”

Tundra growled once more, and yet stayed still. Even as Valentine put her foot off of his head he remained still.

Valentine let out a small chuckle. A chuckle that instantly stopped. “Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to hear you, Jett?”

Silence - and yet all three of them could tell, getting into position. The fact that Scythe and the lizard man were both staring at him told Jett that they had trained in fighting while blinded, exactly as he had assumed. There was no point in hiding from them.

“I don’t know who you are, but there’s very few people who know my real name, I’ve made sure of it. Scythe, reduce it by one.”

Forgot who he was? Jett reached for his gun, and the auto-aim flicked his arm right out to aim right at Valentine. “You really don’t remember me? Because I’ve never forgotten you…” It took him a moment to focus, his aim flickering over to Scythe instead.

Scythe walked past Valentine and Tundra, and yet she did not leap in yet. This witch hunter has fought her twice, and lived both of them. It’s likely that he was already expecting her to act hyper-aggressive, and so she wouldn’t be able to overwhelm him.

Jett fired out a single shot and dodged the incoming reflection easily. He did not approach nor retreat, however. When both of them could teleport, such movements only mattered from moment to moment.

It was then Scythe teleported, Jett’s automatic aim flicking right behind him - forcing the lurcher to awkwardly twist his body just to avoid injuring himself - a moment that allowed her to strike into him with her scythe, immediately kicking him away towards Valentine.

A free victory on a silver platter, and yet Valentine did nothing.

As such Jett could heal himself up quickly with one of his healing potions. Then he got back up to his feet, swinging at Valentine.

As he swung through, she briefly vanished from his echolocation before promptly reforming. With that alone he could tell that she was either teleporting or becoming non-solid.

Scythe charged in at the attack on Valentine, hissing loudly.

Jett leapt away from the attack, landing on the ground before unloading his entire clip at once. Every shot at him he had to avoid, but he jumped ahead in the way of Valentine and her silent enforcer.

They went through Valentine, like Jett had predicted. But they struck the lizard well and truly, but then he heard the shells land on the ground.

Winter Tundra was not harmed by the barrage of bullets.

That could be bad.

Growling, he lifted up a weapon to attack, only to be stopped by Valentine raising her hand. “Stand aside, Winter Tundra.”

Jett ducked underneath Valentine’s swing, swinging his gun into her with enough force to send her colliding with the roof. He leapt up to finish the blow, only for Scythe to teleport away once more.

Jett collided against the roof before launching off just as easily, landing on his feet. He launched towards one wall in this hallway, and then the other, and then back to the first one, each leap sending him closer to Scythe.

She swung her scythe to defend herself, Jett leaping onto the side of it, pushing himself off the inner end of the blade to punch her in the face.

But even with the impact Scythe was not mindless, lifting the scythe just enough to cut to his arm. “Dammit,” Jett muttered, shuffling into his bag for another potion.

She knew it was another healing potion, and so without wasting a beat she thrust straight into the glass container.

She only realised her mistake once the glass bottle shattered. Jett dropped the already empty potion before it even collided, as instead his hand swung down to catch the wooden stafflike part of the scythe and pulled it in with all of his force.

His kick to the face was enough to forcibly drop her grip on it, and he quickly dropped his gun to have a free hand in order to bring out an actual healing potion, uncorking it with his teeth as he drank it down.

Before Scythe could get close Jett swung it 180 so that the blade end faced her. This wasn’t good, but she has had her blade stolen from her before. She can-

“That’s enough.”

Scythe immediately backed away, glaring at Jett - and at her own weapon.

“I’m impressed, Deadeye.” Immediately, Jett knew what that meant. “Your recruitment shall begin now.”

He had only one option.

He threw the scythe directly at Tundra, prompting the giant lizard man to defend himself while Scythe simultaneously dashed in to grab her weapon.

Jett then teleported straight to one of the dead soldiers, rapidly feeling for the speaker and gripping it tightly. “Destroy the final spell! It should be an old parchment with unknown-!”

He was knocked off of his feet from an attack by Valentine, flung across the hallway until he collided with the opposite wall. “If you’re lucky they won’t destroy it before I’m done with you!” Valentine hissed out as she formed more “needles” in the small gaps between her fingers, each one held aloft purely by her magic. Even she didn’t want to touch them.

Jett coughed, grinning wide despite the attack that sent him tumbling. “Clock’s ticking, then.”

Valentine wordlessly glared at the still-invisible Jett. Walking towards him. She was furious, and her silence alone told Jett just how much.

And yet…

“Winter Tundra, you handle recruitment. Scythe, search for any leads to the Final Spell. With any luck I’ll have everything I need by the day’s end.”

Jett slowly got to his feet, grinning wide in the knowledge that his plan worked, quickly teleporting behind Valentine and Scythe to ensure neither of them would strike him as they passed by.

Then his grin faded.

Everything she needed? No, that meant…!

Jett jumped back to avoid a heavy swing of the axe, feeling a cold chill spread out as he dashed away.

Tundra lifted one hand from his axe, swinging it out to flick out a bitter spray of ice cold water at Jett.

Contact instantly made him start shivering, hypothermia was suddenly a concern when it wasn’t moments ago. “Grr…”

Krios then lifted an arm up, the cold water around Jett instantly freezing into ice and leaving him trapped in place. “You’re lucky that she wanted you recruited, otherwise I’d have frozen you on the spot. Actually…”

He paused, thinking through what he was saying.

“... No. No, you’re not lucky at all. Death is better than this.”

Jett needed to get out of here!

He needed to save Grace and-!

If he just teleported to them, Tundra is going to follow and then him and this mystery foe will just team up…

Jett needed to go somewhere else.

He lifted his arm to cast a teleport spell.

Only for his arm to freeze. He let a sharp inhale at the sudden sting of the chilled ice, unable to break free.

Tundra let out a huff as he finished the spell, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but I cannot let you escape this… ‘recruitment’.” His gruff tone softened up the last word, and - even though Jett wouldn’t be able to see it - he looked at Jett with soft eyes, the harshness he had for Valentine replaced with sympathy.

Jett grunted again, gripping his gun with his free hand. Immediately he pulled the trigger, letting the auto-aim take complete control as it harshly flicked his arm towards himself, a single bullet flying out to hit the icy shell trapping his arm.

The arm holding the gun was frozen in response. But it was what Jett needed.

With his hand free of the frozen ice, it meant his hand was completely dry.

He reached down to his belt of potions, pulling out one before Tundra could freeze the rest and downing it immediately, so frantic that some spilled over his lips and he even coughed up a bit that threatened to go into his lungs.

Tundra pulled his axe out of the ground, charging at Jett to swing down on him again.

Deliberately avoiding lethal strikes, he swung into Jett’s gun arm, making the lurcher yell out in pain.

And he continued yelling, his good arm starting to shake.

“It’s futile,” Tundra said softly, kneeling. “The only choice I can give you is to go whole or to go with broken bones.”

Jett continued to yell out in pain, something growing across his arm. Hard, inflexible, brown. It shattered the ice covering his arm, layer by layer, as it slowly took shape. His arm had grown far larger, resembling that of a crustacean like a crab or scorpion.

Jett let out a small chuckle, his teeth still bared to keep himself through the pain. “Alright then. Let’s break some bones.”

His only hope was that he’d be able to get to Grace and Sal in time.

---

Scythe wasn’t even checking which doors were locked and which weren’t. Just one quick slice at the hinges was all it took to send each of the doors to drop down and fall over - no matter whether they were reinforced or not.

Those who so much as raised a weapon at Scythe met a grisly, painful death. But those who weren’t a threat weren’t treated as such.

To an outsider observer it might appear that Scythe was wildly trashing each room she was visiting, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. She was searching. Searching for what will have text from a New Realm language on it.

Room after room.

Kill after kill.

Document after document.

She came up empty.

This next room didn’t even have anyone armed. These scientists backed up and hid in a corner, one brandishing a pipe as a makeshift weapon. They were all in a corner, they weren’t a threat.

As usual Scythe pulled into the drawers, tossing out paper after paper - giving them only a quick glance to confirm what type of language they were using.

Nothing.

She was about to leave when she saw that there was a potted plant on the bench, from a casual glance it looked healthy, but Scythe knew it was in need of something. She should continue on her mission.

But…

Valentine never said she couldn’t water this plant, if she was quick about it.

She approached the potted plant without a noise, raising a hand. She gently placed a finger on it, purposefully weak magic surging through it.

Then she knew what was missing. She raised her hand and cast a small spell to pull in the vapour from the air, which condensed enough to fall into the potted plant all at once.

Satisfied with watering the plant, she continued on.

---

Valentine was far more focused.

She wanted the final spell, and she wanted it bad. She knew that she would find it eventually, the vision she was told meant that the odds were in her favour, but that same vision said she would die by the very witch hunter that was in this base.

It didn’t make sense. She was going to add him to her allyship, he shouldn’t have been a threat to her. Maybe she should have committed to recruitment…

No. No, securing the final spell is more important than getting him out of the way. She just needs to find another way of dealing with this threat.

Right now, her only threat was these military idiots destroying the paper before she could reach it. They’d be throwing away unimaginable potential if they did that. They might even stand a chance against her if these Old Realmers learnt the spell’s secrets.

Destroying it only benefits people who will not help them.

A locked door. Valentine focused on the aura of light absorption she had around herself, expanding it until it covered the other end of the door - and making the area within colder as a direct side-effect.

She dropped her internal thoughts entirely, quantum spells require the utmost concentration…

And she casted it, so now she stood on the other side. “Surrender or die.”

Gunshots, so typical. Valentine stood still, her focus on the quantum disentanglement, letting the bullets harmlessly pass through her atoms.

“So you choose death.”

She condensed matter down, so much so that the light bent around it was barely visible as a pitch black needle, which she “flung” out to the idiot that tried shooting at her.

Unlike her recruits, who were useful alive, this one died instantly as the needle pierced through their vitals, the wound so small that even a mage like her could not see it without magnification.

But she didn’t stop at the one. One of them attacked her, so they must all die.

Needle after needle after needle.

None of them stood a chance.

Once every living person was a dead corpse, Valentine waltzed on into the room. Out of her own shadow, she could see that this was for organising files. If the search didn’t have its own dedicated room, this is a likely candidate.

She opened up the first box, sorting through the papers within.

Results of examination on subject Cirillo- pass.

Results of examination on subject Sánchez- not interested.

Test subject acquired, begin preliminary tests on super soldier project- like these Old Realmers could make anything worthy of being called “super” without magic.

As Valentine searched deeper and deeper, her mind was free to think about the future once more.

She doesn’t know who Jett is, but that name is too familiar to her. It can’t be deja vu, she must have met him before… Especially since he seems to already know her name. Someone who met her and lived to tell the tale…

It doesn’t make sense. He’s a Witch Hunter, so he can’t be some Old Realmer she’s all too happy to ignore. But he clearly knows to search for missing witches in the Old Realm, and she has yet to hear of a Witch Hunter who seriously entertained the thought.

Is he a former witch she crossed paths with? Maybe he turned himself in to avoid the death penalty?

She was about to dismiss the thought, only for something far more important to come to her attention.

New Realm text.

Her eyes were glued to the old parchment as she effortlessly read what this military could not translate.

[translation available at the bottom of the page]

To whomever hath discovered mine final letter.

I has't discovered a spell that is truly horrifying. Its benefits seemeth innocuous at first, but from mine analysis of the spell effects, overuse within a population wilt guarantee the end of all life on the New Realm within 1 year. coequal if 't be true I convinced mine peers of this fact, they’ll just resort to casting this spell in the Fusty Realm and doom those folk to the same fate.

The Fusty Realm might beest filled with fools who want the true glory of us mages, but I still cannot sitteth content with either realm coming to an end. I must destroy all traces of the spell.

I must, and yet can I calleth myself a true wizard if 't be true I doth not preserve the knowledge that I findeth? I cannot betray mine true calling. The only compromise I can bethink of is to hide hence mine knowledge. I has't hath found somewhere secluded to hide hence the instructions on casting the Final Spell, and - just like whither this letter wilt end up - t is within the Fusty Realm.

If 't be true thee art a mage like I, I has't but only one request. Please doth not alloweth the knowledge of this spell falleth into the hands of anyone else.

Teiwaz, the most powerful wizard of New Realm Year 307.

This is a real letter. It fit with everything she knew, even matched Teiwaz’s handwriting. This letter was telling her exactly where the Final Spell was hidden, and it’s the real deal.

And yet.

Yet this stupid egg hunt had just been extended by another step! Why every single time it looked like she was finished there’s just another arbitrary obstacle in the way! It made her want to just-!

No, no, remember the vision. This is good news. Jett’s most likely to kill her once she actually finds the Final Spell. This means that she has longer to prepare for the inevitable. This is… good news.

Frustrating news. But good news.

Now let’s hope her new recruits are ready.

---

Translation of Teiwaz’s letter:

To whomever has discovered my final letter.

I have discovered a spell that is truly horrifying. Its benefits seem innocuous at first, but from my analysis of the spell effects, overuse within a population will guarantee the end of all life on the New Realm within 10 years. Even if I convinced my peers of this fact, they’ll just resort to casting this spell in the Old Realm and doom them to the same fate.

The Old Realm might be filled with fools who lack the true glory of us mages, but I still cannot sit content with either realm coming to an end. I must destroy all traces of the spell.

I must, and yet can I call myself a true wizard if I do not preserve the knowledge that I find? I cannot betray my true calling. The only compromise I can think of is to hide away my knowledge. I have found somewhere secluded to hide away the instructions on casting the Final Spell, and - just like where this letter will end up - it is within the Old Realm.

If you are a mage like I, I have but only one request. Please do not let the knowledge of this spell fall into the hands of anyone else.

Teiwaz, the most powerful wizard of New Realm Year 307.

---

Vote for the next chapter here!

[3zethe3zr]

Art Blocks been kicking my aboslute ass lately so have some silly sketches of me trying to work out how i want different wof characters to look

[krumparrian-portfolio]

Crown of Winter

[phaedraismyusername]

This year some of my favourite books I read were written by indigenous American authors and I just wanted to shout out a couple that I fell in love with

The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones

Horror being my second most read genre, I did not think books could still get under my skin the way this one did lol. It follows four Blackfoot men who are seemingly being hunted by a vengeful... something... years after a fateful hunting trip that happened just before they went their separate ways. The horror, the dread, the something... pure nightmare fuel 10/10

Moon of the Crusted Snow by Waubgeshig Rice

An apocalyptic novel following an isolated Anishinaabe community in the far north who lose contact with the outside world. When two of their young men return from their college with dire news, they set about planning on how to survive the winter, but when outsiders follow, lines are drawn in the community that might doom them all. This book is all dread all the time, the use of dreams and the inevitability of conflict weighs heavy til the very end. An excellent apocalypse story if you're into that kind of thing.

My Heart is a Chainsaw by Stephen Graham Jones

This book follows Jade, a deeply troubled mixed race teenager with a shitty homelife who's *obsessed* with slasher movies. When she finds evidence that there's a killer running about her soon-to-be gentrified small town, she weaponises that knowledge to predict what's going to happen next. I don't think this book will work for most people, it's a little stream of consciousness, Jade's head is frequently a very difficult place to be in, but by the last page I had so much love for her as a character and the emotional rollercoaster she's on that I had to mention it here.

Elatsoe by Darcie Little Badger

Taking a bit of a left turn but this charming YA murder mystery really stuck with me this year. Elatsoe is a teenage girl living in an America where myths, monsters, and magic are all real every day occurrences. When her cousin dies mysteriously with no witnesses, she decides to do whatever she can, including using her ability to raise the spirits of dead animals, to solve the case. The worldbuilding was just really fun in this one, but the Native American myths and influence were the shining star for me, and the asexual rep was refreshing to see in a YA book too tbh

Split Tooth by Tanya Tagaq

The audiobook, the audiobook, the audiobook!!!! Also the physical book because formatting and illustrations, but the audiobook!!! Tanya Tagaq is an Inuit throat singer, and this novel is a genre blending of 20 years worth of the authors journal entries, poetry, and short stories, that culminates in a truly unique story about a young girl surviving her teenage years in a small tundra town in the 70s. It is sad and beautiful and hard but an experience like nothing else I read this year.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 15

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: One more day and I'm a homeowner

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You slow to a crawl amid the retinue of carts and horses. The sun beams down relentlessly on the summer fields. As you laze in a sheen of sweat, Bryce works to tie a swath of linen over the cart in a makeshift canopy. You thank him for his effort, his own brow slick with sweat as he tugs at his mail. 

“I admit my winter’s hide is not made well for this sun,” he utters as he reaches to pet Daisy, the loyal steed tied to his new one as he rides in step with her. “Let’s hope we might reach the tundra in due time.” 

“Mm, it is rather hot,” you murmur, exhausted from the endless blaze. It’s three days thus far and many more ahead of you. 

“Little maid, cannot complain even when you should,” he tuts. 

The cart rolls on, rocking your body as the hooves clomp down on dusty grass. As the train passes over the lands, they leave a trodden path in their stead. The progress is steady but sluggish. 

The wheels creak and lurch to a halt as Bryce reins in both horses. You sit up and peer ahead, unable to see more than horse tails and overloaded carts, the helms of soldiers shining under the sun. The knight on his dark steed sits up straighter, alert as he leans forward. 

“Eh, maid, keep watch on the mare,” he tosses the reins at you as the royal party comes to a halt. 

His horse kicks up dirty as he gallops around the edge of the train. You watch him bend over the beast’s long neck and hurdle ahead of the clog of vehicles and bodies. Something is amiss. 

You wait, nervous, as other servants cluster together and wonder aloud. Soldiers mill up and down the winding retinue, themselves sharing no more than looks. You climb out of the cart and walk on your cramped legs. You stroke Daisy’s head as she huffs through her nostrils and nuzzles your shoulder. 

“I don’t know either,” you tell her softly. 

The pause stretches on and Bryce returns, his horse in a lather. He swings off and lands solidly on his feet. He looks between you and the grey mare. 

“Some hold-up, nothing to worry for,” he explains, “enough time to find some water for these beasts.” 

He takes Daisy’s reins and hands them to you, “come, there is a river near. I can smell it.” 

You peek ahead and squint. You don’t know that you believe it is nothing though you can’t find a reason to argue. You nod and tug on Daisy’s bit. 

The soldier leads you across the grass, well away from the front of the train. Others disperse to sit in the meadow and chew on their rations. You continue into the trees and the trickle of the promised water has Bryce proudly exclaiming. He weaves his way around the trunks to come upon the bank, putting his dark brown horse to drink. As the larger stallion laps noisily, Daisy lowers her head and patiently gulps up the ripples. 

“Where did you find Chestnut?” you ask. “He must be a castle horse.” 

“Aye, he was locked away in some stall. They said he is vicious. Due to be horse pie.” 

“Horse pie? But he is fast.” 

“They did not lie. He likes to nip,” Bryce warns as you step between the horse, “watch your fingers, mouse.” 

“Perhaps he only did not like being locked up,” you suggest and gently touch the horse’s long mane, working out a tangle in the hair. He doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Chestnut?” Bryce says, “you’ve given him a name of your own.” 

“You didn’t say if he had one,” you brush your hand over the fine short hairs along the horse’s shoulder. “I thought it suited him.” 

“Mm, I might call his Hellion but Chestnut is kinder, I s’pose.” 

You chuckle. The horse lifts its head and you near the river’s edge. It turns to sniff you and Bryce reaches for your arm. The horse drips water onto you as it sniffs your neck. It lifts its lip, showing its square teeth, then touches its nose to yours, turning back to the water to nicker. 

“Mm, you do have a way of taming the wildest creatures, eh,” he muses as he lets you go. “Come, I saw some berries back in the bush.” 

You leave the horses near the water and follow the soldier between the trees. As he squats to pluck out dark blackberries, you sway on your feet and glance back toward the road. 

“Why have we stopped, sir?” You ask. 

“Told ya, no matter to worry for,” he stands and offers you a handful, “be thankful for it. We’ve found a nice horde and it will do ya good to be out of the sun. And to eat.” 

You accept the bounty and frown. You know he isn’t telling you all but you know he wouldn’t do so without reason. You stand and pick at the berries, biting in hungrily as the juices coat your mouth. The soldier eats as he picks, plucking a few into his purse as well. 

“How do ya like squirrel meat?” He stands again, “I could find us a morsel for the evening fire. Perhaps a hare if I can.” 

“If you like, sir,” you accept. You chew your lip and search the trees. “Is there truly nothing wrong?” 

“I told ya not to worry,” he growls. “So don’t trouble yerself.” 

He beckons you back towards the river. You follow, not asking any more questions. It’s expected that the road won’t be easy, something just feels awry. 

⚔️

The party makes camp at the point of the delay. You return to the road as Bryce grumbles about the evening warmth. The dry heat lingers in the air even as the sun begins its descent. 

“Come, you will need look in on the queen, I’m certain,” he ties the horses to the cart and urges you along. 

You notice less soldiers as you stride through the train. It’s not so crowded as before. The missing bodies add to your uneasiness. Still, the queen’s tent has been erected and guards keep vigil right outside. You enter and find her alone. She has a veil over her hair as she taps the brim of a cup with her fingernail. 

“Alas, a maid!” She snaps as she sees you, “I’ve been calling for wine all night and those damned soldiers only bring me water.” 

“Your highness,” you back out of the tent. The soldiers do not move. 

You go to the luggage and search for a bottle. You grab one and return to the tent. The soldier at your right extends his arm before you can enter. 

“No wine,” he snatches the bottle, “king’s orders.” 

You blanch and look ahead at the silken flap. You nod and thank the soldier as he keeps the wine under his arm. You blow out between your breath and once more push through the draped fabric. 

“Your highness, there is to be no wine. The king has commanded it,” you say meekly. 

“Pardon me? Who are you to refuse me?” She stands and snarls. “My head is on fire, I need wine.” 

“Yes, your highness, but the king--” 

“I am the queen. My order is a good as his. Bring me wine. Now. You little twit.” 

You stare at her unmoving. 

“They won’t allow it, your highness--” 

A flurry of veil and skirts rushes towards you. Before you can react, a scalding heat radiates over your cheek, the force behind the queen’s slap rattling your head. You stagger back and clutch your head between your hands. 

“You stupid girl! I am the queen! You are a dumb maid!” She strikes you again, her hand glancing off your forearm, “stupid stupid twit!” 

She continues to hammer you with blows, closing her fists as she hits your shoulders and stomach. You shrink down, curling into yourself as you keep your head shielded. She huffs, tired from her assault, and twirls away. 

“I don’t want to see you unless you have a bottle in hand,” she snarls and kicks over the stool. “Go before I have you gutted.” 

You wine and stand straight, lip quivering. You turn and hold your left shoulder as it thrums. You step into the night air, aware that the soldiers could no doubt hear the queen’s fit. They say nothing and you don’t either. 

You continue through the train of bodies. You feel your cheek pulsing and your brow swelling. You keep your head down and as you reach the cart, you relieved to find it alone but for the two dozing horses. You climb up and turn towards the wooden wall, hiding against it as you hug the cushion. 

It isn’t so different from Debray, only that you don’t have Merinda to hold you, to share in your pain. You always preferred that it was you who faced the rather of the ladies. You only hope Lady Rezlyn isn’t issuing the same displeasure upon your companion. 

⚔️

The morning comes with the tweeting of birds and a distant rumble. You sit up and look towards the sky. There are no clouds to forewarn a storm. You stare into the horizon where the thunderous noise rolls over the plains. 

You see the figures on their approach. Men on horses. As soldiers rush to confront them, their alarm is eased by the wave of a familiar banner. It is the king and his party. 

Bryce grumbles as Daisy sniffs him and the coughs into his hand. He shakes his head as you lean out of the cart, watching the specks on the tapestry of green grass. You gasp as you feel him grip your wrist. 

“Eh, mouse, what’s happened to ya?” He demands as he pulls your attention back from the distance. 

You look at him and the tenderness in your cheek reminds you of the queen’s wrath. You wiggle free of his grasp and sit back against the side of the wagon. You shake your head. 

“I went to... the bushes to relieve myself, sir. I tripped.” 

He squints at you, his square jaw gritting. He stares daggers at you. You’re not a good liar but you can’t tell him the truth. 

“Tripped?” He echoes as his thick brows furrow. 

“Yes, sir, it was dark,” you say. “I’ll be alright.” 

“Mm, you look as if you were caught by a bear.” 

“Really, sir, I am well,” you put your head down. 

He growls under his breath and turns away. He fiddles around with his saddle bag before he returns to the cart. He reaches over the top, holding a folded cloth with an acrid smell roiling off of it. 

“Put it on ya face,” he demands. “It’ll soothe ya, make you a little less puffy.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“You don’t go trippin’ no more. If ya do, ya let me know,” he scowls. 

You nod, sinking into a tense silence. You both know it’s a lie but neither of you will admit it. You put the cloth to your cheek and exhale. It cools your skin though the smell burns your nose. 

⚔️

That night you don’t return to the queen’s tent. Bryce claims there’s no need for it. She needs her sleep, as do you. It’s another lie you won’t call out. 

Several days pass in the cart. Short nights followed by sweltering days. It’s as if there is no end to the road or the heat. 

You sit on your knees, looking ahead as Bryce chews sweet leaves and spits onto the ground. Daisy’s tail sweeps behind her as she keeps a steady trot. You watch the progress with impatience, each moment feeling more and more trapped in the cart. 

“...down in Debray...” you hear a voice drift back. 

“...don’t like traitors, suppose...” another returns and you search over the carts to try to place the speakers. 

“Careful, mouse,” Bryce warns, “you’ll fall under the wheels. 

You sit back and face him, holding onto the side of the cart, “sir, what happened?” 

“What do ya mean? We’ve been riding,” he sniffs. 

“No, days ago, when we stopped. Something... in Debray?” 

He grimaces and spits out the leaves completely. He shakes his head, clearing his throat. 

“Nothing a maid needs worry about,” he girds. 

“I know, sir, my apologies. I’m only curious...” you hang your head, “I... I was raised there, is all.” 

He hums and rocks with the motion of Chestnut’s steps, “skirmish up a ways. Party on their way to the castle. Certainly, you know your former master’s deceit has bought him little good will.” 

“A skirmish?” 

“Ah, so it was, but nothing very dire. The king returned in good spirits, that rat lord—the duke with him,” Bryce explains, “course, it only suits that the lord should see to the defence of his own castle.” He chortles, “shouldn’t tell ya, maid, so ya keeps your lips sealed, but the duke meant to hide in the queen’s tent.” He shakes his head and sighs, “in the Hinterlands, them sortsa lords aren’t lords for long.” 

“Mm,” you purse your lips thoughtfully, “but... but the duke, he helped end the war.” 

“By betraying his kingdom. We didn’t come to conquer; we came to unite. Turns out, there’s more fractures than those between winter and summer. Shoulda know by Yellow Waleran’s deeds.” 

“Yellow?” You wonder. 

“Mouse, it is a lot you needn’t worry for. All I can say is a king isn’t much of one if he don’t keep his word,” he sighs, “any lord or man lacks substance if he melts like ice.”  

You look down and watch Chestnut’s legs. You slant your lips. 

“King Geralt, did he have some agreement with Waleran then?” 

Bryce snorts, “too clever. Promises. Broken promises. Deadly things.” 

You nod and hold your chin, “and King Geralt, he is a good king?” 

“Do you not know by now?” He asks with a smirk, “he is a man who keeps his word. A man who fights for his people, not for gold and a name. No good winter lord would kneel to a man built on coin. Blood, that buys crowns. It buys loyalty.” 

You lower yourself onto your bottom and draw your knees up, “for his people?” 

“You heard him say it, you summer’s blood are one with us now. Once he has his heir, it will all be set in flesh. A prince to join the realm,” Bryce says, “let us hope he comes soon. The king’s done his part, he’s fought his battles, now it is up to your queen to claim her victory.” 

[chaotic-tired-fox]

Okay so my last post blew up so here’s more obscure random Resident Evil facts for y’all!

Part one: here

Part three: here

☠️The white dog you save in Resident Evil 4 is a reference to Hewie the dog in Capcom’s other game Haunting Ground which was released at around the same time the original Resident Evil 4 was. The main character Fiona also shares resemblance to Ashley.

☠️ Chris and Claire’s parents both died in a tragic car crash said to be so bad they could only be identified by their dental records

☠️ Jill’s infection (and later cure) of the T-Virus significantly slowed down her ageing

☠️ Chris is the only main character without a clear romantic interest (Leon with Ada, Claire with Leon and Jill with Carlos)

(Edit: A few people have said Claire and Steve but Steve was only 17 at the time of his death so no I don’t care how much chemistry they might’ve had, he was a minor and Claire was 19)

☠️ In the original RE2 Jill had a picture of a man on her desk, in the remake it is changed to a dog instead.

☠️ Barry Burton is one of the only characters in the series to actually retire, moving up to Canada with his family. He and Claire still stay in contact.

☠️ Leon’s signature handgun is actually a modified Samurai Edge he named ‘Silver Ghost’ made by Joseph Kendo the brother of Robert Kendo you meet in RE2 and RE3. Originally the gun was created for Barry Burton but given to Leon instead.

☠️ One of Joseph Kendo’s books on firearms can be found in Ethan’s house at the beginning of Village.

☠️ Capcom’s other zombie series Dead Rising actually has a few references to Resident Evil in them though my favourite is a restaurant called Jill’s Sandwiches

☠️ Luis Sera was apart of Umbrella’s sixth laboratory in Europe which oversaw the creation of Nemesis.

☠️ A detail not many know about Hunk is that he possesses two hidden blades mounted to his wrists almost exactly like the ones seen in Assassins Creed

☠️ Jessica and Raymond are two villains from Revelations that are not only still alive but in possession of a T-Abyss sample and haven’t been seen in the timeline since 2005 what happened to them and the sample is a complete mystery.

☠️ Another storyline that hasn’t been explained yet is Natalia from Revelations 2 and if she may or may not be possessed by the consciousness of Alex Wesker

☠️ It’s implied in the Shadow of Rose DLC that Mia Winters lost custody of Rose sometime in her teenage years

☠️ Chris can canonically pull off front flips whereas Leon can backflip

☠️ Lobo, Tundra and Night Howl of the Hound Wolf Squad actually have little smiley face stickers on the back of their helmets whereas Canine and Umber Eyes do not.

☠️ In every main series game he’s been in (RE2,RE4,RE6) Leon has had to crawl through a sewer

☠️ All of the cgi movies as well as Infinite Darkness are considered completely canon to the story.

☠️ Upon the release of Operation Raccoon City, players could participate in an online ARG which gave away exclusive files on the characters including a psychological evaluation of Hunk which is the most information we’ve ever gotten on his character. The link to it can be found: Here

☠️ Wesker’s British accent was the result of each of his voice actors attempting to mimic the last. This was corrected in the remake of Resident Evil 4 (sadly)

☠️ You can interact with the play park in RE6 with Chris, Piers and Ada and each of them go down the slide differently

☠️ The HWS member that tackles Ethan at the reservoir is Canine and the one standing next to Chris is Night Howl.

☠️ Night Howl is also the author of the laptop reports you find in the Church and the secret underground area where the Mutamycete is in the village.

☠️ Canine is the youngest member of the HWS and the oldest is Umber Eyes

☠️ Lobo from the HWS shares striking similarities to Hunk (Read my full theory on it Here)

☠️ The Duke from Village and The Merchant from RE4 actually know each other and The Duke describes them as ‘old friends’

☠️ Sergei Vladimir, leader of the UCBS is the tallest human character in the franchise standing at 6’7.5”

☠️ Thanks to the Resident Evil 4 remake, Leon can now both speak and read Spanish

☠️ In the Heavenly Island comic, the man Chris sends to assist Claire is Parker Luciani from Revelations

☠️ In RE8 the Village is heavily isolated from the outside world thanks to Miranda and thus has remained primitive but Heisenberg had his own arrangements with the Duke for regular newspapers and cigars from the outside.

☠️ Wesker actually met Claire once while he was still leading STARS. He described her as a ‘lovely girl.’

☠️ That being said Claire swears more than any other main character (Chris, Leon, Jill)

☠️ Chris and Claire have matching leather jackets that both say ‘Made In Heaven’ on the back which is a reference to Queen (the band)

☠️ Although it doesn’t appear in the remake, Barry’s ‘Jill sandwich’ line is considered canon and referenced by his daughter Moira in Revelations 2

☠️ Revelations for the 3DS was so infamous for having its text misspelled on the side of the case Capcom had to issue replacement sleeves for all the buyers who had one.

☠️ Heisenberg calling Chris a ‘Boulder punching asshole’ means his feats in RE5 either made the newspaper or someone told him about it personally (one of the hounds maybe?)

☠️ Expanding upon an earlier fact of mine, Chris knows 7 fighting styles which are: Airforce Combatives, Karate, Boxing, Judo, Wrestling, Capoeira and Kali

☠️ Jill also knows 7 fighting styles which are: Modern Army Combatives, Taekwondo, Ju-Jitsu, Gymnastics, Tricking, Lucha Libre and Kali

☠️ Leon knows 6 fighting styles: Taekwondo, Ju-Jitsu, Wrestling, Kali, Krav Maga and Systema

☠️ The reason why there’s no children in the village in Resident Evil 4 is because Saddler’s blood ritual killed them all before the events of the game (that and the developers agreed child enemies would be far too disturbing)

☠️ The developer of the original RE4 suggests that the best snacks to have while playing the game is Diet Coke and lightly salted potato chips (eaten with chopsticks to avoid greasy controller hands)

☠️ Neither Hunk nor anyone in the USS wear Umbrella logo patches (as much as cosplayers tell you otherwise lol)

☠️ In the RE4 remake, Ashley refers to herself as a ‘master of unlocking’ which is a reference to Jill’s title given to her by Barry in the first game

☠️ Chris and Leon were designed to be complete opposites of each other and you can still see that today even with subtle details (Chris punches, Leon kicks. Chris smokes, Leon doesn’t. Leon is flirtatious, Chris is indifferent)

☠️ Wesker’s red eyes glow brighter any time he experiences strong emotions which is why they sometimes shine through his glasses

☠️ Chris’s zippo lighter was actually a gift from Claire given to him when he joined STARS

☠️ Chris can’t read piano sheet music but he can read guitar

☠️ Jill can play the piano

☠️ The story behind the basement music used in the directors cut of the original Resident Evil is so infamous and has a pretty wild story behind it. The music itself is horrendously bad and said to have been composed by a deaf composer but spoiler alert that composer wasn’t deaf at all and instead was fooling the world. The story is insane and I highly recommend checking out this video on it for the full story here

☠️ Beltway from the USS Wolfpack has a metal prosthetic leg

☠️ Beltway also swears more than any other character in Operation Raccoon City

☠️ The original RE4 has more releases than any other Resident Evil game because of its success

☠️ The original RE4 was also planned to be a lot more survival horror based like it’s predecessors but the remake of the original RE didn’t sell as well as intended so the game was reworked to be more action based instead.

☠️ Crimson head zombies were also completely unique to the remake of Resident Evil and also make an appearance in Operation Raccoon City

☠️ Leon’s relationship with Helena is unique in the fact that neither of them are interested in each other and Leon instead views her as a protege because she reminds him of his younger self.

☠️ You cannot shoot the merchant in the RE4 Remake

☠️ During his time working at the Spencer Mansion, Wesker used to take long hikes around the Arklay Mountains

☠️ Mr X isn’t the only Tyrant of his type in fact multiple of him were released around Raccoon City and it’s also implied two separate Mr X’s are encountered during the story of the RE2 remake

☠️ Out of everything, crows are the most effective carriers and spreaders of the T-Virus

☠️ Hunk’s name is actually an acronym that stands for Human Unit Never Killed

☠️ Leon S Kennedy is the only playable character with a middle name, that being Scott (in fact he might be the only character in the franchise with one but don’t quote me on that)

☠️ Originally Leon’s hair was depicted as brown but was later changed to blond which it had stayed as until Vendetta made it brown again. His canon hair colour is usually agreed to be blond however.

☠️ Same goes for Chris’s eye colour which was originally blue (like Claire’s) until they changed it to brown and back to blue again in Village.

☠️ Birkin discovered the Golgotha Virus by accident while experimenting with Lisa Trevor. In the REmake you can see the G Virus tentacles on her back.

☠️ The brand of clothing and gear the Hound Wolf Squad use is a real brand you can buy exact replicas from for Airsoft called Volk Tactical Gear. There logo is printed on HWS weapons in game.

☠️ Ghosts were technically made canon in the Resident Evil universe thanks to 7 and 8 but seem to only relate to the Mold and Mutamycete (You see a ghost girl in 7’s demo/prequel and in 8 Shadow of Rose goes in depth with it)

[the-sea-and-the-storm]

The Sea and the Storm is now open for applications!

The sun shines on Bluffclan again. The grueling moons of winter are over, ushered away by a sun whose light now never leaves the sky. The snow that has clung onto the tundra has finally begun to melt away, clearing the path for Bluffclan's journey to their summer camp. In clan mythology, springs heralds growth and new beginnings. Flowers bloom, prey emerges. Prey and predator alike. The cats of the clan are not the only inhabitants of the tundra, nor are they the only ones who see the sun's light as a symbol of growth. The wolves and bears have young to feed, and the clan is direct competition. Bluffclan has been given two choices -- get out of the way, or find themselves caught between a predator's jaws. Hungry and afraid, the clan turns to nonexistent authority. Lynxstar does what she can to keep the clan together, but even best laid plans often go awry. Her leadership is in its infancy still; many of Bluffclan's senior members cannot reconcile with the fact their future lies in her paws now. The sun shines on Bluffclan again. Does it beckon a new dawn, or is it the last sunrise the cats of the tundra will ever bear witness to?

Faced with an empty council and predators snapping at their heels, Bluffclan survives on instinct alone. Many have decided to flee, families split as some leave for safer lands. Others still choose to fight, lashing out at the world with fury that cannot be taken from them. Most remain frozen and panicked, paralyzed with fear by the cruel hand of nature.

Their story is in your hands now. Tread with caution -- danger lurks around every corner, and the wrong pawstep could spell disaster.

Applications will be open from Friday, April 19th until Friday, May 10th at 11:59pm EST. You must be at least 18 years old and have a Discord account to apply.

Apply here!

View our website here!

See our rules here!

Review the FAQ here!

Check out our character generator!

[seenoversundown]

Succulent

Sam x Fem OC

Warnings: 18+ Smut (Minors DNI) Praise Kink, Edging, mentions of Choking (very mild) Dom Sam, Oral (F & M receiving) Fingering, Penetrative sex, Cockwarming, Degradation in the form of condescension, Spanking (if you squint) , and finally some fluff.

Word Count: 6.3k

Author's Note: Just a little treat for you hehe 🤭 Enjoy!

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Succulent (adjective) (of food) tender, juicy, and tasty

Birdie POV

“I’m so excited.” I’m giddy with anticipation in the front seat of Sam’s new truck, a Toyota Tundra he named ‘Mr. Big’ after the character in Zootopia. He tried to stick it out as long as he could with Edith, poor guy, but she gave up all on her own. Though I have to say, I much preferred Edith over Mr. Big. I think I just get nostalgic for all the adventures we took with her. 

The three hour journey has been a lengthy one, but with the long winding road coming into view, I know we're close. I’ve never been to Stowe, Vermont before but I know it's a popular vacation spot. Vermont lends a same outdoorsy feel as home while not being too far away, the perfect getaway spot. Sam reaches a hand across the console and takes mine in his, my heart squeezing along with the pressure of his fingers. I can’t help but stare at him. We’ve made it so far over the last, almost two years. Learning so much from each other, testing each other, pushing each other. God, we’re so ingrained in the very make-up of each other at this point I forget we haven’t even celebrated our second anniversary yet.

“I think this is it.”

We pull into a long driveway and up to a gorgeous natural wood cabin with a two-car garage. There are windows on either side of the chimney who’s brick is exposed to the outside, oh there’s a fireplace, and a porch that runs the length of the house. Fresh snow adorns the large yard, and I just know that the view from the inside is going to be so beautiful in the morning. 

“Oh, Sammy. This is incredible!” I exclaim. I scoot to the edge of my seat, trying to get a better view. 

“Wait til you see the inside, there’s 3 bedrooms and a sauna,” shooting me a wink before putting the truck in park. 

“A sauna, huh?” I lean an elbow on the center console and pull him in for a slow kiss by the front of his jacket. “I’m definitely getting some use out of that.” I press another quick kiss to his lips before I unbuckle my seatbelt. Sam slides out of the truck and grabs our bags from the back seat, tossing both backpacks, one on top of each other, over his shoulder. I exit the truck and meet him around the front; he pulls me close to his chest, both of us trying to preserve a bit of warmth now that the biting winter air has surrounded us. 

“It’s ours for the whole week,” he whispers into my hair, pressing his lips to my temple. “Just the two of us.”

“Let’s go, let’s go!” I head toward the entryway pulling him by the arm. 

Once the door is closed, we take a left through the tiny hallway, the same natural wood as the outside covering the walls. Sam sets down our bags, sticking his head in each door, trying to get a feel for the place. 

“These are the spares and the main floor bathroom. The Master bed is upstairs and has a loft area I think.” He takes my hand again, his hand warm around my chilly one. I’m forever thankful that he’s a very hot-blooded individual. “Yeah, it’s through here.”

We walk past a set of stairs on the left and the kitchen on the right. I can feel the enthusiasm radiating off of him like a solar flare as he tries to scope out each corner before I get a chance to catch up to him. 

“Look at the view, Birdie!” he beams, eyes bright and arms wide open. “There’s a breakfast bar for our mornings and the fireplace to keep us toasty, though I’m not sure we’ll need help in that department.” He points around the living room. I keep a comment about the terrifying bear skin located above said fireplace to myself. 

“I definitely don’t, I have you to keep me warm.” I meet him in the middle of the floor and slide my arms around his middle, locking my hands behind his back. He rubs at my shoulders. “That’s right,” he says, placing an innocent kiss to my nose. “But we’re still going to use it.” We pull apart from each other so he can continue the tour despite both of us never having been here before. 

“I would never rob you of such a joy then. Proceed, kind sir.” I tease in a slight British accent, making a small bow. When we reach the top of the stairs we come to the small loft area, complete with a lovely day bed by a window that the sun peaks through. We step forward through the set of doors, passing the bathroom, and into the Master bedroom. 

“This.. is the master bedroom. But the best part,” he doubles back to the bathroom, opening the door wide and stepping inside to make room for me to follow.

 “The sauna is in our bathroom.” My eyes light up. He hums out an encouragement, tugging me back into his body by my wrist. I hit him with a light thud. 

“I can’t wait to fuck you in there.” He growls lowly into my ear. My breath hitches in my throat, and immediately, my cheeks start to flush. His words hit me entirely to my core, and I resist the urge to press my legs together for relief. I wouldn’t dare give him the satisfaction of knowing he's gotten to me this early in the trip, not when we have a whole week ahead of us. 

“So what’s on the itinerary for tonight then?” I inquire, head tilted up so I can stare into his chestnut eyes. 

“I’m so glad you asked my little bird.” He takes my hand in his, once again leading me toward the living room. “Once I grab the cooler from Mr. Big, I’ll pour you a glass of wine, and you can get relaxed, while I cook dinner. We can set up by the fire and eat on the floor like all romantic movies do in log cabins in the woods.” He brushes the hair out of his face and chuckles a bit. “I even packed that nice fuzzy blanket you love so much. It’ll be like our own romantic indoor picnic,” he continues.

“Wow, Sammy. You thought of everything, didn't you.” A swell of pride thrums through my chest. 

Something I’ve learned over my time with Sam is that he always means well, even if his execution isn’t the best. And trust me, there have been some poor executions. Each mishap more endearing than the last, but this time, it really seems like he’s gotten the hang of the romance thing. 

“Gunna be honest with you. I asked every single one of my brothers for advice and did a lot of studying.” he huffs out a slightly uncomfortable laugh and scratches at the back of his neck. 

“Studying? What does studying mean?” I giggle. 

“Well, your job has sent you on a couple trips this last month. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Daniel has his hands full with the girls, Josh and Jake are always busy. Bar stuff or whatever.” He shifts awkwardly between his feet. “I just.. watched a lot of romcoms and romance movies. Ya know, the kind you always like to watch.” he does a little double snap clap with his hands. 

I bark out a loud laugh and clutch my tummy. Oh, I love him. 

“Hey!” he says a bit defensively.

“I’m not laughing AT you, Babe. I promise. That’s just the cutest fucking thing you’ve ever said to me. C’mere,” I hold my arms out for him to fit between. “Thank you. This week is going to be perfect no matter what. But the effort you’re making means the most to me, you know that.” I hug him tightly, hoping to convey just how appreciative I am. 

No one has ever loved me the way he has. His love is messy and goofy. His love is filled with laughter and childlike wonder.  Adventure and weekend trips. Nights snuggled on the couch and days when we don’t leave bed. Kisses peppered on cheeks and hips gripped mean. Arguments that end wrapped around each other because despite falling madly in love, we still try to get under each other's skin for fun. He has my entire heart, and I can’t bear the thought of my life being any other way. 

“Now go get that cooler,” I slap his butt lightly. “I’m ready for some wine.”

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As I sip my wine and warm my toes by the fire, I look over my shoulder at Sam who’s slaving away in the kitchen. 

“Do I get a hint?” I call over to him. He looks so cute, a dish rag slung over his shoulder, face knit in concentration. The cream cable-knit sweater he dons was a personal request of mine. He agreed on the pretense that I would wear the red sweater he loves so much. At least we’re on theme for the holiday. 

“No,” he says plainly, clearly focused. 

“Oh, that’s no fun.” I turn and kneel backward on the couch, giving him my best pout, trying to distract him. His eyes dart to me before falling back to his work, he smiles wide. 

“You’re cheating. You know I can’t resist that face.” He steals another glance at me. 

“I’m doing no such thing.” I protest. “I am simply inquiring about what my boyfriend is making me to eat.” I hop off the couch, setting my glass on the coffee table. I meet him in the kitchen, sneaking my arms around his waist and firmly planting my cheek against his back. He moves a little slower with me clinging to him but he doesn’t shoo me away, just lightly pats my wrist with one of his hands and continues to work. I take in a deep breath, inhaling the aromas from the meal. 

“It smells good, babe.” I hop onto the free bit of counter beside him. He puts the lid back on the pan and turns his attention to me. 

“It needs to simmer for a few minutes.” He winks at me, delicately fitting between my legs, his hands sliding up the fabric of my leggings before settling on my hips. I giggle, and he scoots me to the edge, bringing me closer to his body. I place my hands on the nape of his neck, sliding my fingers through the hair he’s messily tucked into a bun. I tug gently, and his mouth opens, and eyes close. Why does he have to be so pretty? It's moments when he looks like this that I wish I could take photos with my mind. What I wouldn’t give to take that photo out on a rainy day…

I lean in and close the gap between us, our lips meeting in a sweet kiss. Not urgent or needy. The kind of kiss where you simply tell each other how full your heart is. 

He hums against my mouth. “Mm, if you distract me, I’ll burn the food.”

I pepper kisses along his cheek and jaw, and he reaches over to tend to the pan. “Can you please gimme a hint?”

“And ruin the surprise?” His arm moves, stirring whatever he’s making with a wooden spoon. As easy as it would be for me to just look over, I'm too distracted by nibbling at his ear to bother trying to sneak a peek. 

“Come on, baby,” I whisper seductively in his ear. I plant a kiss on any expanse of skin I reach, repeating the word please over and over again until… He gives in. I feel his throat swallow beneath my touch.

“Remember the first time we went out together?” He gently clears his throat.

“On our first date? Yeah, you took–”

“No, the first time we ate together at a restaurant. Where we went.” he cuts me off. I can see the amusement settle on his face as he sees me try to look through the filing cabinet in my brain. 

Oh. 

“You took me to the cheese place.” I tuck my hair behind my ear.

“Yeah, the cheese place.” He laughs. “You ordered the mushroom risotto, and you loved it. I figured since we haven’t actually been back..” he trails off.

I leave him to finish cooking, suddenly very excited for our meal now that I know what we’re having. Instead, I rearrange the living room to make a spot for us to eat. I move the coffee table off to the side, freeing up the space in front of the fireplace. Digging through the other bag Sam packed for us, and finding my favorite cream colored fuzzy throw blanket. Big enough for all nearly six feet of him and myself to fit under when we cuddle on the couch. I grab the coasters for our drinks, setting them on the hearth, and plop a couple pillows for us to sit on. Mostly for me because I apparently have a ‘bony ass,’ according to him. By the time that I’ve got everything settled Sam is walking through the living room with two bowls, one in each hand. He sets them on the hearth, grabbing my glass and running off to the kitchen for a refill. 

“Here you go, Birdie,” he says, handing me my glass and sitting down in front of me.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“God, that was so good.” I rub at my tummy. He smiles at me over the top of his glass as he sips his wine. “This has been a really good start to our mini vacation.” A much needed vacation if I’m being honest. I feel like I’ve hardly spent any time with him this month. He reaches out, placing his palm on my cheek. Stroking his thumb along my cheekbone. 

“I’m glad you’re happy, baby.” He says sweetly. And I am. So fucking happy I didn’t think it was possible. I adjust on my pillow, kicking my legs out in front of me and rubbing my feet against his legs. His hand finds my ankle rubbing smooth circles on the tiny patch of skin he finds. 

“I hope you saved room for dessert.” He says, his fingers delicately sliding up my leg. 

“There’s dessert? Why didn’t you tell me that before.” I set my glass down on the hearth and scoot closer to him. His fingertips slide up the inside of my thigh. 

“Of course, there’s dessert. You think I’d make you a lovely dinner and not have dessert too?” He teases, his fingers dangerously close to my core. I smile in satisfaction, his hands feeling too good as they dance over me. He pulls me in for a short kiss. “I really think you’re gonna love what I have planned.”

“Is that so?” 

“Mhmm.” His fingers find the hem of my sweater, and he pulls it over my head. Revealing the dusty pink floral lace bra I’m wearing. He stares at me for a moment. Taking me in. 

“Lie back, babygirl,” he instructs, using a nickname he’s reserved only for intimacy. I do as I’m told, as all good girls do, and connect with the plush blanket laid beneath us. I can still feel the warmth of the fire heating my left side, though after time spent for dinner, it has dimmed a bit. Like our own personal, romantic light setting. I stretch my arms out above my head and close my eyes, waiting. He grabs the waistband of my leggings, tugging them down my legs and tossing it to the side. 

“God, you look good enough to eat.” He spreads my legs and sits on his knees between mine. “But you know that, don’t you?” I can feel his eyes of admiration on me. Like an invisible touch skimming down my body over every curve and divot. I anticipate his touch, resisting the urge to open my eyes. I try to guess where his hands will land when he does finally decide to reach out and touch me. Sam loves the game, though, the cat and mouse before the main act. And the cocky tone of his voice gets me going every time. 

“Words, Baby.” He demands. The rush of pressure I feel between my legs at that moment is my favorite part of being with Sam. My heart pounds in my ribcage.

“Yes.” I squeak out. “I wanted to look good for you.” Every second he delays touching me my breath quickens. The sound of his pants against the blanket causes my stomach to flip. The cool air coming with whatever movement he’s making sends a chill down my spine, and goosebumps to appear on my skin. I hear the soft thud of what I hope is his sweater. Please be shirtless, please be shirtless. Even after all this time, the sight of him still makes me salivate.

A delicate hand caresses my thigh, and I twitch slightly at the unexpected touch. 

“You did such a good job for me.” His sweet praise is music to my ears as his fingers glide toward my hip. “Look at you, so beautiful and laid out for me. Ready for me to take when I want.” He squeezes gently when he reaches his destination, and the cocky laugh that follows sends a flood of arousal to my core. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl and listen to me tonight?” I smile ear to ear and nod emphatically. 

“Good.” He continues. He catches the hem of my panties with his pointer finger and follows along the edge of the blush-pink colored lace. When he reaches where I most desire him, he puts pressure along my pussy with the back of his finger and then snaps the fabric. The sharp sting is welcomed, but the absence of his touch makes me whine audibly. 

He places each hand on the floor next to my shoulders, hovering over me. As he runs his nose up the length of my neck, he opens his mouth to breathe hot air in its wake.  “So needy already?” He asks when he reaches my ear. “But I’ve barely touched you.”

“Please,” I beg. Knowing it’s what he wants to hear, but not holding out hope for my favor. 

“Please, what, baby?” The husky tone of his voice sends a chill down my spine. He reaches his tongue out and flicks at my earlobe.

“Fuck me. Please.” My face scrunches in another desperate whine.

He tuts quietly, “I’m only getting started, baby.” 

I know as soon as the words leave his lips that I’m in for a long night. A slow form of torture that I’ll be thankful for come the morning.

He pushes himself up and sits back on his heels. He taps my hip, signaling me to raise them, and he hooks his fingers under the lace of my underwear, sliding it down the length of my legs, discarding the material next to his shirt. Placing both hands on each respective knee, he spreads me wide, and his mouth drops open at the sight of me. My eyes fall to his plush, rosy lips.

“Mmm,” he hums, running his tongue along his top lip. “Good enough to eat, indeed.”

Sam settles on his stomach, his left arm hooking around my leg. I hum at the heated contact of his palm, splayed across my lower abdomen. I can feel the cool air hit my dripping pussy as he takes slow breaths, plotting my demise. He lets out another arrogant laugh, no doubt satisfied at how I glisten by the firelight. 

He rests his head against my thigh, now purposeful with the air he blows on me. I shudder a little, letting out a tiny gasp of air. The throbbing between my legs is so intense I can practically feel it in my throat. I swallow thickly. His free hand dances up the inside of the thigh he’s not resting against, his mouth open with a slight smile. Oh the fun he’s having, like I’m his own personal plaything. I would do anything to make him happy if it meant I experience this continued arousal. He tickles back and forth over the crease of my groin. So close and yet just far enough away from where I want him. No, where I need him. I bite my lip to try and center myself. 

He finally makes contact with me, dragging his middle finger tantalizingly slow down the center of my pussy. My teeth sink into my lip so hard I nearly draw blood when the pressure reaches my clit; he continues until he meets where my wetness is pooling for him. He takes a moment to thoroughly coat the tip of his finger before he pops it into his mouth, savoring the taste of me.

“You’re so wet for me, sweetheart. And you taste so fucking good. How did that happen?” He teases, but I don’t laugh. He reaches down, slowly inserting his first two fingers, but he doesn’t move them. 

His teasing is so torturous I cry out. The thrum of my heart beats around his fingers, and I clench, trying to coax him into movement. I should know better.

“I know, baby girl, I know. You’re going to listen to me, though, and you’ll get what you want.” He places a gentle kiss on my thigh, “I’ll give you everything you want.”

I shake my head, feeling around for the blanket to bunch in my palms, giving my hands something to do. 

“I’ve been thinking about dessert since we left, and I already know how sweet it is.” Sam continues his kisses, descending to my pussy. “I’m hungry, I think it’s time for a treat. I want you to relax for me, babygirl.” Everything his mouth is doing effectively distracts me from the fingers remaining stilled inside me. 

He places a gentle kiss to the top of my slit and begins his assault. Finally, he licks up the center of me, flicking my clit with just the tip of his tongue. I moan at the contact, all that build-up finally paying off. I squeeze around his fingers, attempting to speed up the race to the finish line..

And he stops. 

I whine at the loss of contact.

There’s always a game. 

I look down at his wicked grin. “I told you to relax, babygirl.” His playful tone is as arrogant as ever. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?” His brow furrows with his question, and his lips shine with the evidence of me. 

I nod slowly. 

“Good girls listen.” One eyebrow cocks toward his hairline. “Let’s try again.” 

Sam’s mouth is on me again, and I try to concentrate on breathing instead of the steady attack of his tongue against my clit. In fast, short licks, he slowly drives me to insanity. The heat of pleasure radiates over my body, a hot pulse running through me in waves. I will myself to calm down every time I start to tighten my walls, attempting to breathe and focus on something else, anything else. But the force of his tongue lapping at me is overriding my brain, and I can’t help myself. I clench hard in search of release, pulling the blanket clutched in my hands toward my chest for leverage in my chase. 

He stops once more. 

I groan out angrily and lay myself flat, resuming my original position.

“So needy and so pathetic. You can’t even handle it, can you?” 

When I don’t respond, he strokes his fingers inside me a few times, suddenly remembering their place inside me. I jolt up to my elbows, tightening my fists around the blanket I still clutch. The shock of a moment of pleasure settling in my stomach before dissipating. 

“You know I love to hear your pretty little voice, baby. Come on, use your words for me.”

I swallow before I beg for any amount of relief. “Please, Sammy. Please.” 

He slides his left hand up my stomach, a gentle push signaling me to lie back.

“When you learn to relax, you’ll be rewarded. The only thing standing in the way of that right now is you.”

This time, the forefinger and thumb come down and spread my lips open, exposing me to him fully.

“Come on, baby, I know you can do it.” He coaxes gently. He’s careful not to make contact with any other part of me, so the only thing I can feel is the tip of his tongue on my increasingly sensitive nub. Little beads of sweat start to collect around the nape of my neck from the struggle of self-control. The pleasure is so intense I fear I won’t be able to think straight for a week when I finally reach my release. My pussy starts to flutter gently around his fingers again; every time I twitch, I relax the muscles as best I can. 

“That’s it, baby.” He comes up for air long enough to utter his praise, and he’s descending again. Somehow the momentary break increases the tension slowly building in me. 

I tighten once more at his words and relax just as fast. I bite out quickly, “Don’t stop Sammy, please. I can do it.. I can do it.” my voice trails off. I work evening breath enough to let my orgasm ascend on its own without the encouragement of actions. 

He pulls back the hood of my clit with his thumb, and that’s the moment I begin to unravel completely. I yell out as I fight against my body's own natural instincts and the pleasure of it all; he continues the onslaught against my bundle of nerves, using the arm hooked around my leg to keep me in place. I writhe underneath his grasp as the tension finally snaps, my body going numb as my orgasm finally washes over every bit of me. My head clouds, and my body feels like it's floating. I immediately contract, my hands finding purchase in his hair, pulling tightly as the stimulation becomes too much. He moans against my pussy, causing me to jerk again. My voice echoes through the large living room. I reach my left hand out, meeting the brick of the hearth, trying to steady myself. He slows his movements, easing me out but still causing small ripples of pleasure with every affectionate lick and kiss of my pussy. I brush the tendrils sticking to my forehead out of my face and breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Good girls who listen get rewarded.” He says smugly, licking at his lips covered in my orgasm. He looks so sexy, god. I lunge at him, tackling him to his back. Landing in a hard thud against the soft blanket, I kiss him, needy and desperate. A surge of energy running through me from the adrenaline, followed by a wave of arousal as I taste myself on his lips. 

“You sound so sexy when you cum.” He says between my efforts to lap up every last remaining bit of myself still lingering on his mouth. “I’d put that on a loop for hours if I could.”

I cry out, “Oh god.” I start a path of kisses from his neck down his chest as he continues.

“Yeah? You like the idea of me listening to you cum over.. And over again? A little audio stored in my phone for me to listen to while I’m out?” 

I nod furiously against his soft stomach, the tiniest bit salty from the sweat we’ve worked up. I run my hand down over the front of his black sweats, feeling his length beneath my fingers.

“While I’m buying groceries?” I nod again; his fingers tangle themselves in my hair. 

“On my drive to work?” I nod once more, whining at his words. The sound of relief from his lips was enough to send my head spinning. He tugs at my roots just enough to hurt but still feel amazing. I work my way to the waistband of his joggers; I tug gently, exposing his hard length.

“No boxers?” I question teasingly. “Scandalous.” I laugh and press one last kiss to his stomach, taking a hold of him in my delicate hand. 

“Mmm.” He tilts his head back as my fingers run over him. “Your turn for dessert, baby. Open.” He demands, and I obey. I open wide and stick my tongue out, waiting for him. He takes full advantage of that by pulling the hair clutched in his hand and guiding me to his cock. I wrap my lips around him; the sound of his pleasure is music to my ears. I move in quick, even motions up and down his shaft, my hand making up for the part of him I can’t swallow. Paying attention to every upstroke, I flick my tongue around the head. One of his hands makes its way to my cheek, gently stroking it with his thumb. 

“Just like that, fuck.” He moans, gripping my hair tighter and tighter, spurring me on. I bob my head faster as encouragement falls freely from his lips. My arousal pooling and dripping down my leg with every sound spilling from his mouth. God, the mouth on him. 

“You’re doing so good for me.” His hips start to jut, matching the movements of my mouth. Hands locked in my hair, he pulls my face to his base, pausing for a moment.

“Fuck.” he cries out and releases his grip. I come up for air, a trail of spit still linking us together as I catch my breath. My lungs working overdrive to make up for the loss of oxygen.

“I could fuck that mouth forever.” He says, and I let out a desperate whine.

“So do it.” 

I clamor my way back to his cock, desperately needing to taste him on my tongue again. I flatten my tongue and lick from base to tip and then wrap my lips around him. I lock eyes with him as I focus on the head, knowing how sensitive he is there. 

Sam’s nostrils flare, and he grunts out. The switch flipping in him that I needed. He’s always in control, but every once in a while, his feral side comes out. The uninhibited Sam that fucks me hard and rough, and god, if I don’t fucking need him right now. 

He sits up on his knees, kneeling before me. Yanking his sweatpants further down to his thighs, and grabs me, one hand planted on either side of my face, and bites out, “Open.” 

His cock slides into my mouth, his full length against my tongue, and he repeatedly meets the back of my throat. He shows me no mercy. His hands and hips taking control and working overdrive so I just sit there and take it. I gladly take everything that he gives me. Over and over again, my lips meet his pubic bone as he fucks my mouth. I reach for leverage, grabbing a hold of where his pants sit around his thighs. The repetition of ‘fuck’ that leaves his lips, calling my attention back to his face. His eyes bore into mine, and he pulls me off his dick. He lets out a yell of frustration; I know he’s holding back. Trying not to cum down my throat because the only place he cums is inside of me. ‘You’re mine, Birdie,’ he always tells me. 

“Hands.” He points to the hearth, and I hustle on my knees to place my palms on the warm stone. He unhooks my bra, somehow the only piece of my clothing left remaining. I bend over, sticking my ass out, waiting for his return. I peek over my shoulder, sneaking a glance at him as he shimmies out of his sweats. He kneels behind me and gently runs his hand over my ass, up my back, and settling on my shoulder. He pulls me to his chest. 

“Ready, babygirl,” he asks as he slides his hand around my throat, gripping gently, and I nod in response. His other hand curves around my body, grasping my breast in his palm. He gives it a rough squeeze before pinching my nipple. I suck in a breath through my teeth. 

“Good.” he lets out a little chuckle and soothes my bud between his fingers, gently rolling out the pain. His fingers glide delicately down my torso, and he cups my heat.

 “I’m gunna fuck this pretty cunt so good.” My mouth falls open, my head leaning back. Just as my head meets his shoulder, relaxing into his touch, he pushes me forward back to my hands. 

He notches his cock at my opening, both hands bracing me by the hips, and slowly enters me. I moan out at the pleasure of him slowly stretching me, and I silently thank god for the fact that we are isolated out here. I couldn’t be quiet even if I tried. 

The push and pull of his cock with each slow thrust softly warming me. I tilt my head back in pleasure as he starts to work up a rhythm. He delivers a hard smack against my ass, and I grip the stone hearth tighter, feeling the roughness under my palms. His hand rubbing at my cheek, soothing the sting. 

“You feel so fucking good.” Sam’s breathy tone giving him away. “So tight. You love the way my cock fills you up, don’t you?” I push back to meet his thrusts, hoping to get him there quicker, the desire to give him all the pleasure he gave me earlier, overcoming my need for anything else. 

“Yeah, you do. Look at you? So desperate. I bet if stopped moving, you’d fuck yourself right on my cock, huh?” 

His hand grips my hip tightly, and he pulls me back by my hair. His hand resuming his place around my neck, tightening his grip ever so slightly. Just enough to notice but not enough to restrict my oxygen. His other arm wraps around my middle steadying me for continued thrusts of his hips.

“You have no idea how badly I want that, babygirl. But I’m having too much fun listening to the sounds you make as I fuck you.” He lets out a wicked laugh. 

My jaw goes slack, and I bend my body more, allowing him deeper access with every thrust.  The new angle driving him into my G-spot, sending me reeling. The intensity builds in my stomach and I know Sam can feel it too. I reach a hand back tangling my hand in the hair gathered at his neck. He slides down, parting my lips and toying with my clit. Small tight circles coax me toward my end. Little by little, unraveling under his fingertips. I clench around his cock, and he knows I’m done for. 

“Come on, baby. Give it to me.” The sickly sweet tone of his voice in my ear sends a chill down my spine. I fight against the building pleasure, trying to hold out. My voice carries through the room, mixing with his heavy breath and the sound of our hips snapping together. Everything starts to become too much, and my muscles weaken; my hand falls to join his arm wrapped around me. Sam holds me tighter, keeping me steady against his chest. 

“That’s it, baby. Cum on my cock. Do it.” I let go completely, falling over the edge and succumbing to the pleasure of Sam’s cock. I moan out a broken repetition of his name, and he fucks me through my orgasm. I feel so full when he’s inside me like I never want to be anywhere else. He slows his hips, allowing me a moment of reprieve. Our heavy breaths move in unison as we try to calm ourselves. He lays me gently back on my stomach, careful to stay tucked inside. My head resting against the pillow I was sitting on earlier, my skin soothed by the plush blanket. He joins me where I lay, resting half of his weight on me.

“Oh god. Sammy.” I cry out at the feeling of his cock inside my overstimulated cunt as he pulls out to the tip and slides back in again. My hand finds his thigh, nails digging into his skin, and he grunts out. He takes that as a sign to resume full force. His thrusts are hard and fast. Working himself up to meet his own end. His heady breaths against my ear could drive me to another orgasm if my body was capable. 

“Oh fuck,” he growls. “I’m gonna cum.” his hips speed up, his pace unforgiving as his own release is in his sights. He holds his breath, and I brace myself, his hips snapping once more and pausing. Buried in me to the hilt, I feel his dick twitch with each spurt of release inside me. We let out a mutual ‘fuck’ as he releases. He teases himself slightly with gentle motions, slowly in and out of my pussy. His cum starts to leak out of me, landing on the blanket below. 

When I feel him start to pull out of me fully I beg, “No, no, no. Please.”

“What baby?” He asks, confused.

“Stay. You feel too good.” I whine pathetically. He slides fully off my body to his side, sneaking his arm under my head and pulling me close, spooning me. His cock still tucked pleasantly inside of me. 

“Is my little bird gonna warm my cock for me? Huh?” 

I hum out an affirmation. “I really fucking needed that.” 

“Yeah? You ready for that sauna yet?” He jests. “Little round two in there?” His hand makes its way to my breast, gently rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

I laugh and snuggle in closer to him. “Thinkin’ about it.”

Need more Sam in your life? 🩷

Sparrow Of The Dawn Masterpost 🤭

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[wyvernq]

my fer.al fandragons! (the game by wildworks)

of course not all of them are done yet, one of them literally has BLOSSOM. im gonna scream

info abt them below!

first one, the fer.al logo/mascot!

and then the wayfarer and the watcher, lore important characters!

their lore is that for a long time there was an endless winter plaguing what is likely the blood tundra today, and the wayfarer, a colossal and mysterious being, split the clouds to make way for spring. the watcher, likely to prolong this winter, commanded one of the tundra's residents, luca, to take a dagger and slay the wayfarer. upon doing so, the winter returned, and the wayfarer's corpse caused the blood tundra to gain its name, entirely from its blood.

also, i made them both ancient dragons, sillying :)

dark theme is simple dark redux by meow

[projectionistwrites]

EQUIFINALITY | WINTER

PART ONE, sequel to GESTALT

Joel Miller x afab!reader (7.3k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: angst, grief, mentions of death and injury, age gap (not mentioned), reader is kinda harsh, no smut in this part DISCLAIMER: although this is a continuation of my series titled GESTALT, it could potentially be read as a standalone. however, i strongly suggest reading the first series to provide context for the reunion and background on the relationships between the characters. ALSO, before any joel apologists come after my head, i LOVE mister joel miller but this chapter does kind of call him out on his bullshit. try to contextualize everything with the events of the first series and remember where the reader is coming from before getting mad at me. :) NOTES: this part takes place during episode six of the last of us tv series, titled “kin.” the next installments will occur after the finale episode, when ellie and joel return to jackson.

next part →

43.4799° N, 110.7624° W.

Good luck, cowboy.

Joel’s fingers fiddled with the softening, worn edges of the cockled scrap of paper in his jacket pocket. Ellie was packing up her things further back in the cave, the crackling of the fire between them settling into a pile of smoldering embers and cinders as the sun began to rise. He didn’t need to take the note out again to know what it said—he had the entire thing committed to memory by now. He’d been mulling the numbers and letters over in his head for months, nagging at the back of his brain and gnawing an ulcer of uncertainty into his stomach.

They’d reach the coordinates within the next day. They were close. Just across the bridge over the River of Death, or whatever Ellie had taken to calling it. He wasn’t sure what they’d find—maybe Tommy and a small group, alive and well; or maybe Tommy, cold and alone; or worse, Tommy in an unmarked grave, six feet under the frigid tundra soil.

But cowboy.

The nickname felt like a punch straight to the gut, and shotgun shell straight through his chest. The message had come in three weeks after Tommy had stopped responding to his transmissions—Joel had already been planning on packing up and heading West from Boston to search for him, but he figured he’d stop to check once more with Abe. Maybe Tommy had finally responded, maybe he was alright.

But when he’d marched through the line of people in the cramped hallway and slipped the parcel of cigarettes across the table to the man in question, he was actually surprised to hear that he had, in fact, received a response.

It just wasn’t from Tommy.

“Listen, Joel, this is good news, isn’t it?”

Abe had asked, watching Joel over his thick-rimmed glasses as his eyes swept over the note in this hands.

“How d’you know it wasn’t Tommy?”

Joel breathed lowly, his chest feeling tight. The scrawled letters on the paper in his fingers were all jumbling together in his mind, eyes losing focus.

“Because I do. Came in late the other night. No signoff, no updates, no name. What you have in front of you is all I got.”

Joel’s head was swimming. Was this some sick fucking game? Would Tommy really stoop so low, to manipulate him into a false sense of hope by using that nickname, just so he’d follow in his footsteps?

“Look, Joel.”

Abe sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He leaned forward conspiratorially, taking a drag from his smoke.

“Those coordinates—I did some digging.”

He gestured for Joel to retrieve his map, and he obliged, laying it out flat on the desk in front of him. Abe picked up a dull pencil and prepared to mark.

“It ain’t too far off from where Cody Tower is—where the messages have been comin’ in from your brother.”

He made a small dot on the paper, somewhere in the middle of Wyoming.

“—and those coordinates, over here.”

He swiped another pencil stroke a short distance away, across the river on the map. He looked up at Joel.

“All open country, out there. No telling what you’ll find, and we don’t even know who it’s from—”

“Thanks.”

Joel had muttered, and it was the closest thing to gratitude Abe had ever received from the man as he stormed back out the door, the note clutched tightly in his right hand.

And now he was here. Cody Tower had been a ghost town. All these miles, all these months—he’d lost Tess, and Bill and Frank, and Henry and Sam. There was a lingering doubt in his throat—he’s come all this way. What if he didn’t find what he was looking for? What if—what if this had all been for nothing?

This wasn’t just about Tommy anymore. But then again—it never really had been, had it?

“So... who’s Y/N?”

Joel’s blood ran cold. His grip on the sniper tightened as his neck snapped around. Ellie was staring at him expectantly, fingers wrapped around the straps of her canvas backpack. His lips pressed into a line.

“The hell did you hear that name?”

A shadow crossed over his face, but Ellie knew better than to be intimidated. Still, she could tell she’d struck a nerve. She trekked forward, bumping into him playfully as she passed.

“You still mumble in your sleep. Say it a lot.”

Joel slung his backpack over his shoulder, tucking his leather jacket into the strap as he and Ellie trudged onward through the snow.

“…was she someone special?”

The insinuation in her tone was hard to miss. Joel swallowed. Months ago, he would’ve shut her down completely, probably chided the girl and iced her out, but now, after everything, he just sighed.

“Just someone I used to know.”

She knew better than to press any further. If the tick of his jaw was any indication, she had to tread lightly on the subject. They continued in silence of awhile, snow packing beneath the weight of their heavy boots, before Joel spoke again.

“S’was my neighbor. Lived next door, back home.”

“In Boston?”

Joel blew out something reminiscent of a chuckle, scratching his head.

“No. No, in—in Texas. Before—all this.”

“Hard to believe there was ever a before.”

Ellie muttered, and Joel hummed in agreement.

“Yeah. Was a long time ago. Doesn’t matter anymore.”

The girl's eyes narrowed as she watched him in her periphery.

“Seems like it still matters to me.”

Joel gave her a hard look, but she smiled innocently up at him, widening her gait just a bit to put some distance between them. He let out a long sigh, running a tired hand down his face. It didn’t matter—it shouldn’t matter. But he still tasted your name on his lips; still heard your laughter in the back of his mind, mingling with the innocent giggles of his late daughter; could still see the tears flooding your eyes and spilling down your cheeks as you fell to your knees before him, sobbing for him to stay, Joel, please, I am begging you, don’t do this, I love you, please—

They’d reached the bridge. Towering steel columns lined the path ahead of them, cold and unforgiving. To Ellie, cold and unforgiving seemed awfully familiar.

“The River of Death.”

She announced in a menacing voice, eyes wide for dramatic effect, and Joel shook his head, trying hard to fight the tinge of a smile that was making its way onto his face.

“What do you think is over there?”

Joel shrugged, cautiously taking his first step onto the platform before gesturing for Ellie to follow.

“Guess we’ll have to see if it lives up to the name.”

Joel could feel the familiar tightness in his chest as he clumsily swatted at the tears below his eyes, purposefully avoiding his brother’s sympathetic gaze.

The smell of sawdust once would’ve soothed his frazzled nerves, but the workshop in Jackson reminded him too much of home—a place he could never go back to.

And now Tommy had a home. And a wife. And a kid on the way—Joel had traveled hundreds and hundreds of miles to save his brother from some inevitable doom, but he was perfectly fine without him. No, it was worse—Tommy was better off without him.

I’m failin’ in my sleep.

The whole reason he’d agreed to take Ellie was because he was already planning on heading West himself—and now he was here, and it was just another dead fucking end. Another failure. All the people he’d lost, all the pain he’d suffered—it’d all been for nothing. He wasn’t rescuing his brother from something—he didn’t get to play hero. He should’ve fucking stayed in Boston. Then he’d still have Tess, and Ellie would’ve been better off with Marlene anyhow—and Y/N. Of course you weren’t here, of course Tommy had sent that radio transmission, of course Joel had been kidding himself all along—

“Come with me.”

Tommy’s voice pierced the silence that hung in the air, and Joel flinched at the sound. When his glassy eyes finally turned to his brother, he gestured with a nod of his head to follow him out of the woodworking shed and into the chill of the evening.

Joel grunted as he forced himself into the new boots Tommy had given him—they were snug, and warm, and way nicer than the weathered pair he'd been sporting up until this point. He stared down at them once he’d laced them up, wondering when in God’s name a new pair of boots had become such a fucking luxury.

“Joel.”

Tommy urged, and the man finally stood, following his brother outside and into the town square. As they walked beneath threaded strands of yellow lights, past decorated Christmas trees and families making their ways home, Joel was disgusted to feel a pang of resentment fleet briefly through his mind. Tommy had actually managed to find—create—some semblance of normalcy, of comfort, and Joel was jealous. It wasn’t fair—how could life still go on when so much had been lost?

Tommy spared him a look as he paused in front of a large wooden door, and Joel’s eyes flitted upwards to read the carved sign hanging above the entrance—MEDICAL. The building was right on the edge of the square, a decently sized structure with harshly tinted windows and a tiny handwritten card plastered beside the door—in black letters, with a tiny reversable placard beneath it.

THE DOCTOR IS: IN.

A bell chimed when Tommy shouldered the door open, holding it so Joel could step in beside him. The waiting room was cozy, filled with a mismatched collection of armchairs and recliners, a coffee table in the center with coloring pages and crayons strewn about. In the far left corner was a repurposed dining table that obviously served as a makeshift reception desk, although the chair behind it was vacant. There was only one door in the place, seemingly leading back into the examination room, and from just beyond, Joel could barely make out the sound of a child’s laughter.

Tommy lifted a hand to gesture for Joel to remain where he was before walking towards the door and slowly lifting his fist to knock. Joel felt anticipation well inside of his stomach, a swirling pool of uncertainty beginning to settle in. Tommy’s knuckles rapped against the wood.

“Hey, doc?”

He called softly, and Joel heard a woman’s voice over the sound of giggling.

“Yeah, just a sec, boss-man.”

Joel’s brows furrowed as Tommy came to stand back beside him, watching his expression shift carefully. He cleared his throat just as the door in front of them popped open and a little boy came bursting out.

Joel felt the breath get caught in his throat as two women followed the young child from the room, chitchatting animatedly with each other. One of the women was young, seemingly the child’s mother, but the other—

It was you. He watched as you threw your head back to laugh at something the woman across from you had said, you hand flying out to pat her good-naturedly on the bicep. The woman thanked you quickly before she chased after her child, the bell chiming as the pair exited—but Joel couldn’t hear it as your eyes met his.

You looked—the same. Or at least, more so than he had imagined. Your hair was shorter, and darker, not sun-bleached from long summer days spent out in the Texas heat. Your figure had filled out; even beneath the pair of pale pink scrubs you were wearing he could see that your soft curves had toned into a sturdy layer of muscle. Your eyes were lined with crow’s feet—wrinkles indicating that even after all this time, you’d never stopped smiling, never stopped laughing, and as your gaze met his, it was just...you. The same gleam in your eyes as the last time he’d seen you. The only notable change was the long, thin jagged pink line running down from your forehead and cutting into your right brow—a fully healed scar, indicative of some sort of injury from long ago.

The man was frozen, and suddenly all too conscious of his own lackluster appearance—he wondered how different he seemed to you, if behind his graying hair and deteriorating body you could still see any trace of the man you knew all those years ago. He wondered if he bared his sins through the lines on his face—if you could somehow see every horrible thing he’d done just by sparing him a glance.

But if you could, you didn’t show it. Instead, your lips flickered up at the corners, just barely, but enough that there was the notion of a grin on your still perfect pink lips.

“Joel.”

You acknowledged, although you didn’t make any move further to greet him. He was shocked at your ability to remain so collected—he was flustered, speechless, his mouth opening and closely dumbly like a fish out of water. He didn’t know what to say—didn’t know what to do. He wanted to pull you into his arms, wanted to apologize for everything he’d ever done to harm you, wanted to fall to his knees and thank a God he didn’t even believe in that somehow you’d made it.

But instead, he snapped his jaw shut and cleared his throat, shuffling his weight a bit awkwardly on his feet. Tommy glanced at his brother in his periphery—saw the tension that hovered over him and rendered him practically incapacitated. With a sigh, he decided to throw him a bone, and turned to you.

“Just thought—Just thought you two might like to, uh, catch up.”

Tommy offered sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders to display his discomfort. You leaned against the doorframe.

“Does Maria know about this?”

Joel watched as you quirked a suspicious brow at his brother, a small smirk on your face. Tommy’s eyes widened in panic.

“Well—no, but I just figured—look, please don’t tell her, I know—”

“Relax, boss-man, I’m just teasin’ you. She brought in the girl to see me earlier today.”

Joel was startled to learn that.

“You—You met Ellie?”

Your eyes snapped back over to him, as if surprised he was actually able to speak. You regarded him softly.

“Yeah, I met Ellie. She’s a fuckin’ pistol. Only fourteen?”

You clarified, and Joel nodded. You whistled lowly, smiling mischeiviously.

“Jesus, cowboy—two decades ago, you thought 22 was too young.”

Tommy’s hand flew to his mouth in an attempt to cover up the bark of a laugh that spilt out. It took Joel a few seconds to register your comment, but when he did, his entire body stiffened, eyes widening in blatant offense and, frankly, incredulity.

“The hell is wrong with you? She’s just—”

“Oh, chill out, cowboy, I was just joking.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. Joel narrowed his eyes, and just like that, the tension between you was back, but Tommy was not oblivious to it, this time. He cautiously made a move towards the door.

“Well, I’ll just leave you two to—”

“No!”

You exclaimed, sounding borderline insulted.

“You’re just gonna leave? The fuck do you want me to do with him?”

Joel scoffed at the way you were referring to him, your hand gesturing to him as if he were a child you were being forced to babysit. Tommy threw his hands up in defense.

“Easy, doc. I gotta go see the missus—we’re puttin’ him up in 38, right across the street from us. Just—I don’t know, Y/N, just do your doctor thing and then walk him over there. You’re fine.”

“And whose idea was it to put him in 38?”

You glowered threateningly, the scar on your face contorting with the expression, and Tommy swallowed at your clear disdain.

“Actually, that was Maria’s.”

“Fuckin’ classic.”

You murmured angrily, and when Tommy turned to leave once more, you waved a dismissive hand towards him, scoffing in distaste. The door banged shut behind him, and just like that, you and Joel were alone.

His eyes flitted from the door and back to you, finding your eyes already on him. He could see the maturity in them—you seemed older, wiser, your gaze more calculating and scrutinizing. Even with the new scar that you adorned, you were just as beautiful as the day he last saw you. Your shoulders sagged in defeat before you jerked your head to the side.

“Come on, then, cowboy. Time for your appointment.”

Joel silently walked towards you, shuffling past you and into the examination room. He felt the heat of your body as he brushed past you, and fuck, you still smelled like—like you, all these years later. Clean, like freshly folded linens or laundry straight out of the dryer, with just a dash of citrus.

He paused in the threshold, taking in the room. It was fairly spacious, with a steel examination table pushed up against one wall and your desk on the other. The wall straight across from him was lined with shelving that contained more medical equipment than he thought existed—jars of various medications, bandages, gauze, pads and tampons, antiseptic and antibiotic ointments, and other various supplies that he didn’t even know the name of.

“Well, up you get.”

You nudged his back with the knuckles of your right hand, gesturing towards the steel examination table. He shot you a silent glare, but you masked your satisfied smirk as he hoisted himself up onto the surface, leaning back against the wall to face you.

You sat in your threadbare office chair, rolling it away from your desk so you could face him. He watched as you reached into a jar full of tiny white pills on the corner of your desk, grabbing a few and tossing them back into your mouth with ease. His jaw slackened.

“Ain’t that against your bylaws, or somethin’?”

He managed to jab, quirking his brow, and you rolled your eyes at him, chewing the tablets in your mouth.

“They’re sugar pills, dumbass. I give ’em to the kids when they get hurt—placebo effect. You want one?”

You picked up the glass jar and tilted it towards him, but he just shook his head, never taking his eyes off of your face. You rolled your eyes at him, stealing one more from the jar before tightening the lid back on and sliding it back onto the shelf.

You spun your chair back around to face him again, folding your hands in your lap as you watched him. He just stared right back, jaw set stiffly, arms crossed over his chest, mask impenetrable. You pursed your lips, stubborn enough to not want to break the silence that befell you. Joel finally cracked.

“You’re a long ways from California.”

His voice was gruff and husky, but even beneath the rough edge, you could make out a hint of familiar softness. You blinked at him.

“You’re kiddin’, right?”

You started, and the man’s brows furrowed more, indicating his confusion. You laughed incredulously.

“Twenty years, you’ve had to come up with a conversation starter, and that’s what you settle on? Jesus, Joel.”

You huffed, leaning back into your chair and reclining slightly. Joel’s jaw rippled at your mockery.

“Well, hell, forgive me for not meeting your expectations, darlin’.”

He expected you to fire back at him, to humor him with the witty back-and-forth banter that he’d missed so much, but you just sighed, sinking further back into your chair and shaking your head softly to yourself.

“Took you long enough to get here. I was startin’ to think you hadn’t gotten my message.”

Joel felt his heart skip a beat, and his guarded expression briefly exposed a look of realization.

“So it was you.”

You let out a humorless laugh, avoiding his gaze.

“Yeah, Joel, it was me. But I hope to God you kept that to yourself—Maria would kill me if she knew I’d contacted you.”

“Get the sense that she’s not my biggest fan.”

Joel grumbled, leaning his head back against the wall behind him. He was surprised to see your hardened eyes soften a bit, full of something resembling pity.

“She’s just—she’s protective. Tryin’ to keep me and Tommy safe.”

He tried not to read into your words too much, but he felt himself grow defensive.

“Safe. From me.”

You tilted your head back, squeezing your eyes shut and drawing in a sigh in an attempt to maintain your composure.

“Well, you’ve certainly earned yourself quite the reputation, Mister Miller.”

You scoffed, and Joel felt his face fall slightly, his mouth turning into a frown.

“So you’ve heard about me, then?”

You still avoided his eyes, your own arms crossing over your chest.

“I mean, just things from Tommy, but I doubt he told me everything. Still, Maria—Maria doesn’t think you were the best role model for your brother.”

“And what do you think?”

Joel leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and you swallowed, opening your mouth to reply just as the door to the clinic abruptly slammed open, the bell nearly flying off the hinge from the sudden rattling. You and Joel immediately burst into action, and you raced out of the exam room to investigate the intrusion.

Joel paused behind you when you slowed, taking in a relieved deep breath when you realized there wasn’t an immediate threat. The young boy from earlier had barged in, tears trailing down his round, rosy cheeks as he stared up at you with a look of almost betrayal. His mom was attempting to catch her breath, standing in the doorway hunched over, and young girl was standing to her right, presumably her daughter, who looked to be barely older than ten.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,”

The mother began to explain, her hand pressed against her chest to try to regulate her breathing.

“We were heading back to the mess hall for movie night but Jenny made a comment to Ben about his splinter, and—”

“Why don’t you wan’ me to get better?”

Ben interrupted, more tears falling from his wide eyes as he pouted, holding up the index finger of his left hand to showcase the bandage that you had put there earlier.

You startled backwards.

“What are you talkin’ about, Ben? Of course I want you to get better, that’s my job.”

“Then why didn’t you use your powers on me?”

He stamped his foot in frustration, and Joel stood back, watching the scene unfold before him with furrowed brows. Your eyes snapped over to his older sister, Jenny, who was trying to hide her amused smile behind her hand. Finally, you knelt down in front of the young boy, who sniffled and avoided your eyes.

“You’re right, Ben, I totally forgot. I’m so sorry. Can I fix it now?”

You asked carefully, holding your hand out for him. He contemplated for a minute before nodding carefully, offering you his left finger extended in front of him. Joel felt a weight settle onto his chest as you carefully pressed your lips to the pad of his injured finger, making an exaggerated smooching sound as you pulled away. The young boy’s face immediately brightened, and you smiled at him.

“There! Did the magic kiss make it feel all better?”

You leaned down to look into his eyes, and he nodded at you happily before quickly turning back towards the door and running into his mother, clinging to her legs.

The woman smiled at you, both apologetically and gratefully.

“Thank you, Y/N, and again, I’m so sorry—”

You waved a dismissive hand.

“No worries, Beth. Seriously, it was my fault, I should’ve remembered. Thanks for the reminder, Jenny.”

You winked at the older girl teasingly, and she hid her face further behind her hand, biting her lip to hold in her laughter. As the family turned to leave, you shouted a reminder to them.

“Be careful on the benches in the mess hall! They haven’t been sanded well and I don’t want him to get any more splinters!”

The door shut behind them and Joel watched your shoulders immediately sag when they left, your lungs exhaling a long, exhausted sigh. When you turned around to go back into the office, you jolted slightly, as if you’d forgotten that Joel was there. He studied you carefully, analyzing you, and you hastily pushed past him and back into the exam room.

“Sorry about that. You know how toddlers are.”

You settled back into your office chair, but as the door clicked shut behind Joel, he remained standing, leaning back against the wood with his arms crossed. You were looking at some paperwork on your desk before your eyes lifted to glance at him. He remained stoic, silent, and you sighed.

“Ellie’s a cute kid. Reminds me of someone.”

You gauged his reaction, watching his muscles tense and his jaw clench at your admission, his eyes casting down to his feet. He didn’t respond—you decided not to push it.

“How’d you get stuck haulin’ the walking cure across the states?”

That caught his attention. He stood abruptly upright, his eyes widening as he stared at you, a brief look of panic rising in him.

“How—she told you?”

You made a motion for him to calm down.

“Relax, it’s fine, seriously. I saw her bite marks. Pretty fuckin’ wild, though.”

“Why’d she tell you?”

Joel seemed unsatisfied with your answer, taking an intimidating step towards you, his voice low and threatening. He seemed to be forgetting the fact that his fear tactics wouldn’t work on you.

You rolled your eyes.

“I’m easy to talk to. Good at makin’ people feel comfortable. Besides, she said she’d heard my name before. Apparently you talk in your sleep?”

Joel’s arms fell to his sides, his jaw clenching rhythmically and hands balling into fists. His eyes dropped to the floor, but you let out a short, bright laugh.

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind. That’s actually one of the first things Tommy told me when we met back up.”

Joel threw his head back with a frustrated groan, particularly annoyed when he heard you cackling from your seated position in front of him, obviously deriving great pleasure from his discomfort. When you’d finished laughing, however, the mood quickly soured once again, his dark eyes fixing you within them carefully.

“You can’t say a word to anyone about it.”

“What, about you dreamin’ about me?”

“Y/N. You know damn well what I’m talkin’ about.”

He was practically growling at you, his eyes narrowed as he took another menacing step closer. You were getting fed up with his attempts at intimidation.

“I’m not gonna say anything, okay?”

“Swear to me.”

To your surprise, Joel leaned down and grabbed the arms of your office chair, spinning it so you were facing him completely. He leaned down in front of you, eyes level with yours, only a foot away as he challenged you silently with his gaze. Up close, he could see the jagged edges of the healed cut through your forehead, marring your perfect complexion.

“Swear to me, you won’t tell Maria, or anybody.”

You scoffed, surprising Joel by leaning closer towards him instead of away, not breaking eye contact as you fixed him with your own intense stare.

“I promise. Besides, you already know that I’m great at keepin’ secrets.”

He pulled away from you harshly, abruptly, your chair sliding back a few inches at his sudden release of its arms. You smirked to yourself, somewhat satisfied with your ability to still get under his skin, even after all this time.

“Now, go sit back down, and tell me everything. From the beginning.”

Joel opened his mouth the protest, but you pinned him down with a glare.

“Don’t. This is my town, Joel—you’re the outsider here, not me. Which means I get my answers first.”

He pursed his lips, trying to come up with some way to contradict you, but he knew deep down that you were right—you had the upper hand in this situation. Begrudgingly, Joel pushed himself back onto the table across from you, grunting with the effort as he settled back against the wall. You rolled your chair a bit closer to him, leaning back and watching him intently.

“Alright, then. Tell me the story about how the cowboy and the little firefly managed to survive their journey out West, searchin’ for a brother and a cure.”

Joel regarded you carefully, fighting the urge to correct you.

And searching for you.

Instead, he opened his mouth and began to speak.

Joel’s brows furrowed as you rejoined him on the gravel street from the house you had stopped by. Your arms were holding a variety of clothing items, pressed tightly to your chest as you nodded for him to follow you.

“What was that about?”

He asked, maintaining several feet of distance between the two of you as you lead him further away from the town square.

“Stopped by to see Mary-Ann. Her husband is about your size, and I figured you wouldn’t object to a new set ’a clothes.”

You jokingly looked him up and down, scrunching up your nose in disapproval at his current attire. Even with your teasing, Joel felt gratitude sneak up on him as he watched you.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He spoke lowly, and your quick pace faltered slightly at the tenderness that breached the surface of his words. Your smile wavered.

“Yeah, I know. S’really not a big deal.”

You shrugged it off, refusing to expose any vulnerability to the man. You were bound and determined to keep your head up in the face of his sudden reappearance in your life—the last thing you needed was for Joel to think he still had power over you.

“What’d you trade for it? I’m sure there’s somethin’ I can—”

“Joel, s’fine.”

You snapped, harsher than you had intended. You sighed.

“I’m the town doctor, and I treat everyone and don’t expect anything in return, so when the time comes that I actually need somethin’, people are more often than not willing to help me out.”

He didn’t respond, and you continued your trek through the snow in silence. After a few more tense minutes, you reached house number 38, pausing when you saw light peeking through the curtains in a room upstairs, the window cracked to let cool air into the stale home.

“So, this is you. Ellie’s already upstairs, m’sure.”

You paused in front of the door, turning to face the man head-on. The familiarity of looking up at him like this, his brown eyes regarding you with undivided attention, filled you with a deep sense of melancholy. The proximity was dizzying. You refused to acknowledge the sensation.

You offered him the clothes in your arms—a fleece-lined burgundy flannel, a pair of jeans, boxers, socks, and an undershirt—and he accepted them gratefully.

“Tommy and Maria are right across the way, and... I’m, uh, right next door if you need anything.”

You tried to hide the resentment that soured your lips as you told him where your own home was located, and although he didn’t say it out loud, you saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes that you were, once again, neighbors. How serendipitous.

You hesitated, staring at the ground in between the gap of yours and Joel’s boots, contemplating. Finally, you figured you’d extend an olive branch.

“Listen—after you get cleaned up, if you wanted—I mean, I have to talk to Maria quick, but ’m probably gonna stay up for awhile, so if—you know, if you’re not too tired, I wouldn’t mind—”

“Thanks.”

Joel interrupted your senseless rambling, indicating that he understood your winded invitation for his company. You blew out a breath, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you met his eyes once more before stepping around him and closing the short distance to the house across the street. Joel watched as you walked away.

He was fuming, but his flaming hot anger was quickly tempered by a lingering sadness that threatened to consume him. Ellie had some fucking nerve—bringing up Sarah, trying to manipulate him into taking her the rest of the way. He felt nauseous, his jaw clenched tight as he sat on the edge of the bed in his own bedroom, his eyes flickering up to stare out the window that shrouded him in moonlight.

There was a cool breeze filtering in through the crack in the window, but when he looked out, he saw you. You were staring up at Ellie’s window, your hands buried in the pockets of your winter coat and your face painted with discomfort. It was only then that Joel realized Ellie’s window had been open, as well—how long had you been standing there? Had you heard everything?

Joel found himself rising, walking to stand up against the window. The movement caught your attention, your gaze briefly shifting as you made eye contact with him. The silvery-pink skin of your scar seemed translucent beneath the streetlights. You stared up at him, wordlessly confirming that yes, you’d heard every goddamned word before you turned and stomped over towards your own home, downtrodden and damaged.

He wasn’t consciously in control of his body as he swiped his jacket from the end of the mattress and descended the stairs, exiting the front door just in time to see yours slam shut. He swallowed, letting his exhale cloud out in front of him in the frigid air before he followed your snowy footsteps, pausing on your front porch and staring at the closed door.

You wouldn’t want him to join you anymore, surely—not after you’d been subjected to his aggression towards Ellie. Your silence signaled your disinterest, or so he told himself. Still, he hesitated. His calloused fingers brushed against the doorknob, twisting sharply, and to his surprise, the door swung open easily.

An olive branch.

The hallway before him was dark, but there was a soft yellow light emanating from deeper in your home, and he could hear the clanking of dishware and cutlery as he stepped into the threshold and closed the door behind him.

His heavy footsteps echoed loudly against the creaky wooden floor as he followed the sounds, the hallway opening up to a small kitchen where you were facing away from him, the smell of coffee filling Joel’s lungs as he breathed in deep. Real coffee. Even better than goddamn liquor.

He watched as you poured two mugs of the dark, steaming beverage, setting the pot back on the counter before picking up the mugs and turning to face him. You still didn’t speak, didn’t even look at him as you squeezed past him and set one mug on the end of the round wooden table before sitting down on the opposite side. Joel took the hint, the legs of the chair scraping the hardwood as he pulled it out and cautiously seated himself, his hands instinctually coming to cradle the warmth of the mug in front of him.

“You heard all that?”

He croaked.

You took a small sip, your head turned to stare out the back window and into the darkness of the trees outside. He waited, silently, for you to set the tone of the meeting. He watched your jaw clench as you finally opened your mouth the speak.

“Just—”

Your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat. There was grimace on your face, words wobbly and cautious.

“Just when I think you can’t possibly let me down even more, you somehow find a way.”

He scowled, but felt his beating heart sink, an anchor weighing him down at your confession. He didn’t say anything—just kept watching your face. Your features always betrayed you; you wore your heart on your sleeve. He could read every expression with practiced precision, and now, he studied you diligently.

You finally turned to look at him, eyes glossy and sad. He swallowed.

“You know, I—I stuck my neck out for you. To Maria. Even after all the shit I heard from Tommy, even after everything, I still thought—still thought there might be at least some trace of the man I knew all those years ago.”

“That was your first mistake.”

His gruff voice interjected, posture stiff.

“I ain’t the same person I was. And neither are you.”

“You’re wrong.”

You shook your head with such conviction that Joel faltered.

“I haven’t let the world harden me, Joel. I’ve grown, and I’ve learned, but I’m still the same person I’ve always been."

“You’re lucky to be alive, then. Naive to think that you can still care about people in a world that doesn’t care about you.”

You studied him, cold and calculated, before nodding sharply, a look of disapproval in your eyes. The scar that ran through your brow curled as you scowled.

“You just feel so fuckin’ sorry for yourself, don’t you?”

Joel was utterly taken aback, blinking once, then twice, before his eyes narrowed.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You think—you think you can use your grief, your pain, to justify your actions, like it can excuse the person you’ve become. We don’t have control over anything that happens to us, Joel. Shit happens, and the world still spins. The only thing we do have control over is the way we react to it—how we choose to let it affect us.”

You were glaring daggers through him, resentment contorting your attractive features into a snarl, your scar pinched inward with the furrow of your brow.

“Ellie was right. You’re not the only person to lose someone. Your grief does not justify your actions. I’ve heard about the things you’ve done, Joel. The horrible things. You don’t get to say that the world forced you to become what you are—you made that choice. You let your grief consume you, you let it control your life, you let it turn you cold and callous and spiteful and cruel. That’s not the world, Joel—that was you."

He felt his chest grow tight, stunned by your words. There was anger growing in him, blazing hotter.

“Don’t—”

“No.”

You snapped, and Joel could see his own rage reflected in your eyes.

“No, Joel, you’re gonna shut the fuck up and listen to me, for once. I’ve waited too damn long to say it, and you at least owe me this.”

He silently seethed, fists clenching beneath the table as his leg began to bounce with anxiety.

“Look around you. All of these people—me, too—have suffered, have been put through so much, but we’re still here. We’re trying. We’re fighting. We found hope where there wasn’t any, in spite of everything, we’re choosin’ to move forward. So you can’t say that the only way to survive is to become as hateful as the world around you—there’s still good left.”

He stayed quiet, head silently shaking at your words. HIs jaw was rippling as it clenched. You grew silent for a moment, before hesitantly speaking up. Your tone was much softer, now.

“You’re not the only person to lose her, Joel. You’re not the only person who lost Sarah.”

His eyes snapped to you, his expression turning stony at the mention of his daughter. He despised the look of pity in your eyes—the look of sympathy.

“I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry about Sarah, I can’t even begin to understand how hard it must’ve been for you to go through that, but—but you don’t get to own that. That grief doesn’t belong to you.”

You swallowed. There were tears welling in your eyes, threatening to fall.

“Do you really think this is what she would’ve wanted you to become? What she—”

He stood abruptly, anger bubbling over and spewing from him as he shouted at you.

“You have no fucking right—”

“I loved her, too, Joel!”

You screamed, standing to meet him, and the man recoiled, flinching as tears began to track down your cheeks. You fumed.

“I loved Sarah, and I loved you, and I spent every single day missing you and hoping that by some godforsaken miracle, you—my family, was okay.”

My family. His gaze dropped to his shoes as he swallowed thickly.

“And when I heard from Tommy what had happened, I just—my heart broke for you, Joel, of course it did, but that little girl—I know she wasn’t mine, but I loved her, too. And don’t tell me I have no right to talk about her, because I did know her. I spent every day for five years with her, watchin’ her grow up, and—and I know it’s not the same, but you can’t take that from me. As hard as you try—as hard as you tried—to erase me, to push me away... I’ve never stopped loving you. Either of you.”

You turned away from him, trying to mask the pain that was erupting from deep within you—years and years of repressed anguish spilling from every pore.

Your back was to him, your shoulders rising and falling with shaky breaths, your sobs subdued by your willpower alone. As much as he tried to fight it, Joel felt guilt nesting within his soul.

“I know your world ended that night, I know you lost everything—but my world ended the night before.”

His lungs felt like they were shrinking.

“Y/N—”

“I’m gonna ask you something, Joel, and I already know the answer, but—but I need to hear you say it.”

You turned to face him once again, your sadness briefly replaced with cool calculation as you scrutinized him. He gave a barely perceptible nod.

“Did Sarah die that night, thinkin’ I just up and left without saying goodbye? Without knowing the truth?”

He felt the blood drain from his face, his mouth dry and tongue like sandpaper. He didn’t respond—he didn’t need to. You saw it in his eyes, the silent resignation, the shadow of shame that crested his features, the way his jaw rippled. You nodded slowly, the last of your tears drying up as you sniffed, and Joel could see the resentment slowly taking control.

“Darlin’, I—”

“When I saw you with Ellie, I thought maybe I was wrong. Maybe there was still a part of you in there that could love, that could care, that could be a father. Ellie is someone’s daughter, Joel. What if it was Sarah? You can’t—don’t turn your back on her. Please. Don’t—don’t break my heart again.”

He swallowed thickly, unable to meet your gaze. You shook your head again, an uncharacteristic calmness suddenly possessing you.

“I’ll pack you a bag and put it on my porch for you to take tomorrow morning. Some rations and clothes and everything you’ll need."

You started walking towards the door, as if ready to lead him out, and he shook his head frustratedly.

“I can't take her, Y/N, I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.”

You clipped, a glare piercing through him as you opened up the front door for him.

“Because if you don’t, m’gonna have to listen to you bitch about how much you regret it for the rest ’a your sorry life, and I’m not willing to put up with that.”

True to your word, there was a new backpack sitting on your front step early the next morning. Joel knocked twice on your door, but if you were home, you ignored him. He rifled through the contents quickly—you’d even included a makeshift first-aid kit, a thermos of coffee and some grounds.

As he shouldered the bag, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. It was a note, messily scrawled in your familiar handwriting. He felt his heart skip a beat as he reread it, over and over, his lips parted in shock.

Cowboy—

I kept my eyes closed, but five minutes is starting to feel more like twenty years—but I'm still waiting. I'll always be waiting for you, Joel.

Good luck. Maybe when you get back, you can hold up your end of the bargain. I've learned to be patient.

Your perpetual neighbor, Y/N

P.S. I'm sorry. And I forgive you.

You remembered.

TAGLIST: @spiidergirlsworld @canpillowscry @str84pedro @daddy-din @pedropascal-whore @pppmitt @thirdoffive @elliescumsl0t @kagajgajaguwbeidheubqk (please comment to be added/removed)

[gunpowder-arti]

you know, i'm unable to see saint as an ending, any more than it is a beginning.

gh--alright. i'm going to preface this by saying it is after 3am where i live and i am on enough melatonin to sedate a horse, which is probably why i've been possessed to write this post to begin with. all of this is up to interpretation, half of this is shit i made up in my brain, and maybe (probably) i'm finding meaning that wasn't intended to be there and maybe (probably) i'm grasping at straws (haha jusr like

but. okay. if you know me, you might know that I am a Paleontology Nerd. and you might know that I quite enjoy waxing poetic about it. bear with me here i promise this is connected

within rain world, there are multiple lines of dialogue that I would like to bring up--

Ah, in the end, everything reaches the conclusion of its journey. I'm not sure how many of us are even left in this world. A new cycle is already unfolding, one we need not be a part of. We've long outserved our purpose. (Looks to the Moon, Rivulet's campaign)

A little beast! Come to join me in this great undoing. The old world will soon vanish, wiped from history, to pave a path for the dawning of a new era. How many have been consumed so far? Were we the tenth civilization, or the thousandth? Amusingly, they thought their small struggles bore such great significance. All was naught but to serve the void. (Two Sprouts; Twelve Brackets, Saint's campaign)

even the title of the credits theme--Reclaiming Entropy--seems to speak to my point. which is:

there is one thing the world proves, time and again, and that is that life cannot end. it is a cycle in and of itself. entropy reclaims, epochs end. volcanoes erupt, meteors fall, glaciers melt. few can change fast enough to accommodate. 83% of genera went extinct during the Great Dying.

and yet, as entropy all-but-guarantees massive destruction, so too it all-but-guarantees that destruction is not absolute. that remaining 17% grow and spread and diversify. the world ends. the world lives. the world is changed. the world is new. the world is alive.

any that cannot change with it, die.

as Moon states in the dialogue shown above, the Iterators have outserved their purpose. this is their flaw. they cannot change, and they cannot reproduce, and they cannot perpetuate themselves forever. they live for a long time, yes, but time and entropy claim all.

and that time and entropy, indeed, is named as Saint.

I... do not interpret Saint's campaign literally most of the time, unless I'm thinking about them as a Character TM. but I think that to see them as an ending, as an absolute--it goes against this world's very nature.

the Saint is not absolution. the Saint is the psychopomp for an era. the Saint is the turning of the epoch.

I would like to point out the Scavengers. they have grown and spread and changed.

The scavengers never cease to adapt, even in this weather! (Looks to the Moon, upon being brought a lantern as Saint)

they are widespread and ever-adaptable. they will live, i would hazard a guess, even when most do not.

even the lizards! they have grown fur (or feathers--i personally hc it as feathers. but it's not clear) in an adaptation to the cold. the strawberry lizards have developed unique and beautiful adaptations. the orange lizards have spread throughout the land. undergrowth grows lush and warm, even as the world is carpeted in tundra (it is not a wasteland! look! they're alive, they're changing!).

how can you look at this world and say it is dying?

how can you look at this world and say it is dead?

the saint is an ending, but so too--perhaps even moreso--the saint is a beginning.

the saint is the impact winter. the saint is entropy. the saint is change.

the saint is a mass extinction event.

[butchriptide]

I think Peril and Winter not getting a chance to interact more on friendly terms is one of the many crimes that arc 2, even if, in all fairness, I feel that Peril's POV book/involvement would've been more suitable to some other point in the series.

Because they ARE foils to each other, in a way. They both play on a theme that crops up in a lot of characters of WOF, which is the way that types of trauma and abuse can shape a person and their worldview.

Peril is CONSTANTLY drawn back in by Scarlet through the repeated message of "I am the only person capable of loving you." She spends her entire childhood being gaslit (and I mean genuinely gaslit, not the meaningless twisting of the word that the internet has given it. The actual abuse tactic gaslit.) and manipulated by the only maternal role in her life to be so dependent on her. She's hailed as Scarlet's Champion and a monster alike. She's feared in a way not unlike how Scarlet is feared, but Peril didn't choose that. Her image and role in her society is specifically selected to further isolate her. It isolates her so severely that she is made to feel that she has no hope of integrating into society even IF and WHEN Scarlet disappears from the Skywing kingdom. She's instructed to burn up helpless eggs before she can SPEAK to plant these seeds into her as early as Scarlet can, both in Peril AND in the society which engages with her. Scarlet carves herself into Peril so that Peril is convinced that she can't live without her, and she DELIGHTS in having this kind of specific, all encompassing control over her. She WANTS Peril to stay, not out of any real love for her, but because she loves that she could do this to somebody at all. Peril is just like any other piece of her lavish, extravagant hoard; loved like something intended to be owned, to be possessed.

Winter, meanwhile, is made JUST as dependent on his family, but by opposite means. Winter being nothing to his family, being a constant disappointment to the people he loves, is something that is reinforced time and time again from a young age. He's a failure the moment he fails his first hunt. And thus, he becomes easy to scapegoat. Hailstorm isn't the perfect image of an Icewing in many respects from what we know of him before his capture; he's shown to be goofy, and his plan is what actively gets him and Winter in trouble, but he's still hailed as perfect. Not to say that Hailstorm's treatment was less damaging, we don't know what his relationship to their parents was like beyond reputation, but it showcases that these traits aren't seen as default flaws by Narwhal and Tundra. It's just that you have to be able to justify any deviation from the norm. Everything that deviates from the perfect, ethereal Icewing in Winter though, is something to be picked at, something to be shunned. Slow and obsessive and now the reason his perfect brother's gone. And failing his family doesn't just reflect on Winter, but it in turn reflects on his family, who he loves, within their society. He's made dependent on his family with the intangible promise that if he was just a little better, just a little tougher, just a little more like what they want of him, he could have that love returned to him, he could justify being the one who was left behind in their eyes.

I just think they're the products of very opposite but ultimately overlapping circumstances. Abuse as direct action versus abuse as neglect. Both dependent but in opposing ways; both convinced they can't live without their abuser, but one is convinced into believing she is literally, physically dependent on her abuser while the other is convinced that he is OBLIGATED to prove himself to his abusers, that to live is to justify himself in their eyes. "Champion" as a leash to keep her on and a warm light on the tundra skyline that's never possible to actually reach.

[jev-urisk]

🌐7 Circles: Entry

Preamble/chapter 0/intro page

(Tf do you call something like this? Help?)

🎉and its my 1st writing post!🎉

7 paragraphs, soft tw for heights. (Respectful) concrit welcome: Could you imagine the characters? Did this pique your interest? What do you think about the length?

💠 💠 💠

High above the earth and sailing down from the heavens is a ship, winding its way to the ground like a feather on the breeze. It looks much like the kind that would sail on water, albeit a rather small one, and the warm colours of its curved wooden keel gently contrast the azure and gold sails curved to fullness by the wind.

At its helm, upon a deck lit brightly by the sun overhead, four hands grasp the ship's wheel. Skin blue and bangles gold, the tall figure turns the ship, using the strength of all their limbs to move the sail against the wind current.

Their thigh-length mauve braid of hair whips about them and their eyes, entirely green from pupil to sclera, narrow against the wind. It didn't much matter where they landed, so long as it was within the un-poisoned area of the surface world, but The Kalilith people didn't have a winter on their isle in the sky and the explorer didn't much fancy finding out how well they would fare against the vast arctic region on the north end of the continent below.

The gilded sailboat creaks as it changes course and a second Kalilith comes up from the cabin below to join the first. He's taller and his four bare arms more muscular. His red eyes look to the person at the helm, his expression cross as he marches across the deck.

"By my south hand, child–The current is too strong for that!" he says, raising his voice against the gale as he speaks to his more delicate charge. "We should let the wind carry our descent, not turn against it!"

Magic vessel it may be, but the ability to ride the wind and the ability to withstand it were two different things. The male Kalilith barely reaches the wheel before a loud snap is heard and he turns to see rigging being ripped out of place.

"But our trajectory had us flying into a tundra! If we land only to die before making contact, the mission is forfeit!" The first one retorts, aristocratic accent sharp as they raise their voice. They may be the younger of the two, and they're certainly no warrior, but it was their mission nonetheless.

"Take care of the rigging.” they order, “If I can get us past the ice we'll be much better off," they catch the red gaze of their attendant who hisses in contempt before rushing to comply.

Far, far below, a citizen of chilly north Danaport squints up at the sky, gasping in disbelief as they see something fall to the earth.

💠 💠 💠

Tagging @scorpiothesaint @katenewmanwrites @officialauthorofanotherworld and @thelaughingstag bc I'm particularly excited to share with yall ✨️

[tourettesdog]

The Breaking Point of Ice

Based on the prompt: "The stars were very pretty tonight. But he was so cold." by @quishaweasley-blog for Phic Phight Word count: 9,027 Warnings: minor character death, suicidal ideation, panic attacks AO3 Link

~

The sirens still echoed in Danny’s ears, a distant cacophony that resonated with the unsteady thrum of his core.

The firelight still flickered in Danny’s vision. Even with eyes shut, he could see the awful red glow licking skyward.

The smoke still choked his airway, squeezing at his chest until his lungs could have burst.

The heat still enveloped him, burning at his skin, raw and aching.

He blinked.

Silence lay around him. From up atop the hill, Danny could see practically all of Amity. Night had fallen— had fallen hours ago— and in the dark the lights of the city glowed. Not many cars were out on the street at this hour, and those that were went quietly, their lights slipping silently down the streets. Somewhere a dog barked, but the sound faded into the backdrop of crickets chirping and the gentle hush of the wind through the grass. 

The day had sweltered, a hot late spring day in its own right. Danny supposed the night was just as warm, but he struggled to feel it.

Beyond the fire still raging in the backdrop of his mind and the heat of the burns that blistered his skin, only the cold remained.

Danny shivered against it, hugging his knees tight to his chest. It did little to help, with the cold so close at hand. It lingered in his fingers and raced along his arms. It settled in his joints and found purchase in his chest. A wall of ice could have slid around his core— might have, for all it felt— and Danny could only shiver in its icy chill.

Frost had crept over the grass around him. His breath fogged, small puffs far too similar to his ghost sense. 

He could still feel how it coiled up his throat earlier that morning. A familiar chill that had him, as always, tensed for a fight. He never knew what to expect with that chill. It could mean something as innocuous and small as an ectopus, or…

The frost crackled as it spread, the sound a mockery of the fire still roaring in Danny’s ears.

A keening sound escaped his lips. Hands found their way into his hair, tattered gloves and raw fingers bunching in soot-stained white locks. Danny shut his eyes tight, rocking forward as the keening bubbled into a sob. Air couldn’t enter his lungs fast enough, each gulp stinging his scorched esophagus.

Danny could have plunged into the tundras of the Far Frozen, for how surely the cold gripped him. Icy hands clawing at his skin, tearing at the burns until they stung. The ice should have felt soothing in the wake of that burning heat. He should have taken solace in it, finding comfort in the cool of his core. After all, Danny had welcomed winter since that icy stone lodged itself in his chest. It was a part of him, as much as anything else could be— the cold as innately Danny as his name.

Yet it hadn’t been enough. 

Against the roar of fire and the flicker of flame, each rising higher and higher until it drowned out all else— that chill he bore in his heart and hands hadn’t been enough. 

How did a glacier melt so easily against tongues of flame?

The night was not as peaceful as it seemed. When Danny picked his head off of his knees, his eyes training on the spot he’d spent hours staring towards, he could still see the lights. After everything else had gone, the ice melted and the fire extinguished, the last hints of smoke fading into the atmosphere, those lights remained. A distant flicker of red and blue, the siren long-since quieted, though no less an echo in Danny’s mind as the crackle of flame.

If Danny squinted, he could see the blackened buildings the light circled. One was larger than the others, the epicenter of it all. The place where fire ignited and roared, chewing through wood and dancing over concrete as it spread.

Before the sirens, there had been screams. 

The lights of the city blurred as tears welled in Danny’s puffy eyes. He didn’t fight against them, letting them fall past his lashes and carve channels through the ash blotching his face. 

Danny hadn’t seen his reflection, but it didn’t take much imagination to know what he looked like. A mess. A raw wound. A failure, if anything.

A shaky, choked sob. A shiver down his spine, the motion causing aftershocks of ache through his body.

He deserved worse.

Shutting his eyes tight, unable to stymie the flood of tears that broke through, Danny almost wanted worse.

The familiar whine of an ectogun cut through the night, as if to provide that half-formed wish. Despite it, Danny couldn’t help but stiffen at the sound, each aching muscle tense with memory and instinct…

He didn’t bother to pick up his head.

“I finally found you,” said a familiar, raspy voice, each word raw and strained.

Danny didn’t answer. Still didn’t pick up his head.

He just waited, head bowed before her, accepting whatever came next.

Danny half expected her to squeeze the trigger right away. She had the perfect shot— the perfect target— and yet…

The ectogun didn’t fire. He could hear the barrel of the weapon rattling slightly in what must be shaking hands. Her own breath accompanied it, no less shaky.

“Get up, ghost,” she challenged, voice broken, straining on the last word. Danny couldn’t say if smoke or emotion had done worse damage to her vocal chords.

He still didn’t get up. Still didn’t lift his head.

The cold wrapped around him, more claws and teeth than anything.

“Get up,” she demanded. “Face me. Face me and—and what you did.”

Emotion choked those words, enough of it to squeeze at Danny’s own throat. Fresh tears welled in his eyes and he squeezed his knees more tightly as he let out a shaky sigh.

How could he face her? How could he face anything right now?

It had been nothing but a small mercy that the fire claimed his cellphone and any of the questioning calls it might have carried.

“Look at me.” 

Her voice cracked with a sob, the sound reverberating in Danny’s core like hairline fractures racing along glass. 

Despite himself, he lifted his head.

Valerie had been there too. Danny had seen her— had known— yet nothing prepared himself for the sight.

She wasn't wearing her suit at all. In its place, Valerie had changed into what he could generously call everyday clothes, though they looked more like pajamas. Loose, frizzy hair framed her face, without the usual band she pulled it back with. Her eyes were blood-shot, her face smeared with soot and her cheek bandaged.

It was the first of many bandages.

Danny’s eyes widened in horror as he took in the wraps spiraling over her arms and ankles, thickest around her hands and wrists. Her fingers poked through the tips of the bandages, raw and red as they held the ectogun with everything she had.

Danny tried to open his mouth to say something— her name, anything— but no words came out. He simply settled on Valerie’s eyes, vibrant green meeting bold hazel, each brimming with tears.

“Get up,” she said again, her teeth clenched, though chattering. Her hands shaking, though her grip was firm. She had the ectogun pointed squarely at his head. If she were to take the shot, Danny knew it would do awful damage at such close range.

(Enough damage.)

“Val…” he managed, the word a strangled warble through his wrecked throat.

Valerie’s eyes widened with surprise, the ectogun jerking slightly in her grip. Of course, Phantom wasn’t supposed to know who she was as a civilian.

Her surprise did not last long, easily replaced by a burning anger as her eyes blazed and her teeth grit with fury. 

“I don’t know how you know my name,” she said in a dangerous whisper tinged with as much fear as anger, “but I’m not going to let you trick me. Not like you tricked all of those people— those kids.” Her voice cracked on the word and a renewed jolt of ice rocketed through Danny’s chest.

“You’re a monster,” Valerie continued, hardly pausing to breathe. “Those people trusted you, and you— and you…”

Her voice trailed off, the tone hollow and shattered with emotion clawing at her throat.

Danny let the words roll over him, each insult falling in line with his own scattered thoughts.

“I know,” was all he said, his voice tinny and hardly there.

Valerie nodded, her chest heaving with unsteady breaths. Danny hadn’t even asked if she was okay— he knew she wasn’t. The burns, the red-rimmed eyes… Nothing about this was okay.

“I’ve known you were a monster from the start. You had everyone else fooled, but I knew. The Fentons were right not to trust you.”

A hollow ache lingered in Danny’s chest, squeezing with that awful chill of ice. Fractals of it coursed through his veins. Phantom had a tentative truce with Valerie, something new and hard-won.

Gone now.

“Get up, Phantom,” Valerie demanded once more.

Danny just stared up at her, wondering why she hadn’t yet pulled the trigger.

Val swallowed a lump in her throat, her lip quivering before reinforcing into that snarl. She kicked out her leg, striking him painfully in the shin with her boot. Danny tumbled back into the grass, swallowing down a hiss as his burns pulled.

“Where’s all that bravado now? Where’s your fight? You fucking coward. You made everything worse and couldn’t even have the decency to stick around. Y–you ran and hid and now you won’t even face me?”

Danny held her gaze, his jaw clenched, until it was too much. Shutting his eyes, Danny allowed himself to fall back along the hill, lying prone. The grass jabbed at the burns torn through his suit.

“If you’re going to shoot me, do it now and get it over with. I’m done,” he whispered.

A sharp intake of breath. A swear. Danny felt another sharp jab in his leg as Valerie kicked him again, 

“What is wrong with you? What game are you playing?” she said, her voice rising into a quavering shout. “Fight me.”

Danny opened his eyes, staring up at the sky overhead. It was a perfect night for stargazing, with hardly a cloud in the sky. Danny could pick out several constellations and, were it any other night, he might have lain there, finding as many as he possibly could. 

It was disquieting now, more than anything. The sky too vast and open. Too uncaring of the day’s events or the cold coiling in Danny’s chest. Frost continued to spread around him, the grass crackling in the wind with it.

“I’m not playing a game,” he said. “I… I wanted to help.”

The grass crunched as Valerie moved, her form swimming into view as she crouched over him, her ectogun still pointed at his face.

“Bullshit. I saw you. As if you ghosts weren’t causing enough harm— as if that fire wasn’t enough— what the fuck did you expect to happen with that ice?”

Her ectogun was so close to Danny’s face that he could feel the ectoenergy emanating from it. It burned against his raw, scorched skin. 

Danny swallowed, his throat tight and painful. His breathing picked up, chest heaving as he tried his best to force down the sob trying to well past his lips.

"I was trying to help," he repeated hoarsely.

If looks could kill, Valerie's would have given him a second chance at a headstone. She threw her ectogun aside and crouched down, grasping Danny firmly by the front of his suit. He couldn't help but flail in her grip, his hands landing on hers as she gave him a violent shake. Her eyes were mere inches from his now, reflecting the green glow of his own.

"You got people killed. Students— kids. My friends." Her voice broke and tears rolled down her cheeks. “D–Dash and Star are dead. Paulina and Tucker are in the hospital.” 

She gave him another violent shake and Danny simply went lax in her grip, letting go of her hands. Each word lanced his core. Ice struck through him— through his mind—

He could still remember, with far too much detail, the moment that ice had splintered, cracked, and fallen with far too heavy of a thud.

Tears slipped down Danny’s cheeks. He wanted to scream, to run, to get up and make things better somehow, but…

He couldn’t fix this. 

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I–I’m sorry.”

The words spilled out in a broken mantra, each word feeling far too hollow. Valerie swam in his vision, hazy and indistinct through his tears. 

“You don’t get to be sorry about this,” she snarled, giving Danny another furious shake, her nails digging into his chest like icicles. “Why are you crying? You don’t get to fuck up peoples’ lives and cry over it.”

Danny just shut his eyes, slowly shaking his head. He didn’t know what else to do, what else to say. There was nothing to say, other than those apologies that came too late and held too little.

He’d run. After Danny had made sure Tucker was stable, he’d simply run. The thought of lingering anywhere near people, even those he loved and who loved him, had sent that chill sparking in his chest. The cold had lingered for hours now, the frost persistent and biting. 

He could still see Tucker on that stretcher, his leg a bloody mess. He could picture Sam and Jazz, scrambling as they did what they could to pick up the pieces and cover for Danny's absence when he broke down and fled.

 Guilt coiled in Danny's belly, winding up his ribs and squeezing at his core.

Valerie let out a snarl and threw him backwards into the grass, hard enough to knock the air Danny didn't need from his lungs. He winced as the burns along his torso pulled and squinted open his eyes, expecting any moment now for the green bolt of an ectoblast.

It didn’t come.

Valerie paced beside him, her breaths shaky and stuttered with sobs. She kicked at the frozen grass with her boot and sank down into in. Running her hands roughly through her hair, she stared at him with blood-shot eyes.

“Why are you still here?” she demanded. “If you’re really sorry, why the hell are you still here? Haven’t you done enough harm?”

If the blazing rage in her voice had hurt, it was nothing compared to this flagging anger. Despondency. Valerie had never looked more like a child then, gripping at her hair like a lifeline and glaring at Phantom with glazed-over eyes.

It was all his fault.

Danny dragged himself up onto his elbow so he could look at her. Really look at her. 

She was shaking. 

“I lost two of my friends. We weren’t close anymore but… now we never will be.”

Another jab at his core, enough to sharpen the frost around him, a swirl of cold air ghosting over the hill. Valerie shivered in the chill, clutching herself tightly. She wasn’t looking at Phantom anymore, just staring, unseeing ahead.

 “I don’t even know if Paulina will be okay,” she said quietly. “I don’t… I don’t know what I ever did to deserve this— what they did. You play the hero, but you keep taking and taking from me and…”

Her voice trailed off as she glanced down at the grass beside her. The ectogun lay there, a layer of frost coating the barrel of the weapon. She picked it up with a shaking hand and stared at the thing, turning it over in her hands like a toy gun.

“I came looking for a fight. I told myself I’d finally end you, whatever it took.” Her hold tightened on the gun, the metal creaking in her shaking grip.

Danny listened with everything he had, the chirps of the crickets dying down until the only things that existed in the universe were him, Valerie, and the ectogun between them.

Valerie laughed, the sound a hollow mockery to its usual rich tone. She turned the ectogun back around, pointing it back at Danny.

“I still want to end you. I want to take from you what you took from me— from them…” 

The ectogun steadied in her hand, the barrel aimed right between Danny’s eyes. He resisted the urge to close them, facing Valerie and whatever judgment she had to offer.

Her words echoed in Danny's mind, his thoughts spiraling with memories of all of the times Dash had bullied him. How many times had he wished that the bully would turn over a new leaf, or somehow get his comeuppance for his cruelty? How many times had he joked with Sam and Tucker that Dash and his friends probably wouldn't amount to much in life?

The universe had a funny way of twisting his words.

“Then do it,” Danny whispered— almost begged for Valerie to balance the scales he'd tipped so drastically.

It would just take one good shot. 

Valerie's mouth twisted, her face crumpling as she looked away with another hollow laugh, this one more broken than the first. The ectogun slagged in her grip, the nose of it dragging into the grass.

“You couldn't even let me have this,” she said, her voice hushed and cracked, hardly louder than the wind. 

Danny’s chest heaved, each breath fogging the air with cold. He struggled up onto his knees, wobbling slightly. For one awful moment the world tipped around Danny, his mind desperately careening towards the ground. He dug his gloves into the frosted grass, clinging on with everything he had.

Valerie just glared at him, her eyes no less cold than the ice in his core. Though she didn’t raise the ectogun again, Danny could see her grip tense on the weapon.

Shivering, aching with the cold and emotions he couldn’t even put to words, Danny opened his mouth. Another apology danced on his tongue, mingling with the desire to goad Valerie into that shot. He knew how to get under her skin. With the right words, Danny could have that weapon lined up, Val’s finger on the trigger, and all of his worries one green blast from falling away.

He wasn’t sure he deserved even that.

Danny opened his mouth, but no words came out. His lips quivered, his breaths hitching with another sob. Sitting back on his haunches, he buried his face in his gloves, hardly feeling his fingers against his numb skin.

“I–I don’t know if I can go home,” Danny croaked, the words tumbling off of his tongue without permission.

A scoff, wavering and small. “The Ghost Zone is going to be the only place you can go now. After what you did? You’re lucky the Fentons are too busy helping at the school.”

A shiver ran the course of Danny's spine, his core stuttering painfully on the word Fenton.

He doubted they would have much trouble inciting a hunt against Phantom now.

Valerie was right. After today… There was no ghostly protector of Amity Park. No safe haven for the half of him that longed to protect and tried to with everything he had.

It was never enough. It had never been enough, and now…

For all the cemetery lacked a grave with his name, it would gain two by his hand.

"They'll kill me," Danny said quietly, his mind running over the shelves of glinting instruments that lined the lab. "I can't tell them anymore. I–I wanted to tell them. I was trying to. I was trying…"

Danny dug his nails into his knees, rough enough to dig through the torn material of his suit and draw ectoplasm to the surface.

Green and wrong. Sickly and dead, haunting his footsteps, dragging everything he touched down, down, down with him.

He should have never stepped foot out of that portal, never brought this taint with him.

"Tell them what? That they should have aimed better?" Valerie challenged with a sharp bite of anger.

Danny breathed out a shaky laugh. "Maybe," he agreed. 

Maybe that really would have been for the best. Maybe if they'd just known sooner, all of this wouldn't have happened. No deaths, no fire, no ice— maybe the broken body of their son would have been enough to shut that portal and all of the hurt that it contained.

Danny couldn't even blame the ghost and its fire. It had been an animal, just some sort of strange large cat that darted through the classrooms, leaving a flickering trail off of its flaming coat.

The hurt went deeper than that flame and instinct. It clung to the ice— to Danny's own hands.

He replayed it in his mind, a slow slideshow of ice skirting up the sides of the hallway, forming a shield from the flames licking the walls.

The horrific crack of it splintering.

The moment that wall of ice fell.

Danny dug furrows in his skin, hardly feeling the cut of his inhuman nails. The ectoplasm that dripped from his knees left icy rivers down his legs.

“Maybe things really would be better if they’d gotten me— if I was gone. If I’d just died properly the first time,” he quavered, the words bitten through teeth sharper than his nails.

Danny expected another scathing comment from Val, for her to agree and offer him words sharp enough to shred through the last of his resolve. When only silence greeted him, the wind too loud in his ears and the chill colder than the grave, he felt something inside him splinter and crack against that breeze.

“Everything’s my fault. If I’d just— if I’d just died in the portal— or never gone inside of it in the first place. I–I turned it on. I turned it on and it’s all my fault.”

The frost along the grass sharpened, growing to jagged points. The wind swirled in a haze, tearing at the frozen grass, whipping his hair up like flames. 

(Flames that had done less harm than his ice. Flames too similar to…)

A shout cut through the wind, the word lost to the roar. 

Danny choked back a sob, swallowing down the teetering sensation of a wail.

The shout came again, louder this time, but no less audible over the wind and the frantic thrumming of Danny’s core.

Screams danced on that wind, echoes of his own, memories made real each time the wail made its way past his throat.

New ones joined the fold.

A shout— a bellow— a word he recognized. 

“Phantom!”

It could’ve been miles away, against that onslaught of wind and the keening in his chest. A word lost to time and space, yet still more rooted to the earth than Danny felt in that moment.

He could have faded away. He felt that he might. Just one last choked sob or unearthly wail and he’d simply drift into the ether, tossed into the wind, little more than a bad memory.

An ectogun whined, a cruel accompaniment to his own name, bellowed like a battlecry into the night. 

One good shot. Just one good shot and maybe he’d find his peace. Maybe the town would too, without anymore salt to rub in the wound.

When the blast came, a green bolt that stained the dark of Danny’s eyelids, he braced himself for the hit. Whatever careless acceptance he threw at Valerie’s feet, Danny couldn’t help but recoil with fear.

The jolt never came. The blast never hit. Confused, Danny opened his eyes, frozen tears shattering on his lashes.

For all the snow and ice around him, the late spring could have turned back to mid-winter. It glared brightly in the starlight, flickering with something other.

A bolt of green ectoplasm burned through the ice in front of Danny, a green glint dancing across the white snow. It smoked slightly, a mere inch from his boot. A shot intentionally misfired. A warning.

And before him, silhouetted against the moon and covered with frost, stood Valerie. She had the ectogun trained on his skull once more. She shook, more from anger or the chill Danny couldn’t say. She’d been too close to the arctic blast— too close to him— and, like everything, his ice had bitten her too.

“Wh–what the fuck did you say about the p–portal?” she stammered the moment she finally had his attention.

If ever someone’s eyes could blaze with the same intense glare of a ghost’s, it was hers right then. Fire itself didn’t have such a burn.

The wind died down, the last strong gusts of it teasing at Valerie’s frost-peppered hair as it settled inward. The cold positively turned around his core, an awful spiral that wouldn’t abate.

Danny came back to himself, shuddering as he took in the jagged spires of ice surrounding him, each spike pointed to the cloudless heavens above. Amidst it all Valerie stood, waiting for her answer. 

“Val, I—”

“No,” Valerie snapped, the word as flinty and brittle as the ice beneath them as she took a step forward, her boots crunching down the spires. “Y–you don’t get to say my name. You d–don’t get to let this g–go.” 

Another step closer, the crunch of ice an awful mockery of how it had groaned and splintered…

“T–tell me about the portal,” she stammered, still shivering, her gritted teeth chattering. 

It was a command, not a question. The barrel of her ectogun pressed against his forehead: a promise.

Danny met Val’s eyes, digging deep for an answer, prying it reluctantly from his throat.

“I turned it on,” he said.

A slow shake of her head. Valerie’s brow furrowed. 

“You came through the portal,” she snarled. “All you ghosts came through that damn portal— stop lying and tell me the truth.”

The ectogun pressed into his skin, the warm metal stinging his cold ectoplasm.

Danny wasn’t sure if Valerie would believe the truth, but he’d let her have it. After everything, it was the least he could do. The only thing, without enough strength or will in his legs to stand and escape the line of her shot.

“I–I didn’t come through the portal,” he stammered, his core thrumming, his chest heaving as he threw everything into that admission. 

The barrel of the gun dug in, so much so it might as well have phased through. 

“Where else would you come from?” she said coldly.

Danny clenched his hands into fists, his grip sticky with his own ectoplasm. He wanted to pull away from the ectogun. He wanted to flee. He wanted to be anywhere but here. 

Anywhere. Anyone. Anything but Danny Fenton, the boy who couldn’t even die right.

“I turned it on,” he admitted once more in a hushed tone. “G–got electrocuted.”

Just speaking those words aloud took everything Danny had. Exhausted the last spark keeping him sitting upright, until he slumped, leaning into the barrel of the ectogun.

He could feel it shaking against his skull.

“You’re lying. You’re lying.”

Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks. How she had any left to spare was beyond him.

Danny swallowed a lump in his throat. “I’m not. You know I’m not,” he said.

Her eyes danced across his face, lingering intimately on each detail. The line of his nose. The curve of his chin. The arch of his brow.

The shape of his eyes.

“Danny told me he turned the portal on,” she said, her voice so quiet that he could hardly hear it over the thrum of his own core.

The words sank in, the cold impossibly deep with it.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, I did.”

Time seemed to stop as Valerie took in a sharp breath of air and held it. Danny could practically sense Clockwork on the margins, their hands held over this scene, guiding it along with all of the disinterest of someone who had seen it play out a thousand times before in a thousand different ways over a thousand different lifetimes. 

“No,” Valerie said, voice hollow. “No, you— you’re not him.”

The ectogun jerked in her hand, pinging off of Danny’s forehead. Valerie’s gaze snapped to it, her eyes widening with horror. 

She tossed it away as though suddenly burned.

Danny followed the weapon’s course, watching as it skidded through the snow and ice, tumbling until it fell against a large stone with a clatter. It sparked slightly at the impact and lay still.

"You can’t be…” Disbelief. Horror. Fear. “You can’t… He…”

Valerie glanced back to the ectogun. Danny wondered if she regretted letting it go. Her hands curled into fists, the bandages flexing with her grip. Her eyes snapped back to Danny and it took everything in him not to flinch.

“Prove it," she demanded in hardly more than a whisper, as though she hardly dared speak it aloud.

She didn't have to ask twice. She hardly had to ask once.

Danny had to reach deep for his transformation. The cold was so absolute, so all-encompassing, that for one heart-wrenching moment he wasn’t even sure if he could go back. His hands dug through the frost-covered grass as he dug deep, searching for that spot of warmth at the heart of his core.

It lay beneath layers of ice, frozen over and quiet, like the torpid slumber of a burrowing creature. Danny had to coax it out, throw kindling on the weak embers, and build a fire against the raging blizzard of his core. It flickered tentatively, struggling to find purchase, before those faint spring rays of sunlight managed to burst through.

Light sprang from his core, stuttering on its course as it cascaded over him. 

It brought no warmth. It brought no comfort. It brought only bruised flesh and raw, bloody wounds. Ectoplasm traded for blood, an awful and dark contrast without the green glow. The hillside grew darker without it, lit only by the ambient light of the city below and the stars that shown overhead.

The ice persisted, the cold so much worse.

Valerie had no words. She fell to her knees, eyes wide and searching, head slowly shaking in disbelief. Danny would give anything in that moment to know what she was thinking. Anything for her to just speak.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted her to say. He didn’t expect apologies or reassurances— he wasn’t even sure he wanted them, in any case.

He certainly didn’t deserve them.

But the silence yawned between them, as cold and biting as the frost coating the grass.

Danny found his eyes trailing skyward, almost absently. He picked out the Ursa Major constellation, tracing over each of its points. The stars always helped to sooth his wandering thoughts, but now they only served as an awful reminder.

Nights spent stargazing with his mother, before the world tilted on its axis. Making the most of late night patrols, fighting drooping eyelids just to soar higher into the clouds.

Each memory held a carefree freedom that was slowly slipping through Danny's fingertips, Times bygone and lost, without any time to mourn their passing.

“This whole time…”

Danny’s eyes wandered from the patchwork of stars to the blanket of frost. While his eyes had been glued to the heavens, Valerie’s own were locked on the frostbitten soil. She plucked at a blade of frozen grass, lifting it to her eyes.

“This whole time… you let me hunt you.”

Her nails pinched the grass, the ice fracturing. She kept her eyes on it, her voice shaking as she spoke.

“You let me hunt you. You… you let your parents hunt you.”

The ice shattered, the blade of grass drooping in Valerie's bandaged fingers. Her face crumpled, her mouth twisted into an awful grimace.

“You wanted me to shoot you. You asked me to— to…”

Her fist clenched around the limp blade of grass and she drove it down into the soil, her fist carving a path through the frozen grass.

Danny watched her quietly, waiting for her to look at him. Waiting for the moment her eyes met his and all of this became real.

Suddenly, Valerie pushed off against the ground and stumbled to her feet. Her knees buckled and shook but she managed it. Her chest heaved and her breath puffed out in fogging mist. 

Finally, her eyes met his.

There was anger there, but worse was the hurt. A pinched expression with tears welling on her icy lashes, her face still smeared with ash and blotchy with emotion.

She took two shaky steps towards him, closing the distance. Her boots crushing his ice with loud snaps and cracks that shattered the quiet night.

Her left hand dug into the collar of Danny’s shirt and binder, while her right wound backwards, curled into a fist.

Her punch struck him in the cheek, hard enough to snap his head back.

“Y–you were going to let me kill you,” she said, her voice a shattered, anguished growl. “You wanted me to.”

Her fist reeled back again, this time connecting with his jaw when it returned. Danny tasted blood on his tongue.

“Did you think that would make me happy?” she screamed, the sound raw and echoing over the hillside. “Did you even think how that would make me feel?”

She raised her fist once more, holding it shaking in the air. The bandages across her knuckles were dark with blood.

“Did you think it would make everything go away— that it would fix anything? That you’d just get to leave all of us behind, and that I’d somehow be o–okay with your blood on my hands?”

Tears rolled down her cheeks, falling on his face. Her hand stuttered in the air before she let it drop, instead fisting it into the other side of his collar. 

“Answer me!” she cried, shaking him as she had Phantom.

Danny had no idea what to do with his hands— himself. He tentatively closed one around her left wrist, just to hold himself up enough to keep his binder from digging into his throat. 

“I–I…”

“If you say you’re sorry right now, I really will end you, Danny. Give me an answer— an actual fucking answer.”

Danny swallowed, his lips quivering as he tried to put something— anything into words.

“I… I didn’t know what else to do,” was all he managed.

It wasn’t enough. He knew it wasn’t, not when the words first left his lips or when Valerie’s teeth gritted with renewed anger. 

“You don’t just get to make me your executioner when you can’t think of a fucking plan, Danny!” Her voice was so shattered, so broken and hoarse— from the smoke, from screaming, from the hurt cloying at her throat. “You never think things through. You never do, and because of it… because of it they…”

Danny took in a sharp breath of air as he caught her meaning. His grip on her wrist tightened and he couldn’t even bring himself to regret it when Valerie flinched. Danny struggled to get his legs back under him, pulling himself up onto his knees as he felt some anger bleed into the cold numb of his core.

“You don’t think I know that?” he shouted, his voice cracking, no less wrecked than her own. “I fucking tried, Val. I–I tried. I’ve always tried to help, whether or not anyone thinks that. Whether or not you think that.”

Each word shook. His jaw ached, with blood still on his tongue and a bruise no doubt forming on his cheek. He ignored the pain, grasping onto this flicker of anger. It felt good to feel it— to feel something other than the persistent gnaw of grief and ache.

Valerie’s eyes widened as Danny dug his nails in too rough, digging through the bandage on her arm. She gasped in pain, flinching, and it was only then that Danny realized just how close he was to snapping her wrist.

He let go suddenly and fell back as Valerie let him loose. She stumbled back too, hardly managing to stay on her feet. She stared at her shaking wrist where fresh spots of blood welled through the bandages.

Danny stared at it too, his core aching with regret. 

“I–I’m sorry,” he said, tentatively holding out his hand, reaching for her.

His core thrummed discordantly when she pulled back.

Valerie wouldn’t look at him again. Her eyes trailed from her wrist to the snow and ice around them. They skirted down the hill until she turned to stare out over Amity Park, her back to him.

She stood there for a long moment, silhouetted against the night sky with her hands balled into trembling fists.

Slowly, she crouched down, sitting on the hillside overlooking Amity. She wrapped her arms around her knees, her head bowed over them.

Silence. An overwhelming, pervasive silence, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and Danny's own uneven breaths. It was so much worse than the anger. So much worse than anything she could say to him.

Danny sat in that silence, drinking it in. He wondered if Sam and Jazz sat in a similar silence tonight. He wondered if Tucker was awake.

He wanted to go to the them and wrap his arms around them. Fall into their warm embrace and find some measure of comfort when he felt he deserved none.

He wanted it more than anything, even though he'd chosen to run.

Not that running had gotten him anywhere.

Danny stumbled to his feet, the world teetering around him as his head swam. He dug the toes of his ratty old sneakers into the ice and picked his way through it. Shaking, trembling— unsure above all else— Danny made his way to where Val sat.

She didn't move. She didn't so much as look at him. Hesitating, Danny waited for her to tell him to leave.

The crickets chirped in the silence.

Slowly, as though he were kneeling beside an immeasurably tall chasm, Danny sank down next to Val. He left enough space between them that she could easily move out of his reach.

Valerie's eyes remained fixed on Amity's lights. They were narrowed, heavy with dark bags that showed the depth of her fatigue.

That wasn't new. Ever since Phantom and Cujo tore through her old life, she'd always looked so exhausted.

Another regret he carried.

Danny followed her gaze down the hill. His eyes instantly locked on Casper High— blackened and battle-scarred as it was. The entire east side of the building was charred black, part of it collapsed where…

A shaky sigh left his lips.

"I don't even know what you are anymore," Valerie said, breaking the silence. It shattered around them, as fragile as his ice.

Danny picked at the knees of his jeans. They were red with his blood now and Danny could feel the furrows he'd dug into his flesh beneath the denim.

"I don't know either," he admitted quietly.

She shuffled uncomfortably beside him, pulling her legs tighter to her chest.

“You’re dead, though.” A statement. Harsh truth.

Danny nodded his head. “S–something like that,” he breathed.

Valerie lifted a hand to wipe at her face, sniffling.

“Did you… did you mean what you said about the portal?” she asked.

Danny glanced at her, but Valerie still wasn’t looking at him. She stared determinedly ahead, her eyes locked on Amity.

On Casper High or FentonWorks, he couldn’t be sure. Both were visible from the hill, neither a pretty sight.

Danny nodded. “Y–yeah. Electrocution. Don’t recommend it.”

His right hand rubbed over his left. The burns from the fire had started to heal across his hands, but his skin still bore a patchwork of scars that would never go away. One scar stood out above all else, a starburst from his palm that wound in fern-like spirals to his heart.

“It was an accident."

Valerie sniffed again. She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, taking shaky breathes.

"The portal or–or the ice?" she asked him, the last word strangled and drawn out.

Danny glanced at the ice still around them. They were at the edge of the worst of it, sat where the frost petered into rich spring grass.

"Both," he said.

Her eyes were on him now, hazel daggers that pierced through his soul. It felt like being scanned, as though each of Danny's sins were bared for her to see. For her to scrutinize and tell for herself whether he spoke a modicum of the truth.

"It was an accident," he repeated, not knowing which he meant. Both, maybe. "I–I always mess up. I got myself killed, and now… Ancients, I didn't mean to hurt anyone, Val. I just wanted to help."

She held his gaze, eyes half-lidded with sorrow as much as exhaustion. Her hands kept squeezing at her knees. Danny realized that she must be freezing in the chill that surrounded him, a misery made no easier by her own wounds.

She'd been hurt by the fire just as much as his ice and he couldn't imagine how to start treating either of those wounds.

When Valerie at last spoke her tone was careful and even, each word spoken with conviction. "Star and Dash are dead, Danny. That doesn't go away just because you didn't mean for it to happen… you know that, right?"

Danny nodded stiffly, clenching his fists. "I know. I know, Val. I can't… stop seeing it."

The fire. The ice. 

The blood that seeped like a slow river out from beneath it, reflecting the light.

Val chuckled, a dark and humorless sound that echoed in Danny's ears.

"That makes two of us," she said.

It wasn't just two of them. That hallway had been crowded, packed to the nines with students and teachers hurrying away from the flames. That only a handful of students had been crushed when his ice fell was nothing short of a miracle.

It didn't feel like much of one.

"Have you seen Tucker?" Val asked. There was something accusatory there, as if she couldn't believe that Danny would abandon his friend to sit up on this hill.

He couldn't help but agree with it.

"I made sure he was okay first," he said, his eyes sliding over the streets that led to the hospital. "He'll be okay, but… but his leg's pretty messed up."

Just imagining Tucker there had his core thrumming with unease. Tuck always hated hospitals. He didn't deserve to be there anymore than Paulina did.

(Anymore than Dash and Star deserved their place in its morgue.)

Danny only hoped Tucker and Paulina would be able to walk out of this one on their own two feet.

That hope was weaker than his own ice.

Val nodded beside him. "He's going to need you, you know. Whatever kind of pity spiral this is, you can't just abandon him."

Danny let out a shaky sigh. "I know."

Val's eyes narrowed, her jaw flexing as she grit her teeth. "Do you?" she challenged. "Just a few minutes ago you were trying to get me to… get me to…”

She trailed off, sucking in a sharp, wavering breath of air. 

“I know,” Danny repeated hollowly.

He could still feel the phantom press of the ectogun against his forehead.

Valerie pillowed her arms over her knees and rested her chin on top of them. She was shivering still and Danny realized that, for all the cold gripping at his chest, it must feel much worse for her.

After all, Valerie was still human. 

Danny focused on the ice around him, doing his best to try and call it back. He was getting much better at controlling it.

(Or at least he had thought he was.)

Slowly, Danny focused on the cold of his core, pulling that chill inward. He shivered with it, letting out a long, fogging breath as he forced the chill down. The ice went with it, melting into the air without a trace. 

The cold remained.

Valerie watched the strange process, her expression drawn. She ran a hand through the grass, as if testing to make sure it was real.

She opened her mouth to say something, closed it, and shook her head. The silence stretched on again, so much so Danny wasn't sure if she'd speak again. Finally, just when Danny was about to break the silence, she spoke.

"I have so much I want to say to you. I want answers. I–I want to hit you again, honestly."

She clenched her fists and Danny couldn't help but smile slightly at that. It didn't last long, dipping back into a deep frown as she let out a choked sigh.

Valerie picked at the bandages on her left hand, her eyes half-lidded as she asked, "Can you just answer one thing?"

Danny tensed. A hundred different questions rocketed through his mind, lingering most prominently on the dark tunnel of the portal and the glint of spectral ice. Valerie could ask him anything. About the Zone, about his powers, about his death—

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she asked instead.

Danny's core thrummed uncomfortably, his chest squeezing tightly as a fresh wave of ice spread through his veins. It was all Danny could do to take a deep breath and push it down, fighting against that rising chill when the frost began to prickle at the ground surrounding him once more.

Lying back down in the grass, Danny's eyes skirted over the night sky. The moon was a bright crescent, nestled amongst the blanket of stars. He wished he could curl up in the curve of it and fall asleep.

"I was scared— am scared," Danny said, speaking into the star-studded sky. 

Valerie sighed. She shifted, lying back into the grass as well.

"You told Sam and Tucker," she said. Hurt.

Glancing at her, Danny found Valerie's eyes locked onto the sky. She'd always humored him when he talked about the constellations, asking him questions more so he could ramble than she could have answers. He wondered how much of them she still remembered.

"I never told them," Danny admitted, training his eyes back to the heavens as they were wont to do. "They were just… there."

A sharp intake of breath. Danny could feel Valerie's eyes on him this time, though now he couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze.

"They saw it happen," she said, more a statement than a question.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Danny nodded. "August second, right before freshman year," he said quietly. "We were just messing around. W–we… we recorded it." 

Danny hadn't seen the tape— none of them had. He held onto the thin hope that the energy surge from the portal might have destroyed most of the recording, but the camcorder they used had been modified enough by his parents that it probably caught more than he'd ever like to see.

Not that Danny needed the reminder. The event replayed itself in his worst nightmares— in Sam and Tucker's too, they had reluctantly admitted to him last summer on the anniversary. 

Just the thought had Danny's stomach roiling. Part of him wanted to race home and dig the tape from its resting place inside the wall that divided his bedroom with Jazz's and tear it to pieces.

Another part of him still wanted to watch it.

The guilty, cowardly part of him would leave it there as a reminder.

(Danny’s mind trailed to another reminder, locked away in Clockwork's domain.)

"I'd say I was surprised, but I'm really not," Valerie said. "I don't think I've ever seen you think something through. You just— do it."

And then suffer the consequences, Danny couldn't help but think.

Valerie sighed, the grass rustling as she shifted. Danny couldn't help but notice that she winced in pain at the motion. He was about to ask her if she was okay when he felt the wound edges of a bandage press against his knuckles.

Turning over his hand, Danny let Valerie slip hers into his. Her hands were bigger than his— warmer, though not enough to disperse the chill in his own. He could practically feel the ice of his core sapping away her warmth.

"This doesn't all go away," she said. Her eyes were still on the stars, not meeting his own. "Tomorrow we're going to wake up and none of this is going to go away."

Danny squeezed her hand gently, too aware of the bandages pressed into his palm.

“I know,” he croaked. 

Danny wasn’t sure how he’d face tomorrow— or the next day— or the day after that. He supposed he was already used to living with regret, but nothing like this. Though Dan’s actions weighed on his mind, at the end of the day they were mere memory.

Nothing like this.

Valerie squeezed his hand back, more tightly. 

 “I haven’t forgiven you,” she told him, her voice tense but determined. “Not for anything. Not yet.”

Danny hummed in acknowledgement, unable to answer. He expected as much, but it didn’t hurt any less to hear. 

“I don’t know when I’ll forgive you— if,” she continued, Danny hanging on her every word. Though he’d wanted nothing more than to be alone, now Danny felt like the only thing keeping him grounded was the rasp of her voice.

“All I know is if you ever try this shit again— you ever give me a reason,” she gripped his hand with everything she had, hard enough to bruise. The bones in his hand groaned under the pressure and Danny had to bite back a hiss.

“Give me one fucking reason, Danny. Give up— run away. I’ll hunt you down. I’ll make you regret it.”

The tight grip of her fingers promised as much.

“I won’t run,” Danny promised back, matching a fraction of that squeeze.

Val let out a huff. “No giving up, either. I mean it. If you ever sit like that in front of an ectogun again…” Danny thought his hand might break under the force of her grip. “Promise me that’ll never happen.”

Danny’s eyes flickered across the night sky, the stars blurring into bright streaks of light as tears welled on his lashes.

“I swear it won’t.”

Val’s grip finally loosened, though she made no effort to pull her hand from his. Danny could still feel the faintest hint of warmth in her hand, the sensation buzzing against his numb skin.

“Good,” she said with a nod, her hair brushing over the grass. “You… you owe it to them. Not just to Tucker, but… Dash. Star. Paulina, too. They—fuck, they should still be here. They should still be here and I won’t let you forget that, Danny.”

Her words faltered and broke, powerful waves dashed against the rocks of an unyielding shore. Her grip tightened once more, though it shook too much to have the same force. Danny had no words or comfort to give her. Nothing he could say that wouldn’t feel too insignificant. Danny couldn’t pretend that he’d cared about Dash and Star anymore than he could pretend that his own actions were justified and right. A thousand what-ifs and could-have-beens paved the path that led to this day. 

A niggling voice in Danny’s mind told him, under no uncertain terms, that had he only faced his fears sooner, he wouldn’t have made such a costly mistake.

He’d never know. Clockwork themself would never turn back the hands of time for what they considered such a lowly lesson—

Though it was one that would haunt Danny until he drew his final mortal breath.

The stars were beautiful tonight. Too beautiful, with everything else crashing down around him. Danny’s mind wandered, thinking about the girl beside him and her two friends that she’d never get to see again.

Danny had seen what that sort of grief could do.

At least Valerie was stronger than him… Not that she deserved any of the weight bearing down on her shoulders, or the heavy secret of knowing who had caused the death of her old friends— accidental or not.

Danny hated knowing that Valerie would keep that secret.

He hated how easy it would be to keep it, burying that ice deep inside his chest.

Though his eyes lingered on the crescent curve of the moon, Danny’s mind continued to wander, thoughts drifting to the town below the hill. To Dash and Star, and the two families having the worst days of their lives. 

Even his own family, twisted and strange as it was, hadn’t had to suffer that hardship. They’d simply kept on moving, oblivious to how the green glow of the portal buried the tomb rested beneath it.

The crickets chirped, their songs renewed in full force without the icy breeze. If Danny strained his ears, he could hear the distant hoot of an owl and the chatter of frogs in the park. The earth breathed around him, heedless of the cold grief cloying at his chest.

Danny knew he’d have to pick himself up eventually. The night would end, and when the sun rose there would be no quiet darkness to hide himself in. Sam’s cover wouldn’t last forever. His guilt would only keep him from the hospital for so long. The school, once it reopened, would have two less students in its halls, a yawning echo where they should have been.

Not even ghosts. 

Certainly no Phantom.

If the portal remained, he doubted it would for long.

At least for a little while longer, Danny could stare up at the night sky, Valerie’s hand held in his. The stars above them were so bright and beautiful, but Danny couldn’t remember ever feeling so cold.