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the-winter-spider · 1 month ago

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Invisible | Part 18

Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: Fluff???

A/N: I plan to fully wrap up everything so theres still a bit more parts left

Masterpost (links on mobile sucks lately ill add it later)

Sunday

The sun bathed the market in a warm, golden glow, making the world feel softer, almost dreamlike. The usual Sunday bustle of the vendors and the scent of fresh produce filled the air, as comforting as a favorite old song. You and Bucky had been here countless times before, always as part of the group. But today, it was just the two of you, and everything felt different—more intimate, more alive.

Bucky walked close to you, his hand brushing against yours with every step. Each accidental touch sent a little jolt through your chest, and you felt your heart thudding louder than the chatter around you. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out, his fingers sliding between yours. His palm was warm and sure, and the simple act of holding his hand felt monumental.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and filled with quiet concern, his eyes scanning your face like he was reading a map.

You met his gaze, your lips curving into a soft smile. “Yeah,” you murmured, squeezing his hand. “It’s just… different. Being here without everyone.”

Bucky’s lips quirked into a crooked smile, his thumb brushing lightly against yours. “Different’s not bad,” he said, his voice teasing but warm. “Besides, it’s nice not having Sam steal all the good fruit.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling out of you before you could stop it. “Okay, true. He always swoops in like a hawk.”

Bucky chuckled, his shoulders relaxing as he gently tugged you closer, weaving you both through the crowd. “Exactly. And Nat’s always dragging us to some random stall to buy things none of us actually need.”

“Like that time she bought Steve a giant ceramic rooster for his kitchen?” you said, grinning.

He grinned back, his laugh full and genuine. “And now it’s proudly on display in his living room because he doesn’t know how to tell her no.”

The shared memory eased the tension in your chest, and by the time you reached the book vendor—the one you always gravitated toward—you felt like you could breathe again. The stacks of worn novels and faded spines greeted you like old friends, their musty scent wrapping around you.

Bucky reached for a battered copy of Pride and Prejudice, flipping it open with exaggerated care. “So, how long before you lecture me about how I’m missing out by not reading this?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a tattered edition of The Great Gatsby. “Only if you promise to stop pretending Hemingway is the only author worth reading.”

Bucky gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if you’d just wounded him. “You wound me, darlin'. Hemingway’s got soul.”

“Hemingway’s got issues,” you countered, raising an eyebrow. “And you know it.”

He leaned closer, his lips quirking up. “Maybe I just like complicated characters. Keeps things interesting.”

His voice was soft, but the look in his eyes made your breath hitch. You stared at him for a moment, feeling like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you, standing there surrounded by forgotten stories and unspoken feelings.

“I’ll let you win this one,” you said finally, your voice a little shakier than you intended.

Bucky smirked, his expression all too knowing. “You’re letting me win? That’s new.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you shot back, grabbing the book from his hands and adding it to the pile you were carrying. “Now, come on. You’re buying me coffee for enduring this.”

As you walked back through the market, your bag of books swinging between you, Bucky leaned in close, his breath brushing against your ear. “I like this,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. “Just us.”

Your chest tightened, your heart swelling as you tilted your head up to look at him. His blue eyes were so open, so earnest, it made you feel like you could drown in them. “Me too,” you whispered, your voice barely carrying over the noise of the market.

Bucky smiled, that lopsided grin you’d loved for years, and tightened his grip on your hand. The moment felt suspended in time—like a chapter you never wanted to end.

The sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue across the city. You and Bucky were walking home from the farmers market, a bag of books swinging between you and a carton of fresh strawberries in his other hand. The day had been easy and light—filled with laughter and teasing—and for the first time in a long while, you felt like you could breathe.

“You know,” Bucky began, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, “I always knew you’d drag me into the book section first.”

You grinned, nudging him with your shoulder. “And yet, you came willingly. Admit it, you love it.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I love you. The books are just a bonus.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you quickly deflected with a playful roll of your eyes. “Flatterer.”

As you reached your apartment building, the playful banter slowed, replaced by a comfortable silence. Inside, the air was still, the faint hum of the fridge filling the background. You set the bag of books down on the counter and turned to find Bucky watching you, an unreadable expression on his face.

“What?” you asked, your voice soft.

He stepped closer, his fingers grazing your hand. “Can we talk?”

You swallowed, suddenly nervous, but you nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

“You’re mine right?” Bucky leaned against the counter, his hands gripping the edge.

“Am i?” You spoke softly.

He hesitated, his jaw working as if he were searching for the right words. Finally, he looked at you, his blue eyes steady but vulnerable. “I thought when we said we loved each other, it was kind of… set in stone. You know?”

You blinked, caught off guard, before letting out a small laugh. “Bucky, you’ve known me for how long? You should know I need reassurance or, like, a label or something.”

A grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he straightened, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you. “Okay, then,” he said, his voice low and warm. He reached out, his hand cradling your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “Sweetheart, baby, babe—will you do me the greatest honor of my life and be mine? Officially?”

Your heart melted at the sincerity in his voice, the way his eyes searched yours with both hope and fear. You couldn’t help the wide smile that spread across your face as you nodded. “Yes, Buck. Of course.”

His grin was instant, bright and boyish, and before you could say another word, he scooped you up, spinning you around. You squealed, laughing uncontrollably as he peppered your face with kisses.

“So this is what it’s like to be with the Bucky Barnes,” you teased, breathless as he set you down.

He shook his head, his hands still firmly on your waist. “No,” he said, his voice soft and serious. “This isn’t what it’s like to be with Bucky Barnes. This is what it’s like to be with you. This is what it feels like to love you. And there’s nothing in the world like it.”

The weight of his words hit you square in the chest, and you reached up, cupping his face as you pressed your forehead against his. “You’re gonna make me cry, Buck.”

“Good,” he teased, brushing his nose against yours. “I’ve been crying over you for years.”

You giggled, swatting his chest lightly before pulling him into another kiss, this one slower, deeper, a promise lingering between you.

When you finally broke apart, he grinned again, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hey, you wanna have a sleepover?”

You tilted your head, confused. “Bucky, we live together.”

“No, no,” he said, his grin widening. “I mean a sleepover in my room.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, I guess I never thought about how this is gonna work. We literally live together.”

“Exactly,” he said, his tone teasing but sincere. “So, what do you say?”

You pretended to consider for a moment before nodding. “I would love to have a sleepover with you.”

He let out a triumphant little cheer, grabbing his keys. “Perfect. I’m gonna grab takeout, and then we’re having a movie marathon. Don’t move.”

You laughed as he kissed you quickly and darted toward the door. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, you let out a deep sigh, sinking onto the couch. Your phone buzzed, and you saw a text from Natasha.

Nat: So… spill.

You: Spill what?

Nat: Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you and Bucky are FINALLY together?!

You: Who told you? Did you spy on us?

Nat: ...... I know everything, duh. Now stop deflecting and give me details.

You hesitated for a moment, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard. Then, with a small smile, you replied.

You: It’s… good. Really good. He’s trying so hard, Nat. He’s being so sweet. He’s everything.

Nat: Of course he is. That man’s been in love with you for YEARS.

You: I know, but it’s still scary. What if we mess this up?

Nat: You won’t. Trust me. You’re both too stubborn to let that happen. Now, when are we hanging out? We missed Farmer Market Sundays, and I hate being away from everyone.

You: Friday, at the bar?

Nat: Perfect. I’ll see you then. And don’t worry. You’ve got this babe <3

You smiled, setting your phone down just as the door opened again, Bucky walking in with bags of takeout. His grin was wide, and his eyes sparkled as he held up the food triumphantly.

“Sleepover of the century starts now,” he declared.

And for the first time in years, everything felt truly right.

Wednesday

The café buzzed softly with life—muted chatter, the occasional clink of cups, and the hum of the espresso machine. Wanda sat across from you at a small table near the window, the sunlight catching the caramel streaks in her hair. She handed you your latte with a grin, her eyes twinkling with something knowing.

“You look… happy,” she teased, drawing out the word as she leaned forward on her elbows.

You ducked your head, the warmth in your cheeks impossible to hide. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

She tilted her head, her expression softening. “I’m really happy for you, you know. You and Bucky… it just makes sense.”

You smiled into your cup, taking a sip to mask the emotions her words stirred. “Thanks, Wanda. It’s just… weird, I guess. We’ve been friends for so long, and now it’s different.”

Wanda reached out, her hand warm over yours. “Different doesn’t mean bad. It means growth. And knowing you two, it’ll be beautiful.”

You nodded, her words comforting yet thought-provoking. “It’s just… scary, you know? What if we mess it up? What if this ruins everything?”

Wanda’s grip on your hand tightened slightly as she said your name "You’ve been dancing around each other for years. Do you really think you’re going to mess this up? You two have already been through the worst of it, and you’re still here. That’s not nothing.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “I guess you’re right.”

“I am,” she said with a playful grin. Then her expression shifted, a hint of something more serious flickering in her eyes. “But can I ask you something?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Of course.”

“Did you really not know about Natasha’s feelings towards Steve?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

Your stomach dropped slightly at the question. “No i didn’t, I feel like a horrible friend, a horrible person how could I have missed it? You knew?”

Wanda nodded, her gaze steady. “Yeah.”

“How long?”

She hesitated, fidgeting with the sleeve of her cup. “A while. Honestly, I don’t even know if I would have figured it out if she hadn’t told me. She’s always been good at hiding stuff like that.. She’s been holding onto it for a while now. Longer than anyone realises.”

The weight of her words settled over you, heavy and unspoken. “What am I supposed to do with that, Wanda?” you asked quietly. “I don’t want her to feel like she’s second best, like she doesn’t matter. She’s my best friend.”

Wanda’s gaze softened, her voice gentle but firm. “There’s nothing you can do. Just like no one could force you and Bucky together. It has to be something Natasha sorts out for herself. And Steve… he’ll move on, eventually. He’s stronger than people give him credit for.”

You let out a breath, your chest feeling tight. “I just hate that all of this is so messy. It feels like everything’s at risk.”

Wanda said your name, leaning forward and fixing you with her warm but steady gaze. “We’re too close, all of us, to let this ruin anything. We’ve been through worse. It might take time, but we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Her words were like a balm, soothing the ache in your chest. You reached out and squeezed her hand in thanks. “What would I do without you?”

Wanda grinned. “Probably spiral into chaos. Now, are you gonna finish that latte or let it go cold?”

You laughed softly, lifting the cup to your lips. “Point taken.”

The apartment smelled divine, the air rich with the aroma of garlic and fresh herbs as you stepped inside. The sight of Bucky in the kitchen made your heart skip a beat. He stood there in a fitted black t-shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal his strong forearms, wearing an apron you’d bought as a joke that said Kiss the Cook. He was stirring something in a pan, his brow furrowed in concentration.

He was humming softly to himself, stirring something in a pan, completely immersed in what he was doing.

“Wow,” you said, leaning against the doorway with a teasing smile. “What’s the occasion, Chef Barnes?”

Bucky turned, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “You, doll,” he said easily, leaning one hip against the counter. “Figured I’d whip up something special for my girl.”

His words made your cheeks flush, and you stepped closer. “You’re really setting the bar high here. You sure you’re not trying to win boyfriend of the year?”

“Trying?” he asked, his grin widening. “Sweetheart, I’m already the reigning champ.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips. “What’s on the menu, then?”

“Pasta,” he said, nodding toward the stove. “Made the sauce from scratch. None of that jarred stuff for you.”

Your heart swelled at the thoughtfulness of it all. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble, you know.”

Bucky shrugged, turning back to the stove. “You’re worth it.”

The simplicity of his statement, the sincerity in his voice, had your chest tightening. You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind and resting your cheek against his back. “Thank you,” you murmured.

He stilled for a moment, then set the spoon down and turned in your arms to face you. His hands found your waist, his thumbs brushing your sides. “Always,” he said softly, his blue eyes locking onto yours.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he teased, flashing you that charming, boyish grin as he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. He turned off the stove, plating the pasta with a chef-like flourish, and set the dishes on the table. Pulling out a chair for you, he gestured grandly. “M’lady.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you sat. “Chivalry isn’t dead, huh?”

“Not when it comes to you,” he quipped, settling into the chair across from you.

For a moment, you just watched him, the warm glow of the kitchen light casting a golden halo around him. Your chest tightened with a sudden swell of emotion, a happiness so profound it was almost startling. “I haven’t felt like this in years,” you murmured, your voice soft and vulnerable. “This happy.”

Bucky’s smile softened, his blue eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter. “You deserve the world, doll,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “There’s nothing else like this. Nothing else like you.”

The weight of his words settled over you, a warmth spreading through your chest that made your breath hitch. You reached across the table, your fingers finding his. “How do you do that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just… say the exact right thing?”

His grin was lopsided and endearing. “I’ve had years to practice,” he said, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

Dinner passed in a blur of laughter and lighthearted teasing, the conversation flowing as easily as it always had between you two—but now, there was an added layer of something deeper. Something that had been there all along but was finally allowed to flourish. Every glance he gave you, every fleeting touch, felt like a promise, unspoken but deeply felt.

When the plates were cleared, Bucky leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest as he studied you with a soft, thoughtful expression. “You know,” he said, his voice low and intimate, “this is my favorite version of us.”

You tilted your head, curiosity sparking in your eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Right here,” he said, gesturing between the two of you. “You, me, no walls, no pretending we’re just friends… It feels like this is how it was always supposed to be.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and you ducked your head slightly, smiling. “It does, doesn’t it?”

Bucky reached across the table, his hand cupping your chin gently, tilting your face back up to meet his gaze. His eyes searched yours, his voice soft but resolute. “I don’t know how I got lucky enough to have you, but I’m not gonna waste it.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re not the only lucky one, Buck,” you said, leaning into his touch. “We both are.”

After dinner, you moved to the couch, settling beside each other with your legs tangled. Bucky reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve got sauce right… here,” he said, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

“Smooth,” you teased, laughing softly.

“What can I say? I’m a gentleman.” His grin was playful, but the way his eyes lingered on yours sent a shiver down your spine. His lips quirked into a small smile, and he leaned forward, brushing a kiss across your knuckles. “Let me show you just how lucky I feel.”

Before you knew it, he was leaning in, and you met him halfway. The kiss started slow, his lips warm and soft against yours. But as the moments stretched, it deepened, his hand cupping the back of your head while his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer.

Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, your heart racing as you slipped your hands beneath the fabric, feeling the heat of his skin. He groaned softly against your lips, his body tensing under your touch.

But then, just as things started to heat up, he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours. His breaths were uneven, his hands gentle as they steadied you.

“Wait,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You blinked, your mind still foggy from the kiss. “What’s wrong?” you asked, searching his eyes.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he assured you, his thumb brushing your cheek. “I just… I want to do this right. With you. I don’t want to rush into anything, even though…” He trailed off, his gaze dropping to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Even though I want this so bad. I want you so bad.”

His words made your chest ache in the best way. You reached up, cradling his face in your hands. “Okay,” you whispered. “We’ll take our time.”

He smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You bit your lip, hesitating before asking, “Bucky… earlier, you said you haven’t been with anyone since that night in college. Is that true?”

His brows furrowed slightly, but he nodded. “Yeah, doll. It’s true. I wouldn’t lie to you. I may have been a jackass, but I’ve never lied to you.”

The vulnerability in his voice, the honesty in his gaze, made your stomach flip. “Me neither,” you admitted quietly.

Bucky blinked, his head tilting slightly. “Wait, what?”

“I haven’t been with anyone either,” you said, your cheeks burning. “Since that night. Dean was the first guy I kissed since then.”

His lips parted in surprise, his voice low as he repeated, “You kissed Dean?”

“Yeah,” you said, fiddling with a loose thread on the couch cushion. “But that’s it. Just a kiss.”

Bucky stared at you for a moment, then a slow, crooked smile spread across his face. “You know what that means, right?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He leaned in, his voice low and full of promise. “It means I’m gonna be the last guy you ever kiss.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding as his words sank in. “I hope so,” you whispered.

Bucky didn’t hesitate. He kissed you again, slow and deliberate, as if to seal the promise between you. His hands cradled your face, his lips moving against yours in a way that felt like forever and not long enough all at once.

Thursday

You sat at your desk, staring at your laptop screen, trying to focus on the manuscript in front of you. The office buzzed faintly with the hum of phones ringing and distant chatter, but it all faded into white noise when your phone vibrated. You glanced at it, seeing Sam’s name pop up with a new text.

Sam: Hey, Barnes tell you yet?

You frowned, your fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You: Tell me what?

Sam: That I’m gonna kick his ass at darts tomorrow night.

You giggled, rolling your eyes.

You: LOL. You wish.

Sam: Nah, I’m serious. The man’s been smug all week. Like he’s got some big secret or something.

Your stomach did a little flip as you typed your response.

You: …

Sam: Wait a minute. Oh my God. Is the big secret YOU?!

You: … Maybe.

Sam: FINALLY!!!!!!

Before you could even think of a response, your phone buzzed with an incoming call. You smiled, answering it with a dry, “Didn’t realize this was so urgent.”

Sam’s voice came through, teasing but warm. “Oh, it’s urgent, alright. I’ve been waiting for this since… I don’t know, forever?”

You laughed softly, leaning back in your chair. “I didn’t realize you were such a romantic.”

“I’m not,” Sam shot back, his voice laced with amusement. “I’m just tired of watching you and Barnes do this ridiculous will-they-won’t-they dance. Turns out, y’all finally figured it out.”

“Yeah, well…” You trailed off, biting your lip. “It’s… new, of course”

“New, huh?” Sam drawled. “New enough for him to be walking around like he’s king of the world, apparently. You should’ve seen him yesterday—man was smiling so much I thought his face was gonna break.”

The image made you laugh, your heart warming. “That’s… good to hear.”

Sam paused, his tone shifting slightly. “You’re happy though, right? I mean, you’ve been waiting for this.”

You hesitated for a moment before answering, “Yeah, I am. It feels… right. Scary, but right.”

Sam hummed in acknowledgment. “Good. That’s what matters.” There was a beat of silence before he added, “Hey, uh, so I talked to Steve.”

Your stomach tightened at the mention of his name. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s… Steve,” Sam said carefully. “You know how he is. Quiet, keeps everything close to the vest. But I know Friday night hit him hard.”

You sighed, guilt twisting in your chest. “I haven’t really talked to him since. I don’t even know what to say.”

“He’s just gonna need some time,” Sam said gently. “But listen to me—don’t write him off as a friend. Steve’s a good guy. He’ll come around.”

The idea of losing Steve made your throat tighten. “It hurts that you’d think I would. Sam, I—I feel like a horrible friend. How could I have not noticed before?”

Sam’s voice softened, laced with understanding. “Because you were blinded by your feelings for Bucky. Doesn’t make you a bad friend, just human.”

You closed your eyes, swallowing hard. “I hate that I hurt him.”

“I know,” Sam said. “But you can’t carry all the blame. Steve’s strong, and he’ll get through this. He just… he needs to process it on his own.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “Do you really think everything’s gonna be okay?”

Sam’s voice was confident, reassuring. “Yeah. You’ve got Bucky now, Steve’s got all of us, and we’ve been through worse. We’re too stubborn to let this group fall apart.”

That made you smile. “You’re annoyingly wise sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam replied smugly. “Now, I’ll see you tomorrow. First one who hangs up doesn’t have to buy the first round.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “That’s not fair—”

Click.

You stared at the phone, your smile lingering as you set it down. Somehow, Sam always knew how to make things feel just a little bit lighter.

The living room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the TV casting shadows across the walls. You and Bucky were sprawled on the couch, your legs tangled together as some classic action movie played in the background. It was one of those easy, quiet nights where the world outside seemed to fade away.

Bucky’s arm was draped casually over your shoulder, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your arm. Every now and then, you caught him glancing at you instead of the screen, his lips quirking into that small, soft smile you’d grown to love.

You shifted slightly, resting your head against his chest. “Hey,” you started softly, your voice cutting through the quiet. “Have you, um… seen or talked to Steve since… you know, last Friday?”

Bucky’s fingers paused for a moment before resuming their gentle motion. He let out a quiet sigh. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “I saw him Wednesday when you were out with Wanda. He was on his way out, so it was real brief.”

“And?” you asked, tilting your head to look up at him.

He shrugged, his gaze still fixed on the TV. “He was fine. I mean, as fine as Steve gets, you know? He nodded at me, said hey, and that was about it.”

Your chest tightened, and you sank back against him, chewing on your bottom lip. “I’m nervous about tomorrow,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m excited to see everyone, but… I don’t want things to be weird.”

Bucky finally looked down at you, his brow furrowed. “Things are gonna be weird, doll,” he said, his voice steady but kind. “At least for a little while. But they’ll get better. It’s us, right? We always figure it out.”

You sighed, closing your eyes briefly. “I’ve just… never been in a situation like this before. I don’t know how to handle it. What if Steve doesn’t—what if things aren’t the same anymore?”

Bucky shifted, sitting up slightly so he could face you more fully. He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “Steve’s not like that. You know him. He’s always been the solid one, the one who keeps us all together. If anyone can handle this, it’s him.”

You nodded, his words offering some comfort. “I hope you’re right.”

Your phone buzzed on the coffee table, interrupting the moment. You reached for it, noticing two new messages. One from Sam and the other from Steve. Your stomach fluttered nervously as you opened Sam’s text first.

Sam: I talked to Steve. You have nothing to worry about. He’ll always love you as a friend before anything else. Told him about you and Buck. Hope thats okay?

You exhaled slowly, relief flooding through you as you typed back a quick response.

You: Its okay...Thanks, Sam. I needed that.

Sam: I know you like the back of my hand girl

You snorted, Bucky glanced over, noticing the way your face relaxed. “What’s that?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

“Sam,” you replied. “He said he talked to Steve. Apparently, I have nothing to worry about.”

Bucky nodded, his lips quirking into a small smirk. “Told you.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but before you could respond, your attention shifted to Steve’s message. You opened it, your fingers trembling slightly.

Steve: Hey. Just wanted to check in. Are we okay?

Your heart ached at the simplicity of his question, the weight of everything unsaid behind it. You quickly typed a response.

You: To me? Always, Stevie. You?

His reply came almost instantly.

Steve: Always. Excited to see everyone tomorrow.

You: Me too. You sure?

There was a pause before his response came through.

Steve: I’m sure :)

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then, you added:

You: Thanks, Steve. For always being there. I hope you know I’m always here for you too…

His response was simple but sincere.

Steve: I know. And Always.

You stared at the screen for a long moment, the words settling in your chest like a comforting weight. Bucky shifted beside you, his hand slipping to your waist as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice warm and steady.

You nodded, leaning into him. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Just… thinking about tomorrow. How everything’s going to change.”

Bucky tightened his hold on you, his voice firm but gentle. “Not everything, doll. Some things don’t change.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his eyes. “Promise?”

His lips quirked into a soft smile. “Promise.”

As the movie played on in the background, you allowed yourself to sink into the comfort of the moment.

Friday

The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft stripes of gold across the room as you finished adjusting your blouse in the mirror. The weight of anticipation pressed lightly on your chest. Tonight would be your first time facing everyone as a couple—or whatever you and Bucky were now.

Leaning against the doorframe, Bucky sipped his coffee, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his hair sticking up from where he’d slept. He looked effortlessly handsome, the kind of sight you’d never get tired of. His easy smile, however, didn’t quite mask the tension in his eyes.

“Ready for tonight?” he asked, breaking the silence. His tone was casual, but there was a cautiousness to the way he looked at you.

You glanced at him in the mirror, smoothing your blouse once more. “I think so. Are you?”

He shrugged, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “As ready as I’ll ever be. They’re gonna give us so much shit.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “We deserve it.”

He stepped closer, his coffee forgotten on the dresser. His hands found your waist, turning you gently to face him. His touch was steady, grounding. He leaned down, brushing a kiss against your temple. “They’ll love us,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “They already do.”

For a moment, you stared up at him, your heart swelling. His confidence in this—in you, in both of you—was overwhelming in the best way. “You really think so?” you asked softly.

He nodded, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “Babe, they’ve been rooting for us longer than we’ve even known we were a ‘we.’ Trust me.”

You smiled, leaning into him, but your chest still felt tight. You couldn’t help but think of how tonight could be the start of something wonderful—or another complication in your already messy lives.

“Stop overthinking,” Bucky said, reading you like an open book. His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“That ‘I’m carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders’ look,” he teased, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s us.”

“It’s us,” you echoed, the words sinking in. “Okay, fine. You win.”

He grinned. “I always do.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Cocky much?”

His grin turned devilish as his hands slid down to your hips, pulling you closer. “What can I say? You bring it out of me.”

Your heart skipped a beat as his lips met yours, soft and slow at first, like he was savoring the moment. But the kiss deepened quickly, his hands tightening around you as if he couldn’t stand the distance. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing against him as your breaths mingled.

He pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, his voice rough with want. “I just can’t keep my hands off you.”

You laughed softly, your forehead resting against his. “Remember, you’re the one who wanted to move slow.”

He chuckled, the sound low and addictive. “Don’t remind me. It’s torture.”

You leaned up, pressing another quick kiss to his lips before stepping back, smoothing your blouse again. “Good thing you’ve got that Bucky Barnes patience, huh?”

“Barely,” he admitted, his eyes still locked on you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

As you grabbed your bag, he reached out, brushing his fingers against yours. “I’ll see you at work?”

“Of course,” you replied, turning back to give him a smile. “We’re walking to the bar together after, right?”

Bucky nodded, his expression softening into something achingly tender. “I’m never leaving your side again, so yes. Always.”

Your chest tightened, his words resonating deeper than you expected. With one last smile, you stepped out the door, the warmth of his presence lingering with you all the way to work.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes au #james barnes x you #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes

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jellitchi · 10 months ago

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vat7k designs in my head...

i thought their canon designs were a eensy weensy bit Unpolished so i made these mostly for myself. erm if u rly want it i think varian is 19 here, hugo 19, nuru 18, yong 12.

i also made rhem all playlists and had to draw them a cover so thats what the last img is I linked each of em under my notes for all of em... Under the cut is Like a Huge Infodump of notes i have for each chara,,,,,,

i kept varians design basically the same, i dislike the design w the orange neck thing so i just Nuked it😭... Here's Varians playlist

Hugos design i just wanted to put him in something more Loose. hes a thief, a professional escape artist. i dont think wearing clunky metal is ideal for him. i also gave him a prosthetic arm (blond w no arm design trope!) but u cant see it in the ref so i added another drawing of him in his under layering👍 i vaguely referenced russian(?) clothes for him as well... Yeah not too much changed w him i just tried to make him slippery-er. Here's Hugo's playlist

yong came relatively easy to me, if it wasn't obvious i did rip gaming from g*nshin's hoodie. i thought the lion hood was Adorable and freaking perfect for what i had in mind for hos character. since the og notes said the fire kingdom is loosely Chinese inspired i basically just kept that. i mashed tgt a buncha diff dynasties though sorry for how inconsistent i was... i think he looks Okay. anyways i changed yongs role a bit, ill explain why im adjusting some of their roles later but i kept yong as the Jinx Type character. hes the eldest in his family and has a buncha younger siblings, hes a lion dancer and does performances w his family/siblings. he rly like special effects n keeps tryna incorporate his fireworks into their performances (it flops and he has to sew up the dmg) ill explain more of yongs role in another post maybe shrugs... Here's Yong's Playlist

miss nuru was a bit of a struggle for me i might share my full design process with her coz i did a Bunch of mockups for her😭😭😭... i didnt have a specific country of reference for her but i chose to make her vaguely south asian inspired. i also really wanted to keep the sheer fabric w the star / constellation map. i love that idea its so cute so shes still technically the navigator. but she also wields a sword too, fencing or whatever. (her and varian r Huge Cass fangirls which is probably why she started tryna use a sword (snuck out to watch cass compete) Okay ill talk abt this later) in my head, okay ill Probably make a whole nother post talking abt how im interpreting/writing each chara, but in my head i think nuru is the youngest and her kingdom's archivist. shes mostly in charge of like Her kingdoms history / artifacts / etc. ok im getting too side tracked ill save the lore dump for later but thats Nurus role in the party. Here's Nuru's Playlist

uhm below i made their character stats mostly to help me with planning / role developing. the yellow is their base stats the color behind is their end stats i guess. i was gonna explain my reasoning for their stats but ermm this post is kinda Really long so sorry😭... varian max int for obvious reasons, also max charisma just coz i feel like u kinda learn a thing or two being around a couple manipulators and spending time in jail idk shrugs... (also lets not forget the "ud b surprised what ppl would do for a cookie!") Hugo slippery guy, if a brick is thrown at him as hes running hes gonna try n run faster to shatter it, his mindset is Run Run Run! i think hes relatively agile too but yeah mostly a Speedster. i think he n varian got no Physical strength varian maybe just like A little coz Farm boy but I rly doubt quirin is making him do a Lotta heavy lifting. yong has incredible stamina and agility because hed a performer. nuru is the strongest coz this team would literally Flop without a proper Offense😭... i think varian n hugo r able to outwit plenty of their opponents but i think nuru is pretty good in a fight, same w yong. Yeah Okay Sorry for a Long Long Post thanks hope u guys enjoy

#vat7k #varian and the seven kingdoms #varian vat7k #hugo vat7k #nuru vat7k #yong vat7k #varian tangled #fanart #lizzysart

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shiki-jin · 8 months ago

Text

YOUR CELESTIAL MAJESTY • SAGAU

(part 0 here)

was listening to TruE on loop while writing the last part of this, it's genuinely such a good song ugwvdya

also can you spot the contradiction ;D it's plot relevant i promise

not proofread, dont bully me ill write a thesis on why youre a meanie

—

you had long deleted genshin, since you had other things to do. you had wanted to go back to the game for a while now, now that you were less busy, but there was just one little problem.

it was now taking up nearly triple the amount of space that it was when you uninstalled it. around 300 whole gigabytes.

jesus christ, what phone can even handle this???

your phone, apparently. because as you opened the game to see if maybe a miracle would happen and that if maybe they would just, like, remove half of the things in the game, it just… kinda loaded?

no installing new files, no checking for anything, no nothing…. just an immediate pan to the gates of celestia.

you decided to check if it was the right genshin since this was just way too weird, but countering your judgement, every link you found led you to the same game, leading you to believe it not to be a bootleg or an illegal version.

guess i’ll trust it then.

you clicked on the gates which opened smoothly, and your screen turned white. then, the symbols of the seven elements appeared in gray.

and then the game just… opened. no loading time, once again. no getting stuck on the geo symbol, nothing. nada. just a smooth entrance into what you had to assume to be teyvat — but your surroundings didn't really support that claim.

the grass was brown and just looked off, the sky was gray. a darker shade than, say, mond’s walls, but it was like one of those game crashes.

well, except you could still move around.

you moved your current character around (the traveller? since when were they the only one in your team?) and decided to open the map after not figuring out where you could possibly be.

hold on, this is springvale? since when?

eveything looked dead, like it had been rotting for a century. you tried to ignore it though, and teleported to the inside of mondstadt. surely this was just some glitch, right? one that would fix itself if you teleported?

maybe the world loaded incorrectly, maybe the fact that nothing took time to load meant that it couldn't load, maybe this or that, maybe…

maybe this really was how the game looked normally. you hadn't done any quests though, so you wondered if it could be restored.

you took a screenshot of the your surroundings — the stone, worn down and dirty. the houses which looked to be in a horrible state, and… the npcs, all sickly and pale, like they were starving.

you went to reddit (yes, reddit), and posted the screenshot, asking if it was normal.

you closed the game and decided to take a nap, too tired to really deal with this shit any further.

while you slumbered, people replied to your post.

╰┈➤ lol me too anon, me too

╰┈➤ isn't the game closed or wtv? how'd you get this wtf

╰┈➤ they're trolling

╰┈➤ o makes sense oops

╰┈➤ So we’re all still mourning huh

╰┈➤ jokes aside that's a super impressive edit ngl

you remained unaware of the truth, but you'd find out soon enough.

actually, you'd find out now, apparently…

what the fuck?? why is my bed so hard now?

you groaned and forced your eyes open, seeing a dark, nearly black sky.

the only light was a single star, lingering right above you.

“since when was i outside...?"

a voice spoke to you, answering your question.

“you always have been, have you not? but would you like to head inside, my lord?”

... huh? i recognize that voice...

—

p.s. place your bets on who it is, i’m thinking of one specific character but if there's a fan fav i'll make it them instead since i haven't written anything beyond this point (⁠・⁠_⁠・⁠;⁠)

p.s.s. don't expect updates to this series too quickly, i wish i could write as quick as i think of ideas but sadly that's not the case orz

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #sagau #yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yippie #genshin self aware #genshin self aware au

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the-californicationist · 1 year ago

Text

Guile & Guilt (Ch. 07)

Soap/Reader

TW: sex

MDNI/18+

AO3 LINK

I'm so sorry for the wait!! I hope this long chap made up for it. I really appreciate all the comments and reblogs. It really keeps me going. The next chapter is gonna be rough. Hope you're ready for it. I'm not!

CHRISTMAS EVE

The lecture hall slowly began to fill with graduate students and professors. A gaggle of undergrads huddled to the side with their notebooks, surely attending by someone else’s command and not of their own volition. They were all dressed in various layers of warmth. Anoraks and sweaters rustled and stretched in the cloth seats, the odd peacoat was hung carefully over the edge of a chair. It was nice to have a small crowd, but you were sure everyone had somewhere better to be. The only people that would show up to the long-standing tradition of a Christmas Eve colloquium were the die-hard academics and those desperately needing extra credit in their year-long lab classes.

You liked this lecture room the best. The big arching stadium seating made you feel like a surgeon in her theatre, carving up your poems and displaying their abnormalities, arguing in favor of their spectacular forms, illustrating your skills with grace and ease. It was all well and good not to be the patient on the table. Today’s victim would be Sonnet 91.

The projector light blinded you in an unnatural blue, making you turn away from its lens, and you pretended to busy yourself with your notes as you waited for it to warm up. You shuffled the papers again, and you had a sip of water. Just fidgeting. If you stopped moving, you’d think about him, and you didn’t want to think about him.

He’d gotten your message from Gaz, that much was clear. You knew because you started receiving sunrise texts again — just the pictures, though — and when he needed to go out on a mission, you’d get your little promises. You sent him back what you received. If he sent a sunrise picture, you returned it with your own. If he said that he promised, you said it, too. You wanted him to call. You wanted to drag it out, to gut it like a fish, to see all the entrails of your feelings and the bloody evidence of your battle to be together, all of its innards smeared across a cutting board, sterile and measurable.

But, for some reason, you couldn’t do it. You tried to type out what you’d wanted to say, but none of it made sense. It was all just begging and pleading and wishing for things you couldn’t have. So, you stopped. You kept up the replies. You matched his energy. It wasn’t until he sent you a screenshot of his flight itinerary that you started to realize the other shoe was dropping on you very soon.

He was supposed to fly in sometime this very afternoon, but it wouldn’t be only him. You’d heard from Pidge that his whole team was coming with him, eager to meet her and Hamish, apparently. You didn’t know what emotion you felt about that, but its anonymity didn’t stop you from feeling it.

You’d sent him back a Google Maps screenshot of your apartment, since he was supposed to be your ride up to Old Kilpatrick, and he sent you back the thumbs up emoji.

It was embarrassing to you that the slight change in send-reply patterning made your heart race. You felt like your brain could benefit from a hard reset, like an iPhone that had chosen to get stuck on the same application, unable to move forward to the next task.

So, you’d tried to put him out of your mind. When your labmate begged you to take her place at this colloquium, you jumped at the chance. A presentation would take up so much time and energy; surely it would cure you of your obsessive behavior. Unfortunately, Sonnet 91 felt all too timely.

You watched it populate the screen, the first four lines occupying the cold, unembellished center of your slide, professionally stark:

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,Some in their wealth, some in their body's force,Some in their garments though new-fangled ill;Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;

You wondered where your glory would come from, if you ever had any. Then, as if to answer your question, the hall door opened and he walked through it, carefully propping it open behind him and letting his three enormous friends through. Johnny was freshly shaven, and his mohawk was back, trimmed on the sides and groomed to stand in a tall, brown shock. You could see the prominent scar on the side of his head, a sharp cross where the hair could no longer grow.

There was an observable air of confidence to his movements, as if this was his hundredth colloquium, as if he attended them every week. His surety silenced you, and you stood staring, rapt.

He met your eyes. The bright, glassy blues found you, set in a pleased way, fully at peace. It was the face made when something lost had been found, when a gift was unwrapped. A knowing gleam.

If you didn’t start talking, people were going to ask you if you were alright. So, you introduced yourself, shakily but smoothing it out as you went,

“Good evening, and thank you for joining us at the 2023 Christmas Eve Colloquium tonight. I love this tradition, and I really appreciate you all being here. If you didn’t get the, uh… the handouts,” you pushed the stack across the desk toward the undergrads who all crowded around them like seagulls with an old French fry, “Okay...”

You pointed up to the sprawling slide,

“In looking at Sonnet 91, most would argue that it is a confession of love. But, it is a tentative one, at best. The speaker claims that despite whatever glory others may have, his glory is found in his lover. We don’t learn until the couplet that his affections are at risk of not being returned.”

You flipped the slide, showing the next four lines:

And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:But these particulars are not my measure,All these I better in one general best.

It was all very simple. This was an easy sonnet, and there was no real mystery, but as you came to the end, you tried to reiterate your thoughts quickly, feeling the pressure to let people get on with their lives,

“The speaker makes quite a substantial claim here, so much so that the audience may be led to believe that he is being intentionally facetious, especially if one were to consider the content of Sonnet 92.”

“No,” a deep voice from high in the back protested, “I mean, I think I disagree with you, lass.”

The whole room woke up. Everyone turned quietly in their seats, generating a symphony of creaking and rustling of chairs and coats, craning their necks to look at Johnny who, for some reason, had stood up in his aisle.

“Oh, how so?” You said politely, trying to be deferential.

It was more than a little uncomfortable in the room. No one ever asked questions during the colloquium, even though that was its intended purpose, and certainly no one ever stood up when they asked it. Everyone usually just allowed the speaker to drone on and on about whatever topic they were into that week, and there would be polite applause at the end so you could all go home early. Ironically, Johnny had committed an act of rebellion a mere five minutes into your talk.

“Well,” he crossed his huge arms over his chest, shoving his muscles against each other. Amongst the mostly lithe, soft-bodied academic crowd, he and his friends looked out of place. He raised his voice, sending it arching down to you like an arrow, “I’m pretty sure he’s genuine. Look at the next four lines.”

He pointed to the glowing screen. You sighed, flipping slides.

Thy love is better than high birth to me,Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost,Of more delight than hawks and horses be;And having thee, of all men's pride I boast:

“Look, bonnie,” Johnny chuckled, “I dunno about you, but if I’m boastin’ about a wee hen who’s more than all that — more than wealth, more than all men’s pride? She must actually be somethin’ to boast about.”

You countered, trying to get the talk back under your control, flipping to the next slide:

Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst takeAll this away, and me most wretched make.

“Then what of his lamentation in the couplet?” You asked pointedly, listening to the sounds of creaking chairs again as everyone turned back to look at you as you responded, “Surely he has some reason to doubt this uniquely prideful love.”

Johnny shrugged,

“He doesnae doubt the love; his life cannae be separated from his love. Love is all there is. Ye ken it from Sonnet 92 when he asks: But what’s so blessed-fair that knows no blot?”

You smiled, slowly, knowingly, and then finished the couplet for him,

“Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.”

You were aware of the implication you were wielding like a knife down there in your theatre, staining your hands and hurling your scalpel at him, accusing him through verse of the same sin you’d thrown in his face the last time you spoke to him: of being false, of betraying Pidge.

Johnny shifted his weight, frustrated, but standing his ground,

“It’s not… he doesnae think it’s false, hen. Tha’s not it.”

Were you still arguing about the poem? You couldn’t tell. His face had become serious and a little pleading. So, you responded in verse since it would fit the conversation either way,

“How like Eve’s apple doth thy beauty grow, if thy sweet virtue answer not thy show.”

“And I would bloody eat it anyway, thief. False or no.”

There was an awkward silence and then a short, if a bit unsettled, polite applause. People began to shuffle out, standing, stretching, and chatting with each other as they made their way back into the hallway. A few of your labmates waved at you, and a friend from your cohort wished you a happy Christmas.

Johnny sauntered down the stairs toward you, leaving his friends lounging in their seats, and as he came closer and closer, you felt like you were the one on the slab of your own theatre, open and vulnerable to the empty room, fully at the mercy of your operator.

You thought he might pause, that he may stop walking and stand a few paces away, ready to talk things out, but he didn’t. He didn’t even slow his pace. Johnny grabbed you around your jaw with his enormous hand, his wide palm hot against your chin, and he pulled you into him, your lips sliding into his, pressing together like the last piece of a puzzle, completing a picture.

His body was so warm as you crashed into his arms, and he held you down, pinning you like you would fall away from him if he let go. You couldn’t do much else other than submit to his strength; you didn’t want to do much else. You grabbed him around his waist, feeling him through the thin cotton of his shirt, tumbling into him as he forced your mouth to take his tongue.

Johnny let go of a low moan, a sigh that couldn’t escape, and the hand that had been holding your face was now fisting your hair and running thick fingers through your soft strands.

He pulled back without warning, gasping as he whispered to you, speaking with his forehead resting on yours and his eyes pinched closed,

“Did you mean it, what you told Gaz? Am I right? Is this right?”

You took a deep breath, smelling his soap and his cologne, the scent of his skin so familiar to you it seemed like home. His eyes remained closed, and he wore a mask of pain, holding himself back from truly letting go. You nodded, whispering back to him,

“You were right.”

Then, his eyes shot open, finding yours immediately, looking back and forth to peer into both of them at once, searching for even the slightest hint of deception,

“Are you fallin’ for me, mèirleach? ‘Cause I’m… I cannae go halfway. I’m in, or I’m out.”

“I’m in,” you smiled, laughing a little at your confession. He kissed you again, softly petting your hair, holding you close. But, you paused and looked up at him with a warning glare in your eye, “But, look, she cannot know. Maybe after the wedding, but… she cannot find out.”

“She won’t,” he was smiling back at you, making it look like it would be on his face forever, “I’m a professional spy, lass, or did you forget my wee entourage back there.”

He nodded up to his friends. The captain was asleep with his hat over his eyes, snoring in long, regular rhythms. Ghost was using a datapad, staring intently at the screen, and Gaz was using two hands on his cell phone, tapping vigorously, engrossed in some sort of game.

Johnny whistled, quick and shrill. The men stirred, peering down at him and making their way toward you. When they reached the bottom, they all towered over you, ready for polite introductions.

“John,” the scruffy, bearded one shook your hand first. His fingers were dangerously strong, and it shocked you to feel it against your own palm.

A young man was next. You knew it was Gaz, but you hadn’t seen a photo of him yet.

“I’m Kyle,” he smiled. He was even nicer in person, “We texted, before.”

You nodded, smiling back, and introducing yourself.

Then, it was the big one.

“Simon,” the tall blond shook your hand for a brief moment, just enough to squeeze and release.

“It’s really nice to meet you all,” you said, “I’m glad you made it for the holiday.”

“We try to stick together ‘round this time of year,” Price explained, but you weren’t sure you fully understood his meaning. You just smiled and nodded.

“You ready to head out?” Johnny asked you.

“Yeah, just need to head back to my place and get my bag.”

“Alright, hen,” Johnny smiled, “Lead the way.”

You led them up and out of the building and into the cold night air. Your apartment was only a short walk from this side of campus, so you decided to forego the bus ride.

Johnny had your hand clasped in his so tightly that you wondered if he was alright. You looked up at him, and he smiled. You didn’t know how to say all the things you wanted to say, so you just commented on the most obvious one first,

“Where did you learn Sonnet 91? Or 92 and 93 for that matter?”

Gaz interrupted you, turning his head to talk over his shoulder as you walked behind him,

“Bloody stuck in his Kindle for months, he was. I think he read them all, and then he read them all to us. We’ve had more of the Bard than fuckin’ Lizzy the first.”

You gasped and made a face at Johnny, waiting for him to answer for his actions. He just shrugged, his cheeks flushed either from the embarrassment or the cold.

Price walked up beside him and knocked him a bit on his shoulder, ribbing him along with Gaz,

“Especially that one. What number?”

“Fuckin’ 145,” Ghost groaned.

Then, in unison, the three soldiers all started reciting it aloud, their voices sing-song and purposefully annoying,

“Those lips that Love’s own hand did make breathed forth the sound that said “I hate” to me that languished for her sake…”

Johnny shoved Gaz back to the front of the group with his free hand, laughing it off,

“Alright, alright, you bastards. I may have read it two or three times…”

“Two or three hundred, Sergeant,” Price rolled his eyes.

You grinned up at Johnny, humming your pleasure,

“Wow! I’m impressed. Didn’t know you were such a Shakespeare fan.”

Gaz scoffed,

“It’s not the poems he’s a fan of!”

Price smacked him on his arm, stopping Gaz from being too mean in his playfulness, aware that Johnny had his limits of what he would allow to be said in front of you.

“Mmm,” you answered noncommittally, squeezing Johnny’s hand as it held yours, clutching at you like the end of a rope, holding you like an anchor to his hull.

As you made it to your apartment, you pointed to the small coffee shop on the corner of your block,

“Do you wanna wait somewhere warm? I’ll only be a minute.”

Price snorted, grinning as if he had just remembered a private joke,

“Go help her with her bags, Sergeant. C’mon, lads.”

The trio left you together, and Johnny waited for you to open the door to the lobby. You buzzed in and waited for the elevator in the quiet foyer.

He was silent the whole ride up to your floor. You thought he’d have more to say, especially after just getting back from a tour. You wondered what was keeping him so quiet.

You jiggled your key into the lock and pushed your way inside. Marlowe was on the futon, lounging in her favorite position, but when she saw the strange man in her house, she bristled and fled beneath your bed.

“Marlowe,” Johnny said, recognizing her.

“Yeah,” you smiled, grabbing your vitamins from the kitchen cabinet to put in your bag, “Sorry, she’s afraid of strangers.”

“It’s alright, hen. I love your place. Look at that view. You can see the river and everything. That’s class.”

He was being polite. Johnny was way too big for your apartment. With him in the space, it felt like you may as well have lived in a tent. It was such close quarters that you spent most of the time edging around him to get to your stuff.

“Can I…?” He was pointing down at your bed, asking to sit.

Recognizing your rudeness, you nodded,

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Can I get you a water or something? Tea?”

“No, I’m good,” he sat and smiled, still looking around the space, taking it in. To be fair, there wasn’t much to see.

You continued to pack, trying to hurry knowing his friends were downstairs waiting for you.

“Okay, toothbrush… I think I’m all set. Are you ready?”

“No,” he was looking down at the floor, and his tone was so soft that it made you stop your packing whirlwind to listen to him.

The silence deepened between you, and you tried to be patient. Neither of you dared to move, but he met your eyes.

“What is it, Johnny?” You asked, still waiting.

He stood and walked the half step it took to stand before you. His huge shoulders blocked out the light, and you could tell he was chewing on his words, working them over and over to make sure they were right.

“I need to know…” he said quietly, running his fingers through your hair again, “I need to know if you are havin’ any doubts about this, lass. I dinnae want to pressure you, and I know I shouldnae be asking you to lie to her, but I need you, mèirleach. I need to know you’re not still havin’ doubts about the way I feel about you.”

Were you? You weren’t sure. You knew he cared about you, and you didn’t have any evidence that he was playing you, but Pidge’s warning still raged in the back of your mind.

You sighed,

“I don’t doubt that you have feelings for me.”

“But, you think they willnae last?”

“I don’t know, but I want to find out. It’s just hard to have confidence in a secret.”

He furrowed his brow,

“I’d call her and tell her now, if you’d let me. You wanna wait, hen. And I’m fine with that. I am. But, how am I supposed to show you who I am when I’m not supposed to be showin’ you anything at all?”

You didn’t know what to say to him, and it made you feel discouraged. Maybe you were wrong. Perhaps you should have kept your promise after all, and this was just too complicated.

Johnny watched the guilt spread across your face and chased you down with his eyes, his tone laced with dark suggestion,

“Unless you want me to show you now, thief.”

You did. You wanted him to show you everything he was. And, you understood what he was asking you for. The nerves between your legs pulsed, and blood rushed down your arms, excited for whatever he was threatening you with. You wanted him to fuck you right here in your apartment. But, you hesitated, very aware that if you said yes, if you let him show you what he wanted you to see, you wouldn’t be able to come back from that. The guilt would eat you alive.

“Your… friends…” you picked at the zipper of his thick coat, stepping close enough to him that you could feel his heat radiating from inside the fleece lining of it.

“My friends can wait, thief. I can’t.”

“Then don’t.”

The same way a bear trap snapped shut, its teeth digging into the writhing flesh of the creature inside its metal maw, that was how he caught you in that moment. You looked up at him, eyes wide and expectant, and you were greeted with a hunter’s smile. He knew he had you, and he went for the kill, putting you out of your misery. His arms wrapped around your body as he kissed you with a high fever, moving from your mouth to your neck as quickly as he could, devouring your soft flesh there, nipping and sucking at you frenzied and harsh. All of his gentle reservedness was gone, pushed aside in favor of sating his wild craving.

You were on the bed in a second, your back flat, pressed into the mattress by his heavy weight. He didn’t readjust. He allowed his body to pin you down, crushing you beneath him. You tried to rid him of his jacket; there were so many layers between you, and you were eager for there to be none.

He helped you, shucking off his coat and shirt layers quickly before returning to your mouth and throat, breathlessly panting as he kissed and licked your throat. His chest was bare to you then, and the cold metal of his tags stung your chest as they jingled out of his clothes, falling onto you like two silver coins. You rubbed his body down, pressing into the muscles of his neck and back, feeling them jerk and lunge as he moved above you. He kissed your mouth again, moaning through his nose.

Then, he was peeling you apart, taking your clothes and tossing them away, pulling off the tissue from a coveted gift. Johnny didn’t even take time to pause at your bra; he just yanked it over your head with the rest of your clothes, unceremoniously. While you were sucking on his tongue and kissing down the scruff of his jaw, you heard his boots thump onto the floor, one after the other.

All that remained between you were your slacks and his jeans, and he was forced to leave your mouth to deal with the barriers. He made his way to your breasts, sucking on them hungrily, but not playing. He was done playing with you, it seemed.

He popped the button on your pants and tucked both of his hands into the waistband, grabbing your panties along with it, and ripped them down your legs with a deep grunt. You were naked, and the denim of his jeans raked against your sensitive skin. He was grinding his body against you as you were trapped beneath him, and you felt his hips rock back and forth as he rubbed his cock against your core, trying to use the friction inside of his jeans to find some pleasure, returning to your nipples to lick them into stiff peaks.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, your thighs halfway between the skin of his ribs and the bite of his belt, letting him thrust against you.

“Johnny,” you whispered, “Take them off.”

“Not yet, hen.”

You moaned, feeling his crotch pressing hard against yours, but not being able to find any sort of consistency in the texture.

“Why not?” You asked and begged at the same time.

“Because…” He kissed his way down your belly, settling his face between your thighs, “As soon as I do, I’m gonna fuck you, mèirleach. And I’ve not tasted you, yet.”

His mouth was wet and hot and just what you wanted. Johnny ate you like he was on a mission. There was no careful exploration like the first time. It felt like he was eating you to satisfy his own craving, and your enjoyment was merely a fringe benefit.

You keened as loudly as you dared, crying out for him as he lapped at your folds, hunting down your flavor.

Then, he began to speak to you as he sucked on your clit, pausing to say his words before returning to his font to swallow more of you down into his throat.

“Do y’know how long I’ve waited for this, hen?”

Suck, lick, kiss…

“How many nights…”

Suck.

“...in the sand…”

Lick.

“...in the bloody dark…”

Kiss.

“...waiting to have you in my mouth like this.”

Lick. Lick. Liiiickkkk…

“Oh, fuck, Johnny!” You bit down on the back of your hand, reeling from the pressure building in your center, feeling chills on your arms and chest, “Please…”

“And when Gaz told me…”

Suck.

“...I didnae believe him.”

Lick.

“But, I wanted to. I wanted to believe…”

Kiss.

“...that you were really mine…”

Suuuuckkkk.

“...mo mèirleach…”

Liiickkkk.

“...mo ghràdh.”

You started to come, your hips vaulting into his strong jaws, and his eyes found yours, bright and clear, staring at you, watching you fall apart in his mouth. At the last moment, just before you fell over the peak, he wrenched his eyes shut and sucked even harder, yanking you into a furious, crashing orgasm.

Then, desperately scrambling to taste the result, he thrust his tongue deep into your hole, his entire mouth suctioned to your pussy, reaping his soaking reward.

“Johnny,” you sobbed, overwhelmed by the power you felt growing inside of you, bursting across your body like hundreds of little fireworks.

He was back up by your face in a moment, cradling you and kissing you with your come smeared all over his lips and cheeks,

“Shh, shh… it’s alright, lass. I know what you need. It’s what I need, too.”

You heard his zipper and watched him slide out of his jeans, kicking his socks off with them, naked with you once more, and now with full intent. His cock was drooling onto your belly, the precome leaving long, sticky trails as his swollen shaft traced its way up and down through your folds. Johnny’s cock was so hard that it felt like a warm, iron pipe was pressing into you, threatening and dangerous.

You must have worn the concern on your face because he chuckled down at you, kissing your forehead sweetly as he humped himself against you,

“Too much for you, thief?”

You let your hands meet in the middle, holding his dick with one on top of the other, effectively jacking him off as he thrust forward and back, wetting him with his own lubrication, and you watched him throw his head back in sharp need. You smiled up at him,

“Not yet.”

“Jesus Christ,” he paused, holding his position, poised like a viper. Then, he looked down at you, suddenly serene, “Do you need a condom?”

“No, do you?”

“Fuck, no,” he said, and he immediately sank his head into your softness, melting into you with a slick slide, trusting you implicitly, believing you like a disciple.

Your body hadn’t experienced a cock as thick and as hard as his. It wasn’t uncomfortably long, but its upward curve was particularly cruel. It was built to torture the soft pleasure-ladden spot inside of your walls, dragging across it as he fit himself inside of you. It took a few thrusts until you felt his hilt, but you were wet enough that your pussy didn’t need much coaxing. He was sighing above you, audibly and full of relief, his face bent and twisted in a perfect torment.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… thief, holy fuck. Oh, Christ. I cannae… oh…”

His thrusts were audible. Flesh pounded into flesh, and the wet noises coming from you seemed unreal. Each and every time he entered you, pressing through you and molding you to his shape, you felt sparks of bliss within your belly, expectant and eager.

“Johnny… it feels so good. You feel…”

“You alright, mo ghràdh? Do you… mmmph, fuck… do you need me to slow down?”

You imagined what that would be like, and your pussy railed against it, feral and wanton, fighting any semblance of gentility with sharpened teeth and greedy claws.

“No, please… don’t.” you kissed his cheek as he lay his head into your shoulder, deep in concentration, rolling in his passion.

Your kiss made him turn to face you, kissing your mouth so softly, with loose, relaxed lips, gently sliding his cheek across yours like a huge cat, rubbing himself all over you. He didn’t stop, but he spoke to you darkly,

“I’ll do whatever you want, lass. Tell me, and it’s yours.”

“This,” you sighed, moaning as another wave of pleasure made you clench down around him, gripping him from within you with a fluttering squeeze, “You. Just you, mo chridhe.”

You tested out the nickname you’d used before, hoping to encourage him. You may as well have poured kerosene on a fire. He narrowed his eyes at you in disbelief, obviously hearing it and using it like war paint, covering his body in it, staining himself in it, changing himself from the inside out to fit its definition. He lay his head next to yours as he worked his cock within you, grunting through gritted teeth with each heavy thrust. His body started to tremble, shaking with his need to come, and the low, long whine that came from his throat made it sound like he was boiling over with blinding pleasure.

He took both of his arms and crossed them behind your back, grasping your shoulders from behind in a painfully tight hold. Then, pressed to his chest, he lifted you, settling you in his lap in the lotus position, keeping his cock sheathed deep inside of you. You grabbed onto his neck instinctively, holding him like a lifeline, rocking your hips into him to chase that friction.

Johnny sighed, pressing his forehead to yours,

“Yes, yes, yes, thief. Take it. Fuck yourself on me, hen. Use me. I wanna feel you come, mèirleach…”

He begged so sweetly, and you were happy to oblige. You used his shoulders to brace yourself while you pushed your body down onto him, spearing yourself over and over. At this new angle, his cockhead hit your g-spot every single goddamn time, and you were dizzy from his menacing shape. He snaked his hand between you to press on your clit, not even rubbing it but applying force, giving you something to grind against. The combination of his hand and his cock and his growling whines of struggling for control were enough to do the trick, and you saw white behind your eyes as you fell into a chaotic, plunging orgasm once again.

“Fuuuuckkkk…” He groaned loudly, his voice turning vicious, “You are mine.”

Your body fell back to the bed and he shoved your legs onto one of his shoulders, fucking you as deep as he could go, stretching you as he did, throwing himself into you as you came down from your high. He was shouting, curses and praises, all in a filthy, animalistic snarl. Johnny just kept repeating the same phrase in a cultish chant, mindless and recursive, completely beyond himself, past reality.

“You’re mine, thief. Mine.”

As he came, he searched for your eyes, staring into them, showing you his elation. You ran a hand across his scalp, your fingernails dragging through his mohawk, and you saw the whites of his eyes as he rolled them back into his head involuntarily. You held onto his hair and gave it a little pressure, holding his skull in your hands as he filled you with his spent pleasure, his cock throbbing, pulsing rope after rope of hot come into your belly, frothing and foaming around the base of his shaft as he fucked you through it.

20 MINUTES LATER

You were so worried that his friends would make some sort of comment. As you walked back to the coffee shop, tucked under his heavy arm, you prepared for the playful banter and the jeering. His mohawk was destroyed, and you were both glowing with a sheen of sweat, matching in your states. You knew that they knew. You could also tell that Johnny was bracing himself for the worst, steeling his resolve before entering the cafe. And you thought you would get, at the very least, some mention of how long it had taken to get your bags. But, when you made it to the coffee shop, they didn’t say a word. They smiled, and although they smiled knowingly, there was more affection in it than mischief. It shocked you. After all the ribbing from before, to have none now seemed like some kind of gift. When Johnny realized they were going to let him keep his prize for himself, uncontested, he began to glow with pride as much as pleasure.

The ride was not quiet, though. All of their stories from Urzikstan and its many dangers started to come out. Price told you about how Gaz and Ghost were almost incinerated in a cobalt mine, and Johnny was showing off his newest badge - a retro SAS pin Price had given him for rescuing the other two from said mine. The blue wings and the motto surrounded a bright sword.

“Who dares, wins?” You asked, trying to see the words in the dark backseat.

Ghost, who had needed to sit in the front with Johnny because of his height, nodded, taking the pin back from you to admire it.

“Well deserved,” Price commented beside you.

“Sounds like it,” you agreed.

Johnny had been so sweet to you after his ferocious lovemaking, you thought all the medals in the world might not be enough to thank the man. No one had ever been so kind nor so attentive. Most of the time, you and whatever lad would clean up separately, maybe watch a show or two and then say your goodbyes. Not Johnny. He spent most of his time admiring your body, making sure you were intact and unharmed. Then, after covering you up with your softest throw, he came back with a hot towel and cleaned you up meticulously. He lay beside you until you felt good enough to get dressed, and still as you were putting your hair up, he made you a tea and finished packing your bag with the things you’d forgotten; your vitamins on the counter and your phone charger.

When you came out of the bathroom, he had stripped your sheets and put them in the hamper, and Marlowe’s food timer had been set. Her litter box was clean, and the automated litter keeper was reset. You wondered fleetingly if he had wiped down the counters as well.

The drive felt shorter than usual, especially since your thoughts were on other things. But, when you pulled into Old Kilpatrick, Johnny spoke up to the whole car,

“Look, no one says a fuckin’ thing about us to my sister. To anyone, alright? She’ll find out when she’s bloody meant to.”

The men agreed to keep quiet, but Gaz mouthed off beside you,

“Sure we can keep a secret, Soap, but what about you? I wouldn’t give you a medal for impulse control, mate.”

Johnny eyed him in the rear-view mirror with a stern glare,

“Aye, but then that’s my problem, you daft bastard.”

Gaz rolled his eyes, grinning all the while.

By the time you’d arrived, the only open spot to sleep was a big pallet on the floor of the living room. Hamish was the only one awake to welcome you, and he set you up with pillows and blankets to camp out like a row of sardines.

“Hey, lass,” Hamish told you, “Go sleep with Pigeon. She’d murder me for leaving you on the ground.”

He looked worn out, and although you didn’t mind sleeping on the floor, you didn’t have any real reason to insist. So, you hugged all the boys good night, making sure not to take too long on Johnny’s turn, and retreated to your post.

Pidge was snoring softly as you entered the room, and you got ready for bed as quietly as you could, plugging in your phone to the nightstand. It buzzed, and you saw his message flash up on the screen:

Mo Chridhe: miss you

You: i miss you too

Mo Chridhe: im still in a wee shock

You: why

Mo Chridhe: you. cannae believe youre mine

You: i am. and youre mine johnny mactavish.

Mo Chridhe: promise

You: promise

CHRISTMAS MORNING

Waking up with Johnny and sitting around the tree together with your coffee was every bit like Christmas morning as when you were a child. Instead of presents, you were content to sit as close to him as you dared, pretending to be making room for others by finding spots on the floor beside the gifts and stockings.

All together, it was Johnny, his three soldiers, you, Pidge, Hamish, Hamish’s mum and dad, and Roger. Rodger had crashed on the couch last night, the Hamiltons had taken Johnny’s room, and now you were all crowded up in the small den, passing gifts around and chatting as you opened your presents. There weren’t many, but it was enough to feel like a holiday.

Roger got the Playstation he’d been begging for from his brother, and his parents had bought him the games. Pidge had given Johnny a new set of headphones since his had melted in the cobalt mining fire. She also got him a pound of her shortbread cookies, which he was stuffing into his mouth with absolute abandon. He’d bought her a tea set off her wedding registry, and Hamish had landed a very aggressive knife from him. The professor was already being given a tutorial by Captain Price, and you tried not to laugh as he practiced stabbing the air with him in the kitchen. Price was scary when he did it, but Hamish looked downright silly.

“Okay, alright. My turn. Here,” you gave out your cards to everyone in attendance, but pulled out a box for Pidge.

“What did you do! I told you not to, hen. I am going to give you a laldy, and you’d deserve it!” She hugged you around the neck and jiggled the box.

Satisfied with the rattle, she tore into the paper and gingerly lifted off the lid. Inside, she saw the MacTavish tartan, woven into a full shawl, embroidered with a tiny pigeon in the corner, just for her. She inspected it with wonder, her breath fully stolen away.

“Did you… You made this? Are you doin’ your weavin’ again, babe? I thought you gave it up.”

You shrugged,

“I found a reason to give it one last shot.”

Pidge started to cry real, honest tears, and she reached out for you, clutching the shawl to her chest, sobbing,

“Thank you, hen. Thank you so much. After they buried mum in hers, and I didn’t… I couldn’t touch it anymore, I just…”

You held her and rocked her back and forth, smiling at her outpouring of love,

“I know, babe. I remember you saying so. But, now you’ve got one of your own.”

For a moment, you stole a glance at Johnny. The whole room was a little moved by your gesture, but he looked… unwell. He was standing behind everyone, and you were the only one looking at him. His hand was clasped over his mouth, and he had tears coming from his eyes, unblinking, letting them roll down his cheeks one after the other, staring at you, frozen in place. He was so unsettled that, for a moment, you thought you’d made some error. But, as Pidge recovered, so did he, and he wiped his face to return to normal; putting on a mask of an expression, hiding whatever he had just shown you.

“You’re the best damn friend I’ve ever had, hen. And I love you. Dearly.”

“I love you too, Pidge.”

“Here, here, open mine! It’s not as braw as all tha’ you did, but still.”

You were handed a gift bag, and you peeked inside. You found a book of poetry with some incredible illustrations inside, and a charm necklace with a silver boar hanging from it.

“It’s our wee clan beastie. You may as well be a MacTavish by now, hen. So, I thought you should have it.”

You smiled, letting her put it on you. Then, you hugged her tight,

“You don’t know what that means to me, Pidge.”

Pidge laughed through dried tears, still emotional,

“Ha! Says you, miss weaver. Honestly.”

You let her gush over it a little more before you retreated back to your position beside Johnny. You pulled out the four smaller boxes from your bag and handed them to the soldiers, indiscriminately since they were all alike.

“What did you do, thief?” Johnny’s voice was low, and he was grinning up at you, staring at you through those dark lashes.

“Open them,” you urged him.

They did, and one by one they all pulled out small compasses, made with built-in flint strikers, hanging from tied paracord. It was the most tactical practical thing you could find on such short notice, but they all seemed pleased. Gaz shook it at Price,

“This would’ve been bloody helpful in South Tobraka!”

You laughed,

“Well, I’m sure it’s a little too low-tech for you, but Merry Christmas anyway.”

“It’s bloody perfect,” Gaz smiled, clapping you on the back. Ghost nodded, and Price hooked it to his lanyard without questioning it.

Johnny bent over to whisper to you as discreetly as he could,

“Gotta sneak off to give you mine, lass.”

You smacked him on the arm, whispering back, watching Pidge like a hawk as you did so to make sure she couldn’t see you,

“Don’t be naughty.”

Johnny laughed,

“No, no. I’m serious.”

“Alright!” Hamish clapped his hands, causing you to jump out of your skin, “Who’s ready for crackers?”

CHRISTMAS NIGHT

You and Johnny were curled up on the couch with a steaming cup of sweet wassail, scrolling through the photos you’d taken that night. You popped two crackers together, pulling out your paper crowns, your gold and his blue, snapping selfies and reading the jokes to each other. Everyone was in their crowns by the end of the night, and while Price smoked cigars on the porch with Gaz and Ghost, Pidge and Hamish had driven his parents and brother home.

You were finally alone after having such a full house, and your gift for him was burning a hole in your bag. You were dying to give it to him, but he beat you to the punch.

“Alright, mèirleach, are you ready for your wee gift? It’s probably gonna earn me extra PT for a few months, but it’s worth it.”

“Why?” You asked, setting your cup down on the end table and turning your body towards him.

“‘Cause I’m not even supposed to have these off-duty, much less hand them over to my American lassie.”

Johnny dug into the neckline of his shirt and pulled out the dog tags that you had encountered last night when he took you to bed. The coin jangled on the chain as he pulled it over his head, and like a medal for an award you had not won, he looped it behind your neck, letting the coin fall between your breasts, still warm from his body and now warm from yours.

You pulled it up to read its stamp, staring at the words:

O POS 2073521 MACTAVISH SAS RC

“Wanted you to have it, lass. A wee piece of me to keep safe, if you will.”

It was hard to know why you started crying, but you felt the searing tears fall down your cheeks as you stared at the tag. His blood type was what started it all, and you began to imagine all of the times that this thin coin would have warranted such a label.

“It’s alright, mèirleach, if you dinnae —”

“No,” you raised your hand to his face, closing your other hand around the coin and pulling it in to your chest, eager to keep it safe just as he had asked, “Thank you, Johnny. I love it.”

He turned his face toward your hand as you caressed his scruffy jaw, and kissed your palm, holding your hand with his so you couldn’t escape.

“I got you something, too. But, it’s small, and now I’m afraid you won’t have anything to hang it on.”

You dug in your bag and pulled out a small cardboard box with a thin red string tied around it. There was no card, there was no name printed on it, but he knew it was him nonetheless. He took it from you, almost snatching it, excited and surprised, not waiting for it to be given.

“Thief! You didnae have to do that,” he was grinning, and his eyes gleamed, full of sudden joy.

You’d found an old locket at the charity shop, and your gift had fit inside perfectly. When he opened the clasp, he froze. You’d use a scrap of the shawl that you’d woven for Pidge and cut a little circle from it, embroidering a tiny map of Scotland over the threads, planting a little red heart over what was almost Glasgow.

“Mo mèirleach…”

“Mo chridhe.”

As soon as you said his name, his eyes found yours and he leaned in to kiss you, clutching the locket in his fist, tight, tight, tight.

BEFORE DAWN

That night, in his bed, smelling his oranges and cloves, his scent filling your nose, covering you with his sheets, you lay buried in his chest where his tags used to lie, your cheek now warming the skin beneath. You imagined the compasses that dangled from the four sets of keys strewn across the kitchen counter. You thought about the shawl that was wrapped around his sister as she slept in her bed. Holding his locket in your hand, you ran your fingertips over its tartan, borne of the same threads as hers. You wondered about tomorrow, and the day after that, and the year ahead of you, and you felt a tightness in your own chest as you considered the timeline stretching out before you, woven from the choices you and your lover had made together. It was as if you had altered fate’s plan somehow, shunning your intended path and forging one of your own making. What future had you created? Did you have the guile to craft the right course? You held his hand, his fingers laced between yours, and whichever way you went, you hoped that he would be braving it with you.

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod #guile and guilt #soap mactavish #cod soap #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #john mactavish smut #soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish

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taradactyls · 1 month ago

Text

The research that went into the Chapter 40 journey from London to Pemberley, as promised. With photos, maps, and a tangent or two!

I wanted to sprinkle in a few names of real places into Elizabeth’s journey, similarly to Pride and Prejudice, but for that I had to do some research. In the book she and the Gardiners take a scenic route further to the west, whereas this needs to be more direct, so I couldn’t copy those references. Unfortunately, we don’t know the way that they returned from Pemberley after Lydia’s elopement, because most of that would be the same (reversed) as what I needed.

So, I set out to find out what would be plausible.

‘Aw, the author did a little bit of research, that’s nice,’ you might think.

No. I did an excessive amount of research. Of the ‘it has consumed my entire soul and I need to know this information even though it’s barely relevant’ variety. When the toddlers went to bed and I was too tired to write, I did this. For weeks. It was basically the only time I could devote to this story, as the illnesses going around prevented me having time to actually write.

For context, I had ZERO background knowledge on this topic, and my first google search was to find out where Derbyshire is in relation to London.

Luckily, there was a road that seemed the most obvious direct route! But, following it closely to see what was nearby, I saw it avoided most of the villages; which is the exact opposite of what horse drawn carriages (which need to rest and water the horses, or switch them out entirely) would do. Sure enough, the M1 is a 20th Century road. So, then I went down the rabbit hole of seeing if the A5 or anything like that has older roots (it does) but after some more research into 18/19th C roads I realised I should be looking for turnpike roads/Post roads. Whichhhhh don’t exist in that form anymore.

And that’s where the fun began.

Warning, for a VERY long post.

FINDING THE RIGHT TURNPIKE ROADS

I couldn’t find an online list of which modern roads used to be turnpike roads, because it turns out they were managed in sections by turnpike trusts. And so, one half of a road might not be one and then the other half would but perhaps broken up into three different sections managed by different trusts (or the same trust but still separately, because local management was easier, I imagine).

I mostly wanted maps though, so that wasn’t a problem. Then I started searching for maps… and searching… and searching…

Basically, I looked at a lot and met a lot of dead ends but I’ll share some of the stuff that was useful.

I found a source which is all about research into turnpike roads and has an 1830 map.

But the map doesn’t have much detail so I can’t really tell much. Still, if you want to learn about turnpike roads have a look. I tried to compare it to other maps to see if I could figure out where those roads were but it just wasn’t detailed enough for me to be sure.

Then I found this old map of English towns and roads:

Which is comprehensive and amazing except for being blurry as anything when you zoom in, but does help give me a basic idea of what existed (though doesn’t specify turnpike vs … normal? roads). And I was able to track basic paths and use other maps and google maps to help me actually read the names of places. But It’s absolutely going on my wish list (along with that map of 1804 London I’ve linked before) of things I would like to have full sized posters for if I ever have space for a study. If I start writing regency novels as an actual occupation (around when I started this fic I also began planning a P&P sequel trilogy – though something tells me this fic might end up with nearly as many words as the whole trilogy combined) I shall insist I need the maps for work.

Anyway,

I eventually stumbled onto the pot of gold!!! Maps for each county with the roads and towns clearly marked! The dates are not all there, so I can’t say it’s 100% accurate, but it feels better than my other options.

(Not posting individual images of each county because you’ll see them altogether later, but I do recommend checking them out if you find this interesting, there’s places mentioned there that get omitted in bigger maps.)

I cross referenced with this map:

To double check they’re post roads (aka they had stops every 10 miles or so to switch out horses, and I did my best to find villages that had post houses or coaching inns).

Of course, those detailed images of counties are all separate, and for my own sanity I need to see how they link up. Going back to google maps to see what counties I would need I pretty quickly noticed discrepancies between the map borders and google maps. Turns out the counties changed in 1974. So, I had to go find an old map of British counties. That was the easiest part of my research, and I used this one:

Using that, I decided to print out, with a view of physically sticking them together: Middlesex, Hertfordshire, Buckinghamshire, Bedfordshire, Northamptonshire, Warwickshire, Leicestershire and Rutland, Staffordshire, and finally Derbyshire. Because when the map you want doesn’t exist, sometimes you just have to collage together your own.

THEN, of course, it was brought forcibly to my awareness when I tried to make the different borders align, that old maps often have inaccuracies.

There were little knobbly protruding bits of counties that were claimed by both neighbours in their individual maps, and random gaps which weren’t claimed by any. Counties were too long or too wide and sometimes too just entirely distorted to make the borders fit together as they should, and then the alignment of the roads would sometimes not match the alignment of the physical characteristics and it would get even messier.

I gave up on that idea less than halfway through cutting and sticky taping them together.

But all was not lost! Husband has a photoshop account through his work! I have a very basic understanding of photoshop thanks to taking graphics in high school, another one-off lesson for a Communications elective at uni, and then experience with similar programs for digital art. My confidence thus knew no bounds and I was certain I could photoshop a suitable map together in 30mins or so!

I was half right: I absolutely made the map, but it took me a few hours one night and I went to bed late.

We must all suffer for our craft, and sometimes my craft is niche research that I refuse to simplify BECAUSE I’VE COME TOO FAR TO GIVE UP NOW AND I WILL NOT ACKNOWLEDGE SUNK COSTS FALLACY TODAY!

Here is my beauty:

(You can see I didn’t care about all the dates and names of the turnpikes, but if you do, definitely click the link above which has the counties individually. It also gives you an idea of just how the same road could be divided into multiple trusts.)

I had to warp and stretch some counties pretty drastically to make them jig-saw together enough to be useable, and when clashes between making the roads or the borders line up I prioritised the roads. Seeing them aligned was the whole point of this, after all, but if you look closely, you can see some weird spots between counties where there’s a void or overlap from not quite matching up properly.

I printed this off and did some highlighting of potential routes from London to Derby, which I figured they would probably pass through on the way to Pemberley (more on that later). I ended up with a few slight variations which are all, to the best of my knowledge, feasible options. There seemed to be mostly an obvious route with options for variation, which I labelled option a, option b, etc. (this will help you understand my notes later). If road quality, or inn quality, etc., would create a decided favourite in late winter of 1812 nothing had popped up in my research and, honestly, did I really want to open that can of worms after all the hassle just to get to this point?

I then took my highlighted routes, and kept the individual maps of the counties, and the really huge complete one of Great Britain, up on my computer so I could zoom in for greater detail, and went to Google maps. I had to do a lot of cross-referencing with the various old maps with google maps so I could figure out which roads I were meant to be following, since not only have their names often changed but the settlements along the way have considerably changed in shape too. I felt a little bit like I was doing forensic work to identify what in the old maps lined up with the modern day, especially in places like Leicester which have grown so much larger in the 200+ years since. It was very satisfying when I was able to find the roads I needed.

There were three things I determined would decide which route I went with:

Was there a village (and better yet, evidence of a coaching inn) every 10-15 miles?

Did this route remain consistent with Pemberley being 150 miles from London?

Does it have interesting places I can mention in the narrative?

I started with the first two, since they were the options which could veto pathways or mark them for further research. I figured that out by going onto google maps and using the measuring tool, and then jotting down my notes in a word document. This is what one optional path from that research looks like:

Route a)

Edgeware 9 miles

Stanmore 10-11 miles

Watford 16 miles

St Albans is 22 miles

Redbourn 27

Flamstead 30

Markyate 31

Dunstable 34-36

Hockcliffe 39 miles

a)d)

Woburn 44

Woburn Sands

Newport Pagnell 53 miles

Stoke Goldington 57

Horton 61 miles

Hackleton 62

Northampton 67 miles

a)d)e)

Chapel Brampton 72 miles

Spratton 75

Creaton 76

Thornby 79

Welford 82 miles

Husbands Bosworth 85 miles

Arnesby 91 miles

Leicester 100 miles

To Derby following a)d)e)

Mountsorrel 106 miles

Quorndon (Quorn now) 108 miles

Loughborough 110 miles

Hathern 113

Kegworth 117 miles

River Trent 120 miles (actual river, and means definitively in Derbyshire)

Shardlow 121 miles

Derby 127

I fairly quickly learn that pretty much every option I had drawn on the map could work with both the distance and requirement to change horses, so I definitely would not declare that the route I ended up choosing is *the* route Mr Darcy would travel up to Pemberley on. My choice came down to what locations I thought were cool and useful.

As a side note: during this plotting of the miles on the map and keeping track of every 10-12 miles, I was initially very surprised by something.

Without fail, no matter how blank the countryside had been, there would be a village or larger town there. It really made me realise for the first time just how much English settlements along throughfares grew because of the needs of horses. It makes total sense, travel times stayed largely the same and reliant on horses or feet for thousands of years until trains, but it never occurred to me. It’s so entirely different to my own city, Brisbane (yes, the one from Bluey).

With Australia being such a recently colonised country the permanent British settlement that became Brisbane wouldn’t even come into being for more than a decade after the events of Pride and Prejudice. It would be decades more until the penal colony became big enough to warrant a proper name and municipality. Even Australia only officially became a country instead of a colony in 1901. As the best way to reach Brisbane from the other colonies (like Sydney) was by boat, consideration for horses travelling really hasn’t dictated much here. Instead of different settlements within (at least) about 10 miles of another we ended up with basically one settlement surrounded by vast amounts of farmland and nothing else the settlers considered civilisation (we all know how native peoples were viewed by colonising nations).

The fact that we didn’t have another settlement 10 miles (or really, at all,) nearby meant that that extensive farmland ended up being included as part of the Brisbane city border – which is why area-wise Brisbane is the third largest city in the world despite our population not even getting to three million. Even without traffic I could easily drive for an hour in one direction from my home and still be within Brisbane.

Looking at all these tiny English villages so reliably spaced just feels like a whole different planet to me. And crossing so many shires! From Brisbane to the top of Queensland (our state) is a 31-hour drive along direct highway. Which, for context for my American and European readers, Google Maps says is the same driving time (not distance) as London to Greece, or New York to Montana. Size wise, Queensland (which is our 2nd largest state) is 215 times the size of North Yorkshire, more than 3 times larger than France, over 100,000km2 larger than Alaska, and more than 2.6 times larger than Texas. I’ve never before really understood that Australia (and parts of the USA) don’t adhere to the old rules of human settlements and travel because our cities are crazy new.

Well, now we all know. Back to the research.

With a focus on information about the actual places near my potential routes, I returned to google maps, zoomed in real, real close, still using the measuring tool so I could keep track of every 10-15 miles, and noted every landmark and village that popped up. I was then doing lots of googling and searching Wikipedia to discover what I could about each location so I could figure out which one I preferred to use. I learnt a lot, particularly that English villages are very proud of how many Indian restaurants they have and often list it on their Wikipedia page, but I only recorded the bits I felt might be relevant to the story. Here’s an exert of my notes with that research when added to the distances:

Day 1 (more exploring allowed)

Edgeware 9 miles

Stanmore 10-11 miles

Watford 16 miles

St Albans is 22 miles

Lizzy seen before. Casually mention St Michael’s church and the ruins

They then follow the old roman road of Watling Street (to Hockcliffe?)

Redbourn 27

(important coaching station – ‘Owing to its proximity to London, Redbourn became an important coaching station in the 17th and 18th centuries, and it was known as the "Street of Inns", with at least 25 pubs and inns at its peak.’)

Talk about stopping for a meal here? Mention Dunstable might serve better, for it has the chalk escarpments?

Flamstead 30

Markyate 31

Markyate's position on Watling Street made it a coaching stop on the stagecoach routes from London to Birmingham and Holyhead, especially after the road was upgraded by Thomas Telford in the early 1800s, when it became known as the Holyhead Road. At one point Markyate had over forty inns and public houses along the main road.

Dunstable 34-36

has chalk escarpments (Chilton Hills/Dunstable Downs)

with barrows!! (though maybe too far south?)

Highest point in Bedfordshire (at the time? Pre changed borders?)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dunstable_Downs

market town

priory

very ancient façade

where Henry VIII’s annulment from Catherine was delared

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dunstable_Priory

They think they might as well explore here a long time because there is nothing more exciting awaiting them in their final two stops for the day

Hockcliffe 39 miles (where they leave Watling Road?)

Woburn 44

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Woburn,_Bedfordshire

Near Woburn Abbey (Family seat of the Duke of Bedford) Darcy could show no inclination to see it – though Elizabeth knows she might have if she were travelling with others. As she does not much mind seeing stately homes she does not care. Could tease him about whether he’s worried that a duke’s home will make his own seem unimpressive? Mention his uncle doesn’t like John Russell, 6th Duke of Bedford due to clashing in the past in the house of Lords

During the English Civil War, the Cavaliers burned down much of the town and in 1724 a third fire destroyed much of the town, which was rebuilt in the Georgian style that remains today

important staging post on the London–Newport Pagnell–Northampton turnpike. The town had 27 inns and the first 24-hour post office outside London.

Bolded locations are where I theorised made the most sense to change the horses. I did this more casual research for multiple places, and then once I’d decided which was the most enticing for me, I had my turnpike roads from London to Derbyshire. Now I had to make it interesting.

THE LOCATIONS I CHOSE TO SHOW

First, I did the whole confirmed route again in google maps with more in-depth research. This involved a lot of google street view, as well as finding local webpages for villages and the more historical buildings. I have now virtually driven through dozens of little villages and I CANNOT believe how much history and prettiness is just right there as part of everyday life??? Australia doesn’t have history like that in our random small towns or big cities (the ancient sites we do have from 60,000+ years of aboriginal Australians living here weren’t the sort the settlers would respect or even noticed in many cases during colonisation). We have amazing things that I have travelled to see, don’t get me wrong, but of a different sort than still-habited buildings and not so ingrained into our ‘normal.’

Luckily for me the English are very proud of their buildings and natural sites and this bit of research was really easy and straightforward. I’ll just show you the locations I focused on in chapter 40 (and very slight spoilers for the start of 41, too). Everything I talk about is real (though the great house with a drive straight off the village road I mention in passing no longer survives, and other things look different), so if you want to explore the places mentioned in the fic but I don’t show here, google maps and Wikipedia will help you get started. In the order that Elizabeth and Mr Darcy explored them, we have:

The Dunstable Priory

This is exactly the view of the building that I imagine they had during their conversation about the history and impressiveness of a place. It really is VERY grand.

Other views of it:

The interior has changed since the 1800s a little, but the bones of the building are the same.

The Dunstable Downs

Those are the sorts of street view photos that made me want to use it; but honestly, I don’t think I can possibly show you enough to do it justice. See what I mean?

I like hills, and that’s a good one.

The Wikipedia page has cool information about it if you want a starting point for learning more about the barrows or stuff I didn't mention.

Hardingstone Eleanor Cross

The research told me it looked a little different in the early 1800s, which is why this photo doesn’t have the Malta Cross I mention in the chapter.

Highgate House, Creaton

That’s the view from the road, on the left is where carriages would enter and that’s the front courtyard Elizabeth walked in.

And there’s the south side of the house, with the more impressive architecture that Elizabeth mentions.

Unfortunately, it’s raining in the street view photos, so you can’t see any of the countryside that Elizabeth was looking at when Mr Darcy found her, but here’s what the view of the same is from one of those upper story windows she ponders about:

Minor Places Elizabeth Sees (in chapters 40 or 41) that I Liked

The Glimpse Elizabeth got of the Newarke Gateway:

The Cavendish Bridge as I believe it was at the time (it’s been replaced twice since):

The view of the Derwent from the centre of (the then, very new) Duffield Bridge:

St Aulkmunds Church, Duffield:

Black Rocks, which Elizabeth only saw from the road but here’s the view anyway:

At the end of all that exploring as I travelled the route I ended up with google maps looking like this:

Each of those little circles is a mark I made on the map, because I really wanted the distance to check out. And honestly, I was pretty pleased at this point. It took a lot of unexpected effort to get here, but in the end I did it, and the locations and distances worked out SO satisfyingly for me. Not that it’d be noticeably different if it didn’t, but I know.

It was great to see I was following fairly closely the path of the Eleanor crosses, because it confirmed the route I chose had historical basis. To the best of my knowledge, there is nothing glaringly implausible about this being a pathway that Mr Darcy might use and thus the sights that might be seen along the way.

Of course, it’s very possibly not what Jane Austen (or someone actually living in 1812 England who has more baseline knowledge of this than me) would do. I’m confident that I did my best, but not confident that my understanding of this subject is good enough to have made me come to the right conclusions. But I am writing fiction, not history, so this level of research is sufficient for me to go on.

But now that I’ve gotten to Derbyshire, I’ve realised it’s a very big place. Derby is ‘only’ about 127 miles from London, Pemberley is 150, that’s a lot of distance that is unaccounted for.

Where would Pemberley be, based on the book’s clues and the distances possible with the research I just did?

FINDING PEMBERLEY

So, Firstly, I want to make it clear that I don’t think we will ever be able to point to a place on a map, say ‘this is where Pemberley is’ and have it work perfectly with both the book and the real world. Nor with any of the other locations which aren’t preexisting real places. As grounded in reality as Austen’s works are, they are still works of fiction, and I keep that in mind when applying real-world nuance to the locations, distances, and finances mentioned. I also generally don’t want to mess with headcanons too much, nor stray into territory where glaring errors can be made, as well as honouring that Jane Austen liked to keep locations vague.

That’s all why (in chapter 41, so very mild spoilers) I only definitively mention Duffield (5 miles North of Derby) for that last leg of the journey. Even that Black Rocks Promontory I showed you above is vaguely enough mentioned to be elsewhere. I’m happy for Pemberley to live as a place of suspended reality in my mind, but for the sake of this research I wanted to define a specific patch of Derbyshire which I would use as a vague location in my fic. Also, when it comes to research, I Have A Problem and I justified it in this case by wanting to know what was plausible just in case the only places it could be were in the south-west or north-east of Derbyshire and that might alter the pathway. This was done at the same time as a lot of the other research, but that would’ve gotten too messy to explain so I chose to detail it all here instead of interspersing it.

But how exactly to pinpoint likely locations?

Note: I am sure this is going to overlap with research others have done before me, but I have my own goals (for setting it somewhere for a fic) so I stayed away from other reasonings as I might value things differently. I’ve got to do this myself.

Luckily, Elizabeth mentions “before we left Bakewell, we understood that you were not immediately expected in the country,” (Ch. 43) so we can assume the village they discover that in, and depart from the following morning before soon reaching Pemberley and then going on to Lambton, is Bakewell. A real location!!! It’s about 22 miles north of Duffield (which checks out with the distances already measured) and puts us firmly in the peak district.

It's also just to the south-west of Chatsworth, which I calculate to be barely over 150 miles from London. Adding more credence in my mind to the idea that Jane Austen used it as her true idea of Pemberley – even though the real thing also exists in the book. But though it might be her base for Pemberley I’m not about to replace a very well known and book-canon location (though feel free to continue imagining it to be so, I don’t contradict the possibility, I even looked at Chatsworth floorplans for inspiration for describing Pemberley’s interiors) so I’m going to find what else might work.

Now, from what I could tell, Bakewell isn’t included in the modern-day ‘Chatsworth Core Estate’ (see the map on page 46).

It might not have been the case two centuries ago, but I’m going to presume it hasn’t changed, so basically, I can pick anywhere from the north-west, sweeping down west and south, until the south-east, safely without infringing upon Chatsworth. All the other, lesser-known landowners of the era we shall pretend don’t exist. I’m more going for a general area, anyway.

The Gardiners were likely travelling with considerable economy, and not changing horses every hour, so Pemberley can’t be a far distance away from there (if we want to mirror Chatsworth, 4-5 miles is best). We don’t know when they left Bakewell or arrived at Pemberley but it seems likely it was fairly early in the day, given how much time they spent there and then still drove on Lambton afterwards. So, we can look at places that are within a few hours journey from Bakewell for the Gardiners (let’s say 20 miles as an absolute maximum) and cross reference that with what is about 150 miles from London.

A brief note on the ‘150 miles’ number – the way I round numbers makes me think this is anywhere between 145-154 miles, but Jane Austen does seem to work in quarters rather than tenths, (approximately 25 miles from Meryton to London, 50 from Meryton to Rosings, 125 from Meryton to Pemberley, etc) so it might be fairer to say the distance from London is too much to be called 125 miles, but too little to be called 175. Which, assuming normal rounding of numbers, is 137-188 miles from London. For this estimation, I’m going to be sticking closer to my initial, tighter, understanding; but the possibility of the distances being broader than I interpret is worth mentioning.

Given all of those considerations, here is the area that I chose for Pemberley to be set within for the fic:

The Blue highlighted area is a general area that I think Pemberley House could be situated in, and probably Lambton too. The Estate itself can stretch beyond the borders, this is only for the house/park.

Bakewell is just above that section, and I’ve highlighted the other places mentioned in Pride and Prejudice as being part of the Northern Tour. White peak being the only option for ‘the Peak’ as far as I know. Fun fact: in my version of Pride and Prejudice (Penguins Classics 2003), and another online copy I used, Jane Austen has a spelling/consistency error by saying ‘Dovedale’ first and then ‘Dove Dale’ soon after. It’s a little comforting for me whenever I see that even my favourite author makes mistakes she misses despite all her reviews and rereads.

Anyway, there is a bit of a conflict for me with this location (as well as the location of Chatsworth, and any other places around 150 miles from London and still in the Peak District) when we take into account that Elizabeth and the Gardiners saw those highlighted places before going to Bakewell. It seems a very circuitous route, whatever order those sights are seen in. The best I can imagine is that it goes Dovedale (which I think should always be first, given the places we know they visit on their way to Derbyshire), then a more southern, partially unseen on that image, road to Matlock, followed by Chatsworth, the Peak, and turning around there and going back to Bakewell via a different road.

If Elizabeth’s trip to Derbyshire was based on the real travels of Austen or someone she knew, I don’t have knowledge of it. So, if there is a definitive pathway that’s agreed she intended to be followed that could change my deductions.

But as it is, with what I presume in mind, we might even be able to narrow down that blue area more, ruling out the most south-easterly portion because otherwise why wouldn’t they have seen Pemberley on their way to Matlock? If we were really looking for other ways to narrow it down, we might say that Dovedale and Matlock, which Elizabeth and Mr Darcy discuss at Pemberley, were the chosen subjects because they’re quite close to the house, and so that might place it in the south or south-west section of that blue area. I don’t think the latter concern does mean much: Chatsworth is also very close by but not discussed; and if Chatsworth itself is Austen’s location for Pemberley, then neither of those places are closer than the peak so the topics can’t be based on proximity. Perhaps they’re just what was seen most recently (implying an odd pathing of the Peak, Chatsworth, Matlock, Dovedale, and then way back up to Bakewell); or, as I think most likely, just mentioned to give vague specifics of the conversation and the locations chosen randomly out of all those that could be said.

And there we are.

I have a basic location for Pemberley and the journey thither that works for my fic and matches the book and the real-world as much as my knowledge of distances and turnpike roads allows. It’s not relevant enough for it to matter if you veto this idea and instil your own headcanon for Pemberley as you’re reading the fic, I certainly leave it open enough for other interpretations. But I did the research, and I must share it, because it took a lot of pain and effort to get to this point.

Thank you for sticking with me until the end, I hope you found it all interesting!

#I sometimes say 'thank you for coming to my TED talk' but this time it's not half joking #with a wee bit of tweaking this is big enough to be a TED talk #I kid you not this is over five thousand words #OF RESEARCH NOTES AND EXPLANATIONS #I cannot be stopped #at least there are pretty pictures to break up the text lol #jane austen #pride and prejudice #research #history #trying to tread water #fic:t3w

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ganondoodle · 1 year ago

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im pretty sure i mentioned all these things before but its too late to start drawing anything and each time i see someone talk about totk i just get sad and frustrated again

literally by FAR the biggest problem about totk is that it REFUSES to connect to botw in any way beyond reusing the same map and character models, and even taking the things botw had established and ruin them entirely

ancient hero? BAM weird sonau dog thing that remains completely unexplained and out of nowhere eight heroine myster- BAM just some guy long gone sonau peopl- BAM here they are and they have zero connection to the ones of botw mystical dragons gracing the skies with their presence- BAM probably some dude who ate a magic pebble once strange mystical nature god you could rarely encounter in one specific spot and the area was made to feel utteraly unsettling but also divine- BAM now hes everywhere and only serves you as a shorthand for man pointing at cave the strange energy all shiekah tech was powered with with certain locations being ones where alot of it was concentrated including beneath hyrule castle clearly stating that somethings up with that- welp theres evil guy donw there but he has zero connection to all that lol

the whole shiekah tech thing, i just- WHY???? LIKE THAT??? there was so much stuff in botw that seemed deliberately placed that there IS more to it and now it all vanished and nothing of that mattered??? i saw a video of someone comparing certain places directly and on some where towers literally broke away tons of debris where just like .. sanded back down like nothing ever happened???; the fuking mechanism of how the towers and shrines and the pillars around the castle worked AND WHAT THE BOTW BOSS ARENA WAS ACTUALLY FOR?? its all gone and replaced with dirt; tHE ANCIENT FUCKING FURNANCES UTTERLY GONE AND REPLACED WITH ROCKS HUH???? so nothing of all that talk about their mystery and mechanism mattered???? the luminous stoens and its connection to spirits and how concentrated spiritual energy might have been what powered the tech- like you could connect things, and they made SENSE, so much sense that that seemed like it was intentionally setting up- only for it all to be just GONE?? to literally say lol it all vanished and that we shouldnt worry about it- like what the FUCK (and it also AGAIN doesnt make sense in itself bc WE SEE GUARDIAN PARTS in the towers, and some parts of them too are made of clearly shiekah tech stuff so it cant all have vanished- all their mystery doesnt matter bc idk it just works i guess lol and its not even called shiekah tech at any point either its just there and also not lol-)

(and even the smaller things like .. where the fuck does link live if everyone treats him like a goddamn stranger in the town you had to buy a house in botw for it to not be demolished and now that house is there but its not yours and noone knows you??? sth i personalyl found strange too that dumsda, the guy you help build an entire town, taburasa, had a very specific talking quirk i loved, and its all just gone in totk too, he talks like any other person all of the sudden

also at the end of botw finally being reunited with zelda and giving you the taste of being in the game WITH her at the same time in the intro to totk- WOOP away she goes! shes your pretty prize at the end and nothing more, what a way to disrespect her and her character..)

imagine if majoras mask didnt have the opening like it has and it otherwise stayed the same and they tried to tell you that its a direct sequel happening exactly where ocarina of time happened in the same world, zelda who?? ganondorf who??? things seem weird and off? lol dont worry about that :)) that would be weird and not make any sense at all now would it??

... sorry going on another rant again, ill just never be able to accept everything from botw didnt actually matter, and despite what some people might say, its pretty hard to ignore totk bc i LOVE botw, and as much as i hate it, they are connected in canon, even if it makes no sense

#ganondoodles talks #zelda #totk #ganondoodles rants #i know im jsut repeating myself at this point #but some things just #i CANNOT understand why they did it like this #where the hell did kashiwa go man #i miss that funky bird #was he too much associated with botw and so it had to be done away with bc all botw things BAD??#what i would have given for seeing the titans now enshrined as temples to honor their service and their champion #to have broken shiekah shrines in the depths #old research labs with unreadable text but clear hints to how they made the guardians cores #the yiga rediscovering their lost heritage #..#i could talk about so much stuff again and again but i have done that about most thigns already #this game grinds my gears #sand in the maschine #ouch urhg ack gah

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9w1ft · 6 months ago

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hi! thanks for reading and being curious ☺️

here’s link to a bunch of clips everyone has collected from that show so i will let you come to your own conclusion but i see so much love in her expression

as for where she sat, you can read a more analysis style writeup i did about it here:

but the tldr is that i was at sofi stadium for the 8/3 show that week, and my seat was the section next to where she ended up being seated, so i know what everything looked like. and i can confidently say that her area was noticeably sectioned off, inaccessible to me, with its own separate box/concessions area at the top of the section. the maps of the stadium layout also mark the area as vip. other celebrities were also in karlie’s section. so it wasn’t general seating.

to me the setup was no different than something like this:

as far as we have seen she was not photographed in the vip tent during the night though i did see a tweet, but to be completely honest i would hope she didn’t go to floor because she was 2 weeks postpartum and with the amount of hate and threats she gets from swifties, i wouldn’t want her there to be ogled at or potentially harassed.

instead we got taylor smiling and looking at her section all night long, and proof that taylor could see her from her vantage point (see link above for more about that and more clips but ill include some gifs here for people who are immune to pull media)

(side note i love how easy it was at the time to find clips of her staring because it was the night she debuted all of her blue looks for the first time so we got all these visuals that were undeniable because oh that’s right 1989 tv was announced!! (and yet she played a rep song as surprise song, new year’s day, which is a seminal kaylor song. but i digress))

anyways, all and all i’m not sure why it would matter either way where she was sitting that night, if you were convinced they could be together if only it wasn’t for karlie not sitting in the vip tent. because the whole premise of their relationship right now would be that they aren’t being public about it. so if that is the case, why would they want karlie in the vip tent if that would have been the thing that would have convinced everybody? i think it was more of a comfort issue.

so yeah! these are my thoughts.

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batsplat · 5 months ago

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OT3: casey stoner/his neuroses/the concept of valentino rossi that mostly exists in casey’s head

y'know I have this casey stoner... idk what it is. thematic mind map (literal), let's say, that I like fiddling with and adding things to when the mood hits me. and it does always strike me just how many of his struggles during his careers and issues with the sport can in some way be linked back to the valentino rivalry

casey's sense of isolation? super valentino related. casey's feelings of cultural alienation in a paddock dominated by europeans? even when it's not really related to valentino, casey is the one linking those two things together. casey's issues with other riders not being respectful enough on track? very obviously repeatedly about valentino. casey's discomfort with the performance and entertainment-related aspects of the sport? more valentino. casey feeling treated unfairly by the manufacturers, the media, the marshals, the fans.... keeps coming back to valentino. casey's mystery illness really shouldn't be as relevant to the rivalry as it is, but somehow through this combination of public discourse and whatever comparisons casey's brain is cooking up at any moment in time... there valentino is again

one of the most charming things about valentino's feuds is that in each and every single one, both participants end up being deeply weird about each other? just keep knocking off these banger quotes about the other where you read them and go. hm. what's going on there then. I don't want to make it sound like I think casey is the worst offender with this (not when marc and valentino have their whole thing going on, bidirectionally)... but I do think he's the most susceptible to conflating his valentino issues with like... everything else that was going on in his career. to the extent where his alienation with the sport as a whole, his extreme disillusionment from everything related to motogp, really cannot be meaningfully disentangled from the valentino rivalry. at times it feels like, to casey, valentino literally is the sport. and that's the thing casey dedicated his whole life to!! which means you do inevitably end up regularly going 'wow there's a lot to unpack'. add in a dash of neuroticism...

and yeah you're so right anon!! the neuroses are what end up creating the version of valentino that mostly exists in casey's head, a version that casey is just a touch obsessed with. I always think it's interesting how aware casey is that he doesn't know valentino as a person - and to the extent casey does know him, he gets on pretty well with him... but valentino the person isn't all that relevant to him. it's valentino the character who matters - and can you even really know a character? in the end, all casey can do is rely on his own understanding of that character, as imperfect as it is. and, well, in a way casey is trapped with that character forevermore. if one man comes to embody a sport to such an extent and if that sport has been your life's work, how can you not be a little bit trapped? as he tries to make his peace with the sport and his experiences within it, so too has casey settled on a narrative of valentino that helps him make sense of it all... a very specific understanding of his rival that casey has shaped in his mind and still trots out now when he sells his own version of events to the media. casey learned from valentino, casey learned to be a little more like valentino, casey learned to fight valentino with his own tools, casey tells himself a story of that fight. he still continues to do so - and in the end he will never be entirely free of valentino

#'do you ever talk to valentino' 'i don't talk to europeans' casey buddy what's going on there #'everybody's going on like he's a crippled hero' *pinches bridge of nose*#//#brr brr #batsplat responds #heretic tag #'x fell first but y fell harder' but make it about feud escalation #it is. interesting. how little the two of them engage in laguna '08 discourse for about two years and then rediscover it in mid 2010 #casey's very similar to valentino in that regard in that he doesn't necessarily lash out immediately #but he remembers. and he resents. and he seethes. and then eventually lets it all out and you go 'huh'. very valentino #like it is SO important to remember that after initially losing his temper at laguna... *most* of the laguna quotes are from YEARS later #(apart from that one early 2009 interview with an italian paper where he was clearly just in a FOUL mood like it's dreadful)#I genuinely think casey's mystery illness contributed more to the change in tone of that rivalry than laguna did #laguna laid the groundwork in terms of resentment but you needed something for casey actually to be willing to go ALL in #idk in a way it's the only rivalry where valentino is the one on the receiving end of Remember That Thing You Did Thirty Years Ago #like they ARE similar!! they're ridiculously adept at holding grudges!! they relish twisting the knife!!#I think it's interesting jorge was talking about how valentino is better at him at knowing when to choose his moments to lash out #because you can say casey did the exact same thing. he'd learned to clamp down on his immediate irritable reactions #and instead get himself to a place where he could attack valentino from a position of strength #basically they're the two aliens i'd get to go on a revenge quest for me. like i think they'd be good at revenge quests #conspiracy theories and revenge quests. that's what i think they're good at

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thedragonchilde · 2 months ago

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"Chibodee has lit a fire in Domon's soul": a ship manifesto years in the making

For my followers who have been wondering what the hell I've been on about, here you are.

Before I start, a quick rundown for the newbies, of the show and the characters of the hour, as is customary for ship manifestos:

Earth has been ravaged by war, so all the nations created space colonies, and everyone who could afford it fled to them. In order to try and 'fix' the problem of war, they have decided to settle their differences by way of the Gundam Fight. The Fight happens every four years, and calls for every country to send a Gundam and a fighter to control it, and they spend a year battling it out, and the last one standing gives his nation the right to rule all the others for the next four years.

Earth is the ring.

The other thing to know is the presence of a secret quasi-mystical society called the Shuffle Alliance, which has existed throughout time for the purpose of overseeing wars and making sure humanity survives. There are five at any given time, mapped to card ranks, and they are magically 'chosen' rather than deciding to join. They are linked together by crests on their hands and an ill-explained empathic bond.

Domon Kasshu is our intrepid main character, and holds rank King of Hearts. He is 20 at the start of the Fight, and has been training as a fighter since he was 10. His father was sentenced to stasis by the government for alleged treason, and he wants to win so he can make a bid to reverse that. He broods quite a bit, but his anger is too red-hot to let that stay for long. He's LOUD and PASSIONATE and FEELS A LOT OF THINGS and SHOUTS A LOT. He's also a giant child sometimes, and that's not always a bad thing, particularly when he interacts with children. Also, he has a sexy suit-up sequence to rival Sailor Moon.

Chibodee Crockett is also 20, and holds rank Queen of Spades. He actually grew up an orphan on Earth (specifically NYC), but was discovered by talent scouts after a street fight and taken to the colony to be trained. He makes a name for himself as a professional boxer, and is undefeated by the start of the Fight. He is literally the rags-to-riches American Dream, and he seizes that, aiming to win the Fight as a symbol to give hope to those still living on Earth. He is loud and impulsive and naturally flirtatious, and has a heart of gold. And, you know, an 80s metal hairdo.

So why do I find this dynamic compelling? Let's start with what canon gives us.

In Chibodee's debut episode, they don't get off to the best start (a suckerpunch is not a meet-cute), and miscommunication induced by the Neo-American government makes it worse. But things get immediately friendlier once the two are able to have their match and communicate in the best way they know how. Domon wins the bout, and Chibodee doesn't handle the loss well, insisting that he's let down his fans. Now, we already know from the series opener that Domon has no qualms with leaving a situation that he feels isn't his business - so it stands out to me that Domon refuses to knock Chibodee out of the tournament, and in fact encourages him to keep fighting, even calling him “one of the good guys”.

This mercy must have stood out to Chibodee as well, because in “Prepare to Fight! Desperate Fugitive” he is downright obsessed with finding Domon again for a rematch, getting his team to scout the area and even going along with Neo-Mexico’s plan to use him just for the publicity. Even for the purposes of revenge as he claims, that's a lot of time and effort spent pursuing one guy. Their interaction is only in the last leg of the episode - Chibodee attempts to muscle in on Domon's match, then says he's “lost all respect” for Domon when he thinks Neo-Mexico’s Chico has been killed, implying that he respected Domon in the first place despite everything. When he figures out what the plan actually is, he thinks it's incredibly clever.

Then we get to the Guyana Highlands training arc. Our five-man band has just become the newest Shuffle Alliance, though they're still figuring out what that means and how they're tied to each other.

Right out of the gate, the narrator refers to Chibodee as Domon's “destined rival”. And the characters seem to agree! If self-proclaimed mentor Schwarz wants Domon to train against someone, he has plenty of choices, including two who fought him to a draw, but for whatever reason he decides Chibodee is the best option - and he secretly encourages Chibodee's team to come to the same conclusion.

When Chibodee arrives and finds Domon, instead of announcing himself, he just watches Domon train (shirtless, mind you) for long enough that the weather turns from sunny and beautiful to a thunderstorm.

Eventually, he does announce his presence, and they face off in the rain - and it's not just the lightning that's electric, as they excitedly comment on each other's technique and reenergize their fighting spirit, just as Schwarz planned. (In fact, Domon is so into the fight that he needs to be told there's an SOS signal from their support teams!)

It's some time later before we see Chibodee again, and he's either stayed in the highlands the whole time or left and came back, and either option is damning. The fledgling Shuffle Alliance has gathered, drawn to Domon, who’s gone off on his own without a word. Aside from George's half-baked excuse about wanting to protect Rain from wild beasts, the others are fairly upfront about wanting to see Domon, if only to fight him. But Chibodee gets oddly defensive and claims he just has nothing better to do.

When Domon returns from his training, his former teacher Master Asia strikes with the self-regenerating Devil Gundam, and the group has to find their way out. While they're strategizing, Chibodee makes a suggestion, then blushes and hurriedly assures Domon that he's “not doing this for you!” as if anyone would take it that way.

Eventually, they separate and reunite in Neo-Hong Kong for the tournament finals. Their next big interaction is in “Domon Targeted! The Assassin’s Staff”, where Domon is caught in the crosshairs of Neo-Nepal’s Kyral, who tries to assassinate him ahead of his next match. There is a very scary run-in with Kyral in broad daylight, which ends with Domon's shoulder slashed open. Chibodee comes to the rescue, laying Domon across his lap as he drives to help - at least until he flips the car in the chaos.

They do eventually get help, but Domon still has to face Kyral in the ring. For his part, Chibodee has decided to hang around Domon's lodgings for the entire two days between the attack and the match. Guilty? Worried? Feeling a little protective?

I won't say much about “Dazzling Power of the Clown! Get Mad, Gundam Maxter” here, except to ask: when Chibodee goes out that night and has his first meltdown, why is it Domon that the girls call to check on him?

As is the nature of tournaments, Domon has to face off against the other members of the Shuffle Alliance. He appeals to their bond as the Shuffle Alliance, but they each put their reasons for entering the tournament first, and will only come back around to the group once they've decisively faced Domon. Chibodee actually sounds pretty anguished about this, and, presumably in the interest of good sportsmanship, shows Domon his newest technique so he knows what he's up against.

Here are just a few real honest to God quotes from their match:

“Get ready for this, baby!”

“--and most of all, it's for you!”

“Your hunger ignited a fire within me”

“You sure know how to make me happy, Chibodee Crockett!”

“Chibodee has lit a fire in Domon's soul”

“I can feel your dream”

Domon wins with a technique that hasn't been seen before or since, and in fact manages to knock Chibodee out for a few seconds! When Domon reaches out to help him up, it is in shoujo soft focus. Again, Chibodee is discouraged, and again Domon tells him that he hasn't let his fans down, and then reassures him that the fight was great and they can rematch any time he wants. It's a lovely side of Domon we don't always get to see, being literally and figuratively supportive.

Eventually, we get to the battle royale, a winner-take-all match on an enclosed island, where of course the Devil Gundam has been resurrected and infected many of the participants. The Shuffle Alliance takes on foes to clear the way for Domon to go to the center. I mention this because in the span of less than a year, Chibodee has gone from ostensibly hating Domon to being willing to die for him.

Domon wins the tournament, but that's not the end of his troubles, as Rain, after having left Domon, is taken by the military to power the Devil Gundam. The emergency signal has the Shuffle Alliance going to Domon about it (and at least in the dub Chibodee shouts his name in this beautiful breathless, anguished way). Domon at first refuses to go after Rain, wanting to respect her wish not to see him again. But the others have seen the burgeoning romantic tension between Domon and Rain, and so Chibodee tries to motivate him by basically saying “don't be an idiot, either you go or I will”. Eventually Domon is convinced, and the rest of the group is not far behind.

Let me preface this part by saying it's not uncommon for other fighters to join in Domon's words in the midst of battle, demonstrating the connection between them brought about by 'communicating with your fists'. But only once does this happen when it's not part of an attack. The five of them have a terrible battle ahead of them, and at one of their lowest points, it is Chibodee who brings out Domon's words as a motivator.

There is a lull in between bouts, in which Domon asks the others why they followed him. They respond more or less with “it's fun to fight alongside you”, and Chibodee in particular phrases it in a ridiculous way that makes everyone laugh for an awkward amount of time because it's a scary moment and nobody wants to say “we care about you”.

Domon has to fight the last leg alone, not that the others didn't try to follow him, and rather than attack Rain, he disentangles her from the Devil Gundam with the power of love, in the most literal way. Now, of course, during his big confession, we get reaction shots of the others, and I have to say Chibodee looks rather more upset than expected for such a scene.

Now wait, you may say! Domon has a canon romance, one that literally saves the day, so what are we doing here?

Well, this is not the place for my thoughts on Domon/Rain. This is, however, a place for embracing transformative fandom. All I'm definitely saying here is that I find the Domon/Chibodee dynamic compelling, and there's maybe a canon precedent for Chibodee having caught feelings. But this is fanfic, so anything goes; maybe this is an alternate timeline, or maybe you prefer to write Rain with someone else anyway, or maybe the three of them come to an arrangement.

What I know is that they have a bond that the narrative itself acknowledges, one in which they consistently build each other up. They have a lot in common temperamentally, being evenly matched in hot-bloodedness, but their attitudes are sort of the inverse of each other - Domon is serious and melancholy, but deep down is trusting and wants to believe the best of people, where Chibodee keeps things light and devil-may-care, but he's a little more world-weary, a little more easily discouraged - and this makes them interesting foils. I just think there is a lot of unexplored potential in their relationship - especially in adding a romantic/sexual dimension to both the Shuffle Alliance empathy and ‘communicating with your fists’ - and I want to think I'm not the only one who sees it.

This is normally the part where I recommend other fanwork, but at the time of writing this, there are four works under this ship tag, one of them is mine, and two are Domon/multiple. There is a little bit of art on pixiv under the チボドモ tag. I know this is a thirty-year-old anime, but I also know that hero/friendly rival is usually slasher catnip, as is dudes in latex saying things like “you sure know how to make me happy” to each other.

#g gundam #meta #ship manifesto #royal flush #thinky thoughts

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loz-untold-myths · 10 days ago

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The Mage's Lantern Worldbuilding

◇▪︎ Darune Town ▪︎◇

Concept map (2024).

Darune Town (also known as Darune Village among the townspeople) is a settlement constructed where one was previously devastated by the Silver Tempest and swarms of monsters. It is named after an ancient Sage of Fire in hopes of fortune against the severe cold Hyrule has been stricken with. It is Link's hometown and primarily run by the Link (Arnson) and Lon families.

Basic Info

Darune Town is Link's hometown.

The town has no mayor, due to only recently being recognized as a new township. Link's father Arn, however, is often treated as the equivalent of one.

Their main livestock consists of Highland Cows that used to roam Hyrule Field. They also raise horses, although they're only of use for deliveries along the Stone Road (a pathway constructed throughout the plains of Hyrule Field). Usually, dogsleds are used for shorter travels; especially when going to retrieve materials. Alternatively, there are a select few fishing spots with Hyrulean Salmon that were trapped by the cut-off of a stream.

Construction

During the arduous construction, entire sections of the snow would be dug and re-dug each morning, as well as the thick layers of ice formed over the soil by the Silver Tempest. This was to prevent any misconceptions in the building process: to make sure nothing relied on the packed snow for support.

If the snow were to ever disappear, the buildings would still be structurally sound– they are supported by layers of carved stone. The paths used for the horses are, as well. Darune’s roads have step-like borders, they just are never visible due to the snow’s buildup. Sometimes, not even the elevated pathways are really visible... that's where the sled rental service comes in.

Torches are posted along the roads, but are snuffed out quickly. Only certain spots have lanterns, as it's more important to keep the public spaces visible in the event of an emergency. The lamppost man's sole job for the town is to run across the town keeping all the torches and lanterns lit, night and day. Occasionally, he likes to do hearth and chimney inspections just to be doing something else...

The ranch and stables are given a sort of “roof” that is made of retractable but sturdy tiles, requiring multiple people to deploy and remove. They took years to make, but the project was funded by the King once he heard of the effort (he believed it would be vital for other remaining settlements to be able to replicate). Lanterns are meant to try and simulate natural light for the horses and cows as well as keep them warm– Epona likes to rub her face against them despite Arn's efforts to discourage the habit.

Most of the village has cellars for the winter and days of particularly unfortunate weather. The cellar doors, instead of being built at ground level, are built on elevated cobble pillars against the cellar chimneys. They're more so storm shelters.

Origin

Darune Village was built after the collapse of many homes in the general area during the Silver Tempest's awakening.

The town was built specifically with the storm in mind, on the backs of many hardworking and determined individuals. So much work went into the construction that it is rumored that some of the volunteers died on site from exhaustion.

Location Info + Climate

Darune is in a region of Hyrule Field called the Greater Hyrulean Plains, making it one of the closest settlements to the eye of the Silver Tempest.

The pond has been cut off from the stream that originally let water in from the river, so some villagers gather snowfall in a bucket to turn into boiling water for drinking.

The pond also has been almost entirely frozen over in a thick top layer, except for the center area. The center area's ice is much thinner, so it may break if disturbed for too long. There have been cases of people falling in and becoming ill.

Before the tempest, the Darune area tended to be around 76° average during the summer and about 33° average during the winter. Now, the summer average is 30°, and the winter average is only 17° at best and -32° at worst. Winters are unlivable across Hyrule and become a sort of lockdown, and in late autumn, the king usually issues out supplies rationed throughout the year to minimize how many people must starve. Castle Town folks have it even worse, but at least have easier access to trade routes.

Luckily, Darune mostly gets snow or ice rain rather than the Castle Town or Hebra Region's persistent hailstorms. This makes it a safe travel spot for those who accidentally find themselves off the Stone Road, but since the only "inn" is just a rest stop with two beds, villagers just take turns letting people rest in their homes.

The Temple of Time

The Temple of Time was what connected the old village to Castle Town. It was the site of many ceremonies, especially weddings; it was said to be representative of the Spirit Maiden, Hylia, and her eternal love for a mortal soul destined to meet her again throughout time (a common Hyrulean fairytale).

The Temple closed its doors to the public shortly before the Silver Tempest came about.

Around the time Darune was built, the Temple's upkeep seemingly stopped. However, village children still insist they see shadows crawling towards it on clear nights... which adults don't really believe, since there aren't often clear nights anymore.

Within the Temple of Time, Link finds a chamber dedicated to heroes of the past: spirits and fae who guided heroes to meeting Hylia in the past. The center of the room holds a little lantern, containing the fire spirit, Searis. Link has no idea why the spirit was locked inside or who placed him there... but perhaps he is the key to saving his village from their neverending struggle to survive?

Spectacle Rock

The village's primary source of Rock Salt. Ore deposits often appear from the strange stone.

Residents (NPCs)

Link and his family know just about everyone in town. It's small, after all. Some NPCs may be recognizable. Others, not so much.

Link

Arn

Aryll

Malon

Talon

Ingo

Old Man Linebeck

Wane (Lamppost Man)

Kyndlewax

Wulf

Dot

❄️ NPC art post will be linked here once completed. ❄️

Side Quests

If I got to actually format The Mage's Lantern as a game without Nintendo having my head, there would be a slightly longer beginning section similar to that of Ordon Village in Twilight Princess. This would include the chance to do a series of sidequests before Link wanders to Spectacle Rock.

❄️ Chapters 1-6 as a game. ❄️ (WIP)

Includes: Warm Apology, Horse Training, A Fishy Situation

. . .

Warm Apology (Quest Get)

I was supposed to spend time with Aryll today, but I completely slept through it... The least I can do is help her feel better in whatever way I can. I want to get something that'll fight off her sickness, too... but I don't have any money. People lose stuff in the snow all the time, though! Maybe I can find something...

Warm Apology (Bought Safflina)

I managed to gather enough rupees to buy the most expensive thing at Wax & Wane's General Shop. It's a flower called an Amber Safflina from somewhere far away... apparently it fights the cold (both the weather and the illness, so they say). I'm not so sure I can believe it, but I have to give it a try. They rarely have these lately... And who sees flowers anymore?! Aryll won't believe it, either!

Warm Apology (Complete)

I gave Aryll the Amber Safflina as an apology gift. She seemed really happy, so I think I'm forgiven. Phew. She even wanted to save one of them.

...

I forget that she doesn't get to go outside much until she recovers... and that she's only seen a few flowers ever. Mama used to tell me there were hundreds.

. . .

Horse Training (Quest Get)

I found Malon sneaking around the stables again, for some reason. She likes to work here with the horses instead of the cows at the ranch.

...

Anyway, that growl Papa was talking about seems to have scared all of the horses except for Epona. Now they just won't listen to Malon, even with her song. I'll have to soothe them all before they go back into the stable...

Horse Training (Complete)

I had to ride each horse back into the stables individually, but they're safe now. Malon gave them some straw so they'll stay put.

She told me not to tell, but she gave me some rupees as a reward. I tried to turn them down - she was pretty insistent... I guess these could be useful, though.

. . .

A Fishy Situation (Quest Get)

Because of the monster, not even Papa's friends can keep on track... It really must be bad. Usually, Papa's the sort of leader to get anybody on task!

I wonder if there's something I can do to help, even if Papa says different. Maybe if I ask around..

A Fishy Situation (Mystery Solved)

I asked around a little bit, and it seems like all the workers are just hungry. I think I get why they're so distracted now... but what can I bring them?

...

I guess I can find them some fish at the pond... I'm probably going to regret this, aren't I?

A Fishy Situation (Fishing Done)

It felt weird to go back to the pond after these past couple of weeks. It looks almost completely frozen over again - they must have had to re-carve the fishing holes. Would Aryll be mad at me for walking around here? Papa?

Old Man Linebeck was in his usual spot, where the ice is thick. And as usual, didn't want to be bothered. Surprisingly, he said he'd teach me to spear fish... but only a little, since I'm not paying. He was fuming every time I slipped up, but he said for a price he could teach me more. Did he enjoy fishing with somebody else or not?! I just can't read that guy!

...

For now, I'm just fine with the few salmon I managed to catch. This ought to get everyone's heads back in the right place.

A Fishy Situation (Complete)

Papa managed to start a fire and grilled the salmon I brought back for the workers (after I bothered him for a little while). He let me have some, too! It was sweet and savory. I feel all warm and fuzzy inside! So flaky and delicious...

...

Oh, and everyone seemed to calm down a little.

. . .

❄️ HEY! This section will be expanded as the story progresses! ❄️

Link

Hypothetical gameplay talk aside, here is the storyline in novelized form! Chapter 7 to be released in two parts between December of 2024 and January of 2025.

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us-the-voices-and-more-voices-2 · 1 year ago

Text

Us-the-voices intro card!

this is a work in progress but currently it will house the tags we use, our DNI, and alter intros and a couple other fun things!

Link to resource page, filled with many resources. LINK

-------- DC text post series ----------------

superfam being confusing and half clones:

part 1 luthor and Conner reconciliation arc

batfamily stuff: (note this is not in order this is parts of a series each part contains more than 10 posts)

part 1 introducing the batfam along with funny stuff

Part 2 actual batfam serious stuff

part 3 red hood oneshots about various things and how he reacted

part 4 Thomas Wayne being himself, a collection of previous posts

part 5

firestorm being 3 guys:

part 1 the origin + the first couple episodes.

random head cannons important to the series:

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 3 part 4

——————⭐️🦀SIDE BLOGS🦀⭐️————

@us-the-voices-xenogender-blog

A blog for all things blinkies, xenogenders and pixel art

@the-bad-advice-blog-3

you want awful. awful advice? send it in here!

@us-the-batfam-blog

Finally a blog dedicated to just Batman stuff

——————🛑‼️WARNING‼️🛑—————

THIS BLOG CONTAINS BLINKING, FLASHING, EYESTRAIN AND OTHER PHOTOSENSITIVE THINGS! PLEASE BE SAFE, WE WILL TRY TO TAG AS MUCH AS WE CAN BUT IT WILL SLIP THROUGH. PLEASE ONLY LOOK AT TEXT POST FROM US, IF YOU HAVE EPILEPSY BECAUSE I CANNOT GUARANTEE THIS BLOG IS SAFE

this blog talks about mature topics! Such as Sexual abuse, death, trauma, child abuse, ableism, sexism, racism, police brutality, some really depressing environmental issues, homophobia, transphobia, queerphobia, gore, capitalism, and MORE!

so please consider this your warning!

———————⚠️ DNI ⚠️—————————

Terfs/radfems, transphobes/queerphobes, (I have had enough of you. Why do you have to be so awful Jesus, it’s not like awful people don’t come in all shapes, sizes, races, and genders. I ain’t defending awful people. But trans people just exist and I believe in judging people on a person to person basis. I don’t think you are bad I just want you to shut up about it, I’ll always be loudly supportive of trans people and loudly a feminist too. So deal with it! Also I don’t hate men, why would i??? So shush)

ableists/sanists (like the people who discriminate against mentally ill people),

Tankies/marxist-lennists/maoists/north-korean socialist supporters (please fuck off I hate facists, and you are the types to argue that disabled people should all die for the glorious revolution but again fuck you we are 15% of the fucking world’s population and guess what I wanna live)

animal abusers/people who spread misinformation about animals and animal care, (I hope you stub your toes)

syscourse (yeah I don’t ever want to engage in it idc shut up this blog is about literally everything else BUT that.),

bad faith gender/other Identities (E.G BLM gender, transabled, ect.)

racists/xenophobes/antisemites, misogynists.

non-binary exclusionists.

pro-censorship people.

anti-therians/otherkin, (if you are it’s not a deal breaker lol, it’s just some of us are therian/otherkin due to plurality)

only NSFW blogs (like if you occasionally post NSFW your okay, if it’s less than 50% nsfw your fine on this blog lol),

MAP’s AND PEDO’s and people who like l*licon/sh**tacon (fuck off and stay off) (sorry I am actually anti censorship but following our most recent ban I’m being more “careful” when mentioning these topics so sorry)

Dream Stans (yeah I fucking hate that guy, I like MCYT but dream and co can stay off of here REAL) (I have always hated him and I will continue to, fuck off dream Stan’s),

anti-good faith xenogenders (yeah so what if the term xeno-identities is more the “right” term idgaf! I literally have no qualms nor problems with xenogenders, in my mind it makes sense because gender is a social construct and so why not have fun with it?)

And more to be added :)

WE ALSO BELIEVE PEOPLE CAN CHANGE AND GROW, AND HATE IS LEARNED SO IF YOU WERE ONE OF THESE THINGS IN THE PAST AND HAVE NOW REFORMED I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT YOU!

——————————- ALTER INTROS —————————————

Now expanded in our tumblr page!

Pop (hi I’m pop, I’m usually the one on here when it’s not everyone else. If you see me more than usual it means LIFE happened. I’m technically host? But me, Lena, And poppie kinda share that role. They/them he/him)

poppie (cat girl, you see her a lot on here. She’s SUPER into the veganism scene and animal rights and is a cat-therian lol we all love her she’s the best. She/her any cat neopronouns actually.)

Lena (demon, yeah she’s a demon! She’s nonsense hardworking and in the demonkin/otherkin scene. She/her)

belle (psychology nerd, actually knows how to write ANYTHING is honestly the best. She/her)

————————————. Tags ————————————————-

#Anticapitalism stuff (a tag that argues against capitalism, and trashing multinational corporations and a bit of environmental stuff.)

#anarchism stuff (a tag for all things anarchism)

#art stuff (a tag for stuff related to the ethics, discussion, or making of art.)

#music stuff (for all things music and music theory!)

#tv and movie stuff (the tag for film and television, kinda fun kinda sad! It’s good tho)

#anti-censorship stuff (a tag for anti-censorship stuff, and why it’s important!)

#trans stuff (a tag for all things trans! Includes dark topics, mostly happy stuff tho.)

#queer stuff (a tag for all things LGBTQIA+, mostly happy but with triggering and dark topics.)

#mental health stuff (A tag for all things mental health, let it be help or just memes or darker topics.)

#mental illness stuff (a tag for specifically mental illnesses, like anxiety or depression or whatever usually REALLY dark but sometimes happy usually dark tho.)

#veganism stuff (a tag for all things vegan, not recipes just ethics and whatever. I [pop] don’t usually add to it but poppie does ALL THE TIME.)

#disability (for all things disability, let it be activism stuff, vents, information, or just funny stuff! It’s a tag I tend to use for myself because fun fact I [pop] am not okay! Health wise lol.)

#punk stuff (A tag for all things punk, let it be C-punk, madpunk, neuropunk or whatever! It’s a tag for all things punk! Including art, crafts, sewing and punk beliefs and politics I love punks I am not really one due to a whole lotta reasons but I love them so much <3 )

#environmentalism stuff (Climate change, mass extinctions, greedy corporations and politicians, animal rights, and more stuff. Mostly climate/animal related but intersects with disability stuff, anarchism stuff, activism stuff, and veganism and punk stuff. Fun fact these types of things are extremely intersectional but are never presented as such due to infighting!)

#healthcare stuff (The weird tag related to health and healthcare, not a disability tag, not a environmentalism tag literally health and healthcare which is weird. Mostly PSA’s)

#animal care stuff (For all things animal care, I disagree with veganism’s doctrine here. Keeping Some animals and keeping animals can be done well and awesomely and help petstore and wild animals, but people who do animal care just absolutely trash just don’t deserve anything or anyone. It’s a fine line, but I genuinely believe if you take good care of your animals and give them an amazing quality of life I genuinely don’t see a problem with keeping animals.)

#animal abuse stuff (Goes hand in hand with animal care stuff, it’s pretty bad at times, it is what it says on the tin. Mostly also animal care stuff.)

#child abuse stuff (For stories, children’s rights, or experiences. It’s pretty dark.)

#youth liberation (for youth liberation stuff, it’s important honestly.)

#children's rights (A tag for all things children’s rights it’s super cool!)

#homelessness stuff (a tag related to homelessness and just all the things that come with it, it’s a dark tag. Sometimes happy.)

#uhoused stuff (Same same but different, more related to cost of living crisis’s and capitalism then disenfranchisement and outright just the sad reality that is being mentally ill and homeless or a substance abuser and homeless or trans/queer and homeless or any other absolutely insane and awful reason people are homeless.)

#communism stuff (For all things communist, I don’t believe it will fix anything and it is kinda extremely hard to get rid of monetary currency. But communism, socialism, anarchism, and punk theory are all connected in ways and have some BASED ideas and principles. So yeah that’s why it’s tagged on here!

Edit: I do not agree with communism; well Marxist Leninist, or Stalinist, or any variation of fucking facist dictators like North Korean communism/socialism or soviet communism and Maoist communism. Why? Because do I really have to spell it out they were facist DICTATORS, I do not believe a cult of personality is good nor that people instead of being solely valued on their money they are solely valued by their ableness which I think is harmful as shit. A lot of communists are literally tankies and for the death penalty and many other things I’m against including “making prisons torture chambers” “state mandated murder of people against communism” “leaving disabled and mentally ill people to rot because they can’t contribute to the work force and such are useless to the communist state” “stealing shit from people because it now belongs to the state” “forcing people into mandatory labor jobs with no way out of it unless they become disabled or die” and many many more! Communism can be interesting and helpful but in a lot of ways people drunk the “facists aren’t bad they are communists they are for the people!” Drink. And like I don’t believe in that shit, go fucking deconstruct your biases please because otherwise I’m blocking you, talkies fuck off)

#socialism stuff (I actually do believe socialism can work, it’s definitely not the end all be all of ways to govern/live life but I think it’s a good stepping stone to all different wonderful things that can change the world for the better, usually the CIA/FBI/US government appears a lot in this tag due to reasons that will become apparent. But it’s a fun one!)

#fat stuff (A tag about fatphobia, diet culture, ableism and just annoying stuff about being fat lol. Mostly medical negligence and malpractice because holy shit fuck is it bad in this tag. Also Eating disorders are talked about in every post in one way or another, it’s a big problem. Dark tag.)

#religion stuff (A thing for all things religion, it’s basically every criticism and deep cut anyone and everyone has on every single religion, which yk obviously no one literally agrees with anything. It’s mostly everyone going “QUEER/TRANS/DISABLED/WOMEN/“SINNERS” DONT DESERVE THIS TREATMENT IT MAKES NO SENSE!” Other religions “NO THEY DO” and it’s actually very well written and argued for. Also atheism is talked about a lot too, it’s mostly like a deep philosophical and ethical debate that has spanned literally everything and everywhere where it’s all boiled down to “yeah some fuckers deserve prison, but the average normal guy kinda just exists we guess??? Religious or not???? And there’s kinda nothing wrong with it but we would rather them be religious in some way????” And that is still the shittyist summary ever too. But it’s the gist of this tag. Also memes!)

(and where I put all stuff related to religion it’s very much a mixed bag i’m not making fun of anyone actually it’s that there is genuinely too much variety in this tag to accurately tell you what’s in there. It’s everything related to religion all religions!)

#autism stuff (Specifically for autistic stuff, it’s used from time to time.)

#activism stuff (a tag for all things ally posting, and human/animal/land/just everything rights. It’s fun!)

#food stuff (A tag about all things food related, sometimes recipes sometimes diet culture and why it’s bad. Sometimes it’s just cultural things related to food. Food is a big topic LOL)

#comics and book stuff (a tag about all things comics, books, and written works.)

#tv and movie stuff or #film and tv (a tag about all things TV and film, let it be discussion, gifs, or videos or fun facts.)

#neurodivergent stuff (For all things neurodivergent! Fun stuff, kinda happy kinda dark. Intersects with mental health stuff and mental illness stuff and disability tags. Because like why wouldn’t it???)

#animals (yes just for animals, nice calm usually no triggering animal stuff. It’s just cuteness usually! Unless I put something dark in there then sorry.)

#too queue for school (A tag for all queued stuff I remember to tag! Usually wholesome most times not. But it’s just a fun “today’s thing queued!” Thing if I’m not online.)

—————————————- Our post tags —————————————

#us-the-voices Cooks (a tag for recipes, food we make, and random cooking tips???)

#us-the-voices reviews (a tag for all things reviews! Let it be movies, shows, games, art, books, fanfics, whatever!)

#us-the-voices talks (A tag for like personal affairs? Or just “haha update stuff went DOWN in our personal lives” or just general chatting with mutuals who knows I haven’t decided yet.)

#us-the-voices recommends (weird tag for all weird recommendations of shows/books/tv/fanfic/movies it’s there it’s weird and if your bored and want something to do maybe you’ll like it lol.)

#us-the-voices rants (a tag for rants, don’t take them seriously it’s usually momentarily sad/existential/angry/fed up/annoyed/trauma dump RANTS. suggest you just block the tag lol, I will probably make half of these while I’m unwell and sick or just stressed and under all sorts of stress. So honestly it’s just a tag so you guys don’t have to deal with it because I will eventually be stupid on the internet and I’d rather you understand these are nonsense rants that are just a release of information that’s been annoying us.)

#the voices talk (A tag for talking about alters or specific things some alters want to talk about but not all.)

#poppie weblogs (poppies tag for her stuff, it literally has everything in it.)

and more to come!

——— User boxes ———————————

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BLINKIESSSSS

below the cut because they strobe!!!!!

#INTRO CARD #system things #gif #blinkies #epilepsy warning #flashing lights #flashing gif #flashing warning #flashing images #flash warning

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kassandras-one-braincell · 1 year ago

Text

Eivor x Fem!Reader - A Barbaric Masquerade

Kinktober 03: Roleplay [explicit]

Contains: strap-on usage

Word count: 1333

Ao3 link here.

Men, minors and ageless/default blogs DNI. You will be blocked immediately upon interaction.

Wools and linens spilled from the cedar wardrobe. Jewellery and silverware sat piled-high in a crate to the side. There was an axe lodged in the door. An upturned table, the bowls once adorning the wood strewn across the floor in an organised chaos. Four candles, scattered about the room, bathing the walls in an infernal glow.

A rampaged scene. Convincing, too. You owed yourselves a pat on the back.

She loomed by the window, a monolith of black leather and marauder’s steel. Sturdy buckles lined her shadowy breastplate, straining against the one full-sleeve on her left arm, stopping dead at the well-worn bracers wrapped around the thick forearms of a warrior. Her other arm bared itself to the candlelight between the shoulder-guard and glove, obscuring a fading summer’s tan with an amber that disappeared into a map of runic ink.

Your breath hitched in your throat under the weight of her smug, glacial gaze. Those eyes were a piercing frost, yet their menacing stare only warmed your blood; they challenged you, a cornered doe, to follow her every move.

Slowly, a gloved hand reached for her studded belt. The faint clinking of metal sliced through an otherwise silent night as she loosened the buckle. The belt languorously slid free from its iron confines. Her stare remained unbroken, waiting for the gasp that would soon fly from your parted lips as her trousers rode an inch lower, revealing a bulbous leather tip flush against her abdomen.

The drengr’s smirk neither widened nor faltered at your shameless gaze. She made no remark towards the subtle rise and fall of your chest, or the sorry pressing of your thighs together in a pitiful attempt to lessen the deep-set, raw, pounding ache between them.

“Your village is in ruins, your folk cowering amongst the ashes.” She spoke in a cadent rasp – a rich wine laced with a bitter ale. “But you…” A heavy boot stepped forward. The shadow cast by her hulking frame crept closer. “You haven’t fled. Haven’t begged, or flinched, or screamed. How come?”

Give it an hour, and you’d be doing two of those things in plenty, lilted an eager voice in your head. For now, you’d play the damsel. “Curiosity,” came your dainty reply, just loud enough for you to hear past your roaring pulse.

Her smirk widened into a nefarious grin. Predatory. A sticky dampness taunted you between your legs as you squirmed in place.

“You’re a curious little mouse, are you?” She advanced by a step, then another. With nothing behind you but a wall, you retreated until your back met stone. The brute hummed, “From the state of you, one could only guess as to what.”

“Oh?” you feigned innocence, eyes flicking to the betrayal of a faux phallus peeking above her trousers.

She cocked her brow, gesturing to your frame with a wave of her hand. “Am I to believe you wear this sort of thing to bed?” she laughed.

You had donned a pale linen tunic earlier that evening, far too loose around the contours of your body – designed for a far broader silhouette. Its ill-fitting neckline kissed the skin below your clavicle, its hem dancing just shy of the curve of your behind. Too short to be chaste, too transparent to obscure the figure underneath.

Sweetly, you toyed with the garment. “Did you expect me to change, drengr? I heard the horn, and before I knew it, a raider had forced her way into my home and ravaged my silver.” Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, core pulsing with need.

She sauntered towards you, boots thudding against the wooden slats of the floor. “And you didn’t protest. You let me do as I pleased,” she smirked. “You know, if you bite that lip any harder, you’ll draw blood.”

Heat flooded your face as you withdrew your teeth. “Perhaps…I’ve heard tales of the víkingar ravaging more than just silver,” you stuttered.

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” she dropped her voice to a murmur. The light from the flames faded to black as she reached you, toes all but touching. Not much more than a fist could fit between the steel of her armour and the stiff peaks of your nipples. A calloused thumb and gloved forefinger tilted your chin up to meet her gaze, dark with prurient intention. She continued in a coarse purr, “I could see the shimmer of something sweet smeared across those lovely thighs from across the room. You wore this sheer, damnable little thing, hoping someone a-viking would plow you like a maiden in those old wives’ tales.”

Your breathing quickened. If your arousal was apparent before, by now, it was glaring.

Lowly, she hummed, “Let’s say I’m feeling generous.”

Deliberately slow, she reached down to her unfastened belt. There was a rustle – you didn’t dare look away from her hungry eyes – followed by a tapping sensation against your covered mound. The sound was distinct: the faint thudding of leather. Every gentle pap sent a spark through your core.

Her thumb caressed your bottom lip, before carefully pulling the flesh downwards, exposing your lower row of teeth in a tantalising display of power. The brute mused something wolfish and devastating. “I could spear you right here, against this wall. Fuck you until the wood is soaked with your spend. If I’m feeling cruel, I might taste that dripping cunt until pretty tears stream down your cheeks. Then I’d take you all over again, until you were nothing but a sore, pathetic mess.”

Breathing failed you. There was a fleeting second in which you thought your heart had stopped, coupled with a near-buckling of your knees. Tonight, you craved that cruelty. A wicked, savage pounding. You ached for it.

Consumed by unbridled need, you abandoned the theatrics: “Gods, Eivor, just fuck me already.”

She needed no further encouragement. The charade had concluded, although that predatory smirk remained steadfast on her scarred lips. Eivor reached for the vial of oil she secured to her belt with twine, deftly unravelling the knot holding it in place.

“I’m wet enough, gods—”

“You know I’m not going to be gentle.”

“Good—”

“So let me do this,” she urged you, continuing to work at the vial. “Just a few seconds. You know it’ll feel better.”

Frantically, you nodded. “Okay, but hurry,” you whined. Eivor tutted as she finally disentangled the twine, freeing the glass from its confines. A soft ‘pop’ sounded as she discarded the cork and poured the viscous liquid over the cock strapped to her hips. She tossed the empty vial across the room, unflinching when it shattered. Hastily, she pumped her hand around the shaft, coating it fully with the oil.

With familiar ease, she knelt down and lifted you up by your thighs. Your heart dropped as her oil-slick hand slipped across your bare skin, but she reflexively repositioned you, hooked her arms under your knees and pressed you against the wall, holding you by the hips with your calves hanging limp. Swearing under her breath, she glanced down at the phallus now nestled between your abdomens. “Could you—”

“Yeah,” you whispered, snaking a hand around to guide the tip into your dripping, expectant heat, breathing out shakily as it disappeared inside without a trace of resistance. Eivor took the sound as an affirmation.

Swiftly, she filled you, impaling you on her leather cock until the hilt slapped against your mound. The oil glazing the toy and your nectar melded with a debauched schlick. You gripped onto the golden hairs atop her head, crying out as the delightful thickness split you open, the seams of the hide dragging perfectly against your sensitive walls. Grunting, she drove your back into the wall, roughly thrusting up into you, grinding her cock deeper still. Deeper, into every pleasurable nerve, until your vision speckled with white, until you felt it in your throat.

As for her earlier pledge?

Eivor would honour every fucking word of it.

#eivor x reader #eivor varinsdóttir #eivor #kinktober 2023

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iridescentpull · 8 months ago

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Day Four of Hideduo/FitPac Kiss Week – Kiss on the Hand & Royal AU

[ ao3 link here ] [ fic below cut! ]

Tomorrow is the day the War of the Rose Valley may come to an end, and Fit is terrified.

This is not the first war that the people of the Rose Valley have fought in, and it’s not even the first war that Fit himself has fought in. He’s one of the head guards of the Rose Valley Kingdom, and even before that he has seen enough death and destruction to last a lifetime. This probably won’t be the last time he sees or partakes in a war, either. Violence is something familiar to Fit, a constant.

But this? This is different.

Because there is a possibility the prince may not live to tell this tale.

“We ambush from the west.” Prince Pac says, pointing at the map in front of him. He has already laid his pieces out, the figurines of soldiers standing on a flat, green landscape, and his generals stand around him, nodding along as he talks. Fit stands beside him, holding his trident up with a tight grip, watching his prince give out his orders. “We will use the hills as a cover, and we’ll catch them off guard.”

The others agree, and Fit does not speak. He feels a lump on his throat as he listens to his prince talk about death and battles and strategies. His hand tightens on the staff of his weapon and he swallows hard. Pac’s black eyes are hard as they look over the map, his lips set in a straight line. He knows.

They’ve had this conversation before, after all.

The Kingdom of Omospondía wants the person on the throne’s head, and they are ready to kill the entire Rose Valley army to get to him. They should be going behind the king technically, but since the King of the Rose Valley has been bedridden for weeks and on the verge of death, Pac was the one to take the responsibility and charge.

Which meant Omospondía would be hunting for Pac.

Fit begged and begged his prince not to get to the war, but Pac smiled sadly and refused. He couldn’t simply sit around when his kingdom needed him, couldn’t run and hide while his men died for him. Fit loved how kind and responsible his prince was, but he hated the fact that Pac was so selfless, too.

That’s why he’s here, talking about battle plans with a cold yet tired expression on his face. That’s why his hands tremble as he moves the figures across the map. That’s why his heart beats so loudly, that Fit can hear it from where he stands. Because Fit knows his prince. Pac wouldn’t just sit and hide while his people got killed. Pac would fight.

Fit knows it.

He also knows why Pac is so nervous, too.

Pac never wanted to be king. He never wanted any of this. Since Fit met the other, he knew Pac only had his brother on his mind, the one who was born and raised to be king, who had the charisma, the knowledge, the leadership, the intelligence, the strength, the everything Pac lacked. He always thought he wouldn’t need to become king.

And then Pac’s brother was kidnapped.

The Rose Valley was thrown into chaos. No one knew what had happened, or who was the one behind it, or what would happen next. And when the King of the Rose Valley fell ill, everything became a mess, and it was decided that Pac would take his father’s place, even if it was only temporary.

Pac wasn’t happy with it. Fit could tell. But the prince swallowed his fear and tried to help his people. He worked as hard as he could, giving out orders and making plans to help his kingdom and his family. He never rested, he rarely ate or slept. The kingdom and council thought Pac was the perfect fit to lead.

But Fit had the privilege to see the other side.

Pac didn’t want to be in the lead. He felt he was incompetent. He was scared of making decisions that would harm his people. He didn’t trust himself enough to know what to do, so he relied heavily on the council, and on the ones around him. Fit had the privilege to see the breakdowns, the crying and the shaking, and Pac would whisper to him, his voice weak and tired.

“I’m not good enough for this. I don’t know how to do it. What am I doing, Fit? Am I making the right decisions?”

Fit would answer by telling Pac the truth, that the prince was more than capable, and that his people believed in him– that he believed in him. Pac would smile shakily, but not reply, and just lean his head on the other's shoulder, looking for support. Fit would provide, wrapping his arms around the prince, letting Pac rest, if only for a moment.

The knights nod, asking the respective questions and giving their ideas. Fit tries to pay attention, but all he can think about is his prince on the battlefield, with blood splattered over his body, the color clashing with his black hair and pale skin, the red contrasting sharply against the black of his eyes. Fit feels his heart beating wildly and his breath catches on his throat.

“That is all.” Pac says, standing up straight and holding his arms behind his back. His clothes cling to his body as if it were dragging him down, the crown of the Rose Valley Kingdom sitting amongst the soft waves of his black hair. “Inform the camp of the plan. We will attack tomorrow at dawn.”

The head knights and generals bow and exit the tent, leaving the prince and his knight alone. Pac lets out a deep sigh, and his shoulders sag as if a weight has been lifted from them. His hands go to his head, and his fingers brush the silver crown. He takes it off and stares at it, running his finger over the sharp edges and the blue gemstones. He furrows his eyebrow.

Fit stands, not knowing what to say. He can’t tell him not to go, he has no right to. But his heart breaks when he looks between the crown and then at his prince. It’s not fair, it’s not fair. He wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to do this.

But they both know that it’s a lie.

After all, Fit had a choice to join the knights.

Pac didn’t have a choice to be the prince.

“My prince.” Fit says, and his voice is softer than he meant. Pac doesn’t look at him, just continues staring at the crown, the metal catching the light of the fire from the torches placed by. Fit doesn’t move closer, just continues looking at him, his hand tightening on his trident. “You should rest. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

Pac’s jaw tightens, and he finally looks up at him. He has bags under his eyes, and he hasn’t slept in days. “You too, Fit. I need you to be awake for this battle.”

“I’ll be fine.” Fit says, and steps forward. The prince’s eyes drop to his feet, and the knight stops. He can feel his pulse pounding under his skin, his heart beating fast in his chest, his breath caught on his throat. He needs to calm down. “You need to sleep. It’ll do you no good to show up exhausted and ill rested.”

The prince’s eyes flicker to his, and he nods. He lets out a shaky sigh and drops his arms to his side, his hand still clutching the crown. “Will you stay?” He asks, and his voice is so low that Fit almost doesn’t hear him. “I want to spend one last night together in the case I…” He trails off, but Fit knows.

“Of course.” Fit says, his own voice cracking. “I will stay.”

Pac smiles at him, a soft, sad smile, and sets the crown down on the table. He crosses the room and steps up to Fit, who lets go of his trident and puts his hands on the prince’s waist. Pac sighs softly and leans his forehead against the knight’s, his eyes falling closed.

They stay like that, standing in the middle of the tent, the fire flickering and making shadows dance over their bodies. Pac’s arms come around his neck and he holds him tightly, and Fit does the same. He presses a kiss to the prince’s hair, and the scent of the roses from the valley fills his nostrils. He’s scared, terrified of what tomorrow might bring. He’s always been afraid of losing Pac.

Which is why he’s going to make an oath.

An oath to do everything in his power to keep him safe.

“Pac.” Fit says, and the other man’s eyes flutter open. His irises are a dark black, like the night sky, and he looks so tired. “You know how the knight’s of the royal army take an oath when they join?”

The prince nods. “Of course.” He says, smiling faintly at the memory. Pac was wandering the castle grounds when he walked into the courtyard, where a few dozens of new knights were standing in straight lines, reciting the oath. “‘I, as a knight of the royal guard, pledge to always be loyal to the king and his kingdom. I will be the protector of the people, a shield against danger, a sword against injustice. I will always be just, and will do everything in my power to protect the royal family. This is my oath.’ I think it was like that.”

“You got it.” Fit smiles, open and honest. Pac’s the only person he can do that for. “Well, I am going to take a new oath.”

Pac frowns, confused. “A new oath?”

“Yes. Only for you.” Fit says, and takes a step back. He goes down on one knee, and bows his head. “I, as the personal knight of Prince Pac, pledge to always be loyal to you. I will be your protector, a shield against danger, a sword against injustice. I will do every single thing in my power to keep you safe. I will move Heaven and Earth and Hell to protect you, I will destroy anyone and anything that stands in my way. I will fight to the death to keep you safe, to make sure no one ever lays a hand on you. I will always be your knight, your lover. I will die before I let anyone hurt you. This is my oath.”

He hears a sharp intake of breath, and then a sob. “Fit, no.” Pac shakes his head, pulling back. “Please, don't say that.”

The knight shakes his head, before grabbing one of Pac’s hands. He intertwines their fingers and brings his knuckles up to his lips, kissing them. He looks up and sees Pac has tears streaming down his face. He smiles sadly.

“It is my duty, as the knight of the royal family, to protect the prince at all costs.” He whispers against his skin. Pac’s eyes are wide, and he shakes his head. “But it is my personal duty, as your lover, to always protect you, and to make sure no harm ever comes to you. I promise on my life, I swear to always keep you safe, even if it kills me."

Pac shakes his head and tries to weakly pull his hand away. “Fit.” He whispers hoarsely, his voice trembling. “ Fitch , no.”

A tight smile is on Fit’s face. “It’s my duty and it is my personal mission,” He continues to press kisses on Pac’s knuckles, each more tender than the next. “To love and protect you.” He ignores the way he feels the other tense. “My life is yours, and if I must die, so be it. I would rather die for you, then live without you.”

Pac’s lips part, but he can't seem to speak. His eyes are glistening, and tears start falling down his cheeks. He shakes his head, but doesn’t pull his hand back. Instead, he surges forward and wraps his arms around Fit, pressing his face into his neck. Fit’s arms come around his back, and he hugs him tightly. The prince is shaking, and Fit can feel his tears slipping through the plates of his armor. He holds him tighter.

“I won’t let you die.” Pac says, voice wet with tears and muffled by his shoulder. “I won’t let them kill you.” He shakes his head and Fit tightens his grip. “I need you, Fit. I need you by my side.”

Fit’s chest hurts, and his own eyes sting with tears. He can’t bear the thought of Pac dying, the thought of being killed, the thought of never seeing his smile again, never feeling his warmth or the touch of his lips against his.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, and Pac tenses in his arms. “But this is my oath.”

He feels Pac shudder and shake his head. “It’s not fair.” He whispers, and he sounds so broken. “You’re all I have left.”

Fit doesn’t know how to answer.

He knows the prince’s brother is missing, and has been for a while. He knows the Queen has been dead since the prince was a baby. He knows the King is barely holding onto his life. He knows the prince is not close to anyone in the castle, much less the Kingdom. He knows the prince has no one else.

Fit’s all he has. And Pac’s all Fit has. It’s not fair, but this is their reality. It’s not fair, but this is the hand they’ve been dealt. Fit just wants to hold Pac, and make sure no one ever hurts him. So he will keep him safe, no matter the cost.

“I’m sorry.” Fit whispers. “I’m so, so sorry.” He presses a kiss on the prince’s temple, and he can feel the other tremble. “I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here, and I’ll protect you.” He runs his hands down his back. “But now, we need rest. Come, lie down.”

The pair gently remove each plate of Fit’s armor, piece by piece, setting it aside carefully and methodically. It is only after the last plate falls that Pac’s resolve seems to break. He turns away and starts crying, his hands coming to his face. The knight’s heart breaks, and he gently turns Pac around and holds him.

The prince cries in his arms, his face buried in the crook of his neck. His fingers dig into his skin and he trembles against him, the sobs wracking his body. The knight’s arms come around him and he presses his nose to his hair. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. He holds him, whispering words of reassurance. It is the only thing he can do.

Fit helps Pac lay on the makeship bed of the tent, before eventually joining him. They lie down together, facing each other, their noses barely touching. The prince’s eyes are closed, and the tears have stopped, but his breathing is still uneven and heavy. Fit reaches out and brushes his thumb over his cheek, and the prince leans into his touch.

“It’s okay.” Fit says, his voice gentle. “It’s okay, luz da minha vida .” He repeats. Pac opens his eyes and looks at him, his dark eyes shining in the low light of the torches. The knight’s hand cups his cheek, and Pac closes his eyes again.

“It’s not okay.” Pac whispers, and his voice is broken. “I can’t lose you.”

Fit’s heart shatters. “I’m not going anywhere.” He whispers, and he hopes it is a promise. He runs his hand through the prince’s hair, pushing the black waves out of his face. “I’ll always be here for you.” He continues to run his fingers through his hair, and the prince sighs, his body slowly relaxing.

Fit continues to play with the other’s hair, and soon the prince’s breathing slows, and his body relaxes. His eyelashes flutter, and Fit can see the exhaustion seeping in. It has been a long few weeks for him, and his body has barely recovered. The knight gently pulls him closer, until their chests are pressed together, and Pac’s head is tucked under his chin.

Fit holds him close, running his hands down his back. Pac is so warm and soft, and the knight closes his eyes. He listens to the sound of his heartbeat, and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. He breathes in the scent of roses, and he knows that this is where he is meant to be.

He will protect him.

He will fight for him.

He will do anything for him.

Because he loves him.

And if he dies, so be it.

#hideduokisswk #fitpac #fitmc #pactw #aynee writes #i apologize in advance

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