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the-winter-spider · 2 months 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 · 11 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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a-ikuoliver · 10 days ago

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w/c: 2.3k tw/s: f!reader, characters 20, drinking/alcohol, hints at oral (f!receiving), a little more angst/hurt no comfort lmao I SWEAR ILL GET TO THE LOVERS PART SOON LMAO notes: part of the ode to a conversation series + archive link if you prefer <3

there's a certain melancholy to coming home. returning to the four walls you could map blindfolded.

it's all the same. the taste of spring palpable in the air. your eyes are closed, soaking in the warmth, the sun poking through the leaves, the scent of the jasmine vine crawling up the side of your old house smelling the same it always had. the way it mixes with your mothers cigarette smoke has your mind cycling through memories — of running through lush grass, of flowers in your hair, of scrapes on your knees, of running down the block in pouring rain, of crickets and cicadas.

the scent has your stomach turning.

the kitchen still looks the same. adorned with pictures of you, of your parents, of him. the two of you side-by-side with toothless grins, arms tossed around each other carelessly. the colours have started to fade a little, the grass in the picture yellowing over time, his hair looking grey after the frame sat in the sun for two decades. the cabinets have aged, paint chipping at the edges. your parents got a new fridge. the light still flickers twice before staying on.

the bedroom feels too small, now. like you're a giant stepping into a doll house. logically, if you were to lay down in the floral bed, you know your feet wouldn't dangle out of the other end until your toes touched the walls… and yet, you sneak around like one wrong move will have the walls falling apart where they join.

the window is open, the smell of sunlight streaming in. shadows dance around the room, patches of sun through the leaves like spotlights on memories throughout the room. it still smells like the perfume you wore as a teenager, the sugary scent you doused yourself in every morning. sinking into the mattress, you inhale the homesick smell; of vanilla, of jasmine, of spring, of his deodorant.

the nostalgia settles in a pit in your stomach, nearly making you nauseous.

you remember curling up in the bed that felt as expansive and terrifying and dark as the sea at midnight, you remember plugging the night light in for the first time, a bright green dinosaur that oliver promised would protect you. you remember falling asleep side-by-side, shoulders pressing together after an afternoon of running around together, a bruise forming on oliver's cheekbone from a particularly hard kick of the soccer ball, one he'd make up stories about at school the next morning. you remember the smell of his deodorant you'd borrow on humid summer afternoons when he'd drive you home, you remember him keeping a pair of sunglasses on "your" side of his car.

inhaling deeply, you expect the scents to compete with each other, to swirl around your room like oil and water, never able to combine entirely.

instead, the scents complement each other, amplifying the best parts of each without suffocating you. like sugar and water. honey and tea. like flour and eggs mixing in a large bowl. like you and oliver.

swallowing down the nostalgia, you inhale deeply.

it's almost masochistic the way you keep looking around the room: there's a patch on the wall right above your bed, a small rectangle of pristine paint, protected from the suns bleaching rays for years. you remember when there was a photo stuck there with a pin, you were older than the one framed in the kitchen, a teenager, only by a couple years but it felt like lifetimes between the snapshots.

it was a stupid, silly photo, you posing with your cheeks full of food and his eyes are crossed, nose scrunched, sticking out his tongue.

you'd torn it down before you graduated university.

ripped it from the wall, the pin tearing a neat path through the top when you'd pulled at it. seconds later, you'd shredded it in your hands, jagged rifts tearing between the two of you. you'd torn and ripped until was nothing. stomped and screamed and cried and sobbed and destroyed until there was nothing left.

photos scattered around the room like confetti, a movie tickets turned into crumpled balls and tossed outside your door, a frustrated scream tearing its way through your throat trying to rip a charm from your key-chain. the walls bare of the memories.

but the sugary spiced scent was embedded in your mattress, reminding you of the shared giggles woven into the very fibres of it from every late night pointless conversation. the scar on your knee still reminds you of afternoons in the snow, of falling on the icy sidewalk, of instinctively reaching for him when you fell, of the concern in his eyes seeing your bloodied knees.

you can't escape the tingle in your lips when you drink. the buzz tracing around your lip line whenever you laugh. over your bottom lip when your drink splashes over your knuckles in drunken toasts. the tickle settling in a pit in your stomach when you kissed anyone else, thinking of the sensation of his hands instead of theirs, of his tongue, the sound of his voice murmuring your name.

the look in his eyes when you'd pulled away.

his racing heartbeat beneath your fingertips when he leaned in to kiss you again. again. again.

everything was different after that, the beginning of the end, you think. it's like the earth's axis shifted when he kissed you. nothing physically had changed in the small bedroom that night, and yet everything was catastrophically different.

waking up beside him, like you had a million times before, to a charge in the air, an electricity that had your hair standing straight up like you were about to be struck by lightning. rolling in the single bed, you remember your pupils dilating watching him breathe. you remember your heart rate spiking that morning, oliver's hands reaching for you, the same way he always had.

he's always been touchy; an arm always around your shoulders or waist for pictures his mother ushered you closer together for, a thigh pressed to yours when you'd sit side-by-side, his hand over yours, teaching you how to change gears, his leg thrown over yours when you'd sleep together, always waking up with him in your pillow instead of the one he'd fallen asleep on.

your kiss changed nothing.

it was your own fault for thinking it would.

the scent of your pillow hurts your head. the jasmine burns your nose. cigarette smoke stings at the corner of your eyes. a lump forming in your throat.

staring at the uneven spot on the wall, you piece the photo back together, like it's a child's jigsaw puzzle made of only four pieces: you him, the smile on his face, the gleam in your eye.

them, the rain-soaked path beneath your feet, advertisements reflected in the puddles, his raincoat around your shoulders, the shadow of a hickey at the base of his throat, the chipped blue nail polish on his fingers from his youngest sister, the swirling anxiety and childish jealousy humming beneath your ribs when his eyes would flick to his phone for a second. when the sunlight hits it, you think you can see the cracks in the cement beneath you, oliver on one side, you left on the other.

as far as you know, only one survived your hurricane, buried in a drawer somewhere is a photo from oliver's 20th.

he's all muscle with his arm around you, all wide smiles and boisterous laughs with his teammates and friends. you're both tipsy in the photo, your face scrunched in a laugh you know was too loud, but too drunk to try and muffle it, your nose pressing to his cheek, his hand holding your hip tight to keep you upright.

even if you'd gotten your hands on it, torn at it savagely until it was unrecognisable, the image would still haunt you.

still his contact photo all these years later. still your favourite contact, above your parents, above your closest friends, still at the top of the list.

"to drinking legally!" your cheer is the loudest, stood right beside him as the bartender pours the shot over a little tower of plastic cups, oliver handing you the one from the peak of the tower, picking up one from the second layer before placing the tray on the table for everyone else in the booth to reach for.

"wait, i've always wanted to do this!" you learn quickly in the club there's not much personal space, your lips brushing his ear as you speak just for him to hear you over the bass line. under the strobe lights, oliver follows your lead, hooking his arm through yours, taking the shot simultaneously.

you cheer again, the sound drowned out by the music the same way his laugh is, the same way his voice is when he excuses himself from your side.

oliver's birthday was the beginning of everything new for him — all the friends you didn't recognise, a new team, a new favourite drink, a new favourite food ("this ramen place in shibuya is to die for, i'll take you next time!). sometimes, you worry he's a whole new person.

you didn't get back to his hotel until the sun was beginning to rise, although, you don't notice the dawn until he lays you down at the centre of the bed, the morning sun glowing behind his hair as a needy kiss is pressed to your lips, to your jaw, to your chest.

he tastes like he did the first time you kissed him, like oliver, a little like alcohol. he's as dizzying as he was the first time, filling your mind with a hypnotic fog that chants his name.

his hands slide over your thighs, pulling them over his shoulders as he kneels at the foot of the bed, bathed in the golden sunrise streaming through the windows, a little patch of saliva shining above your knee where he kisses you.

"you're so beautiful, baby."

the pet-name feels like ice, a frost settling into your bones, sobering you instantly, even as you shakily sat up on your elbows.

"what'd you call me?"

"beautiful?" he presses another kiss, higher, on your thigh.

"the other thing?"

"baby?"

you think it's the alcohol churning in your stomach, rising in your throat. you will it to be the alcohol. you're not quite ready to admit what it might really be.

oliver stares, confused, up at you as the colour drains from your face, "you okay?"

you think you're going to throw up. his kiss on your lips growing sour at the memory of all the others before you. all the other people who'd seen him like this; do his eyes glitter the same with them? does he kiss them like you?

"do you mean it?"

he breathes out a laugh, waiting for you to join him even as your face remains grim, "where's this coming from?"

"do you call them all that?"

"what are you going on about?"

"you know, the other people you do this with."

"i guess? why are we talking about this right now?"

you can't help sounding incredulous, immature when you huff, "am i like them?"

am i not special? am i another name to forget? am i not yours?

oliver pauses.

the air has shifted. like the storm is brewing. your hair standing on end like the lightning is going to strike.

"are you upset with me?"

"stop doing that."

there's a sigh, the beginning sounds of the morning commuters echoing outside. a shuffle of clothes when he stands up from between your legs.

"don't start this, baby," his eyes are different than they'd ever looked staring down at you still laid on his bed, the speech falling from his mouth too easily, "i didn't think you'd be weird about it."

"i'm not being weird," there was always something about oliver that made you a little volatile, more defensive, normally about silly, childish things — who gets the bigger half of the cookie, who gets to wear his favourite hoodie, who gets to pick the movie — "you're the one who won't just answer the question."

"what answer do you want?"

the new oliver feels alien to you. no longer the boy that would tackle you in the snow, who'd push you on the swings for hours because he knows he can get it to swing all the way around. not the boy that split all of his favourite snacks for you, or flexed at you from across the pitch just to make you laugh. not the boy who replaced your parents vodka with water and had your first drink with you. he wasn't your oliver you'd kissed.

he looks sober now, too, rubbing a knuckle in his eye, "i just wanted a hookup. i didn't think you'd get all jealous about it."

it's not just lightning when it strikes you. it's hail — boulders of thick ice raining down around you.

you have no right, you know, you know, you know. you have no right to demand his affections.

"just a hookup? are you that fucking scared of someone actually knowing you?"

"what? like you're scared of being left behind?" his eyes widen, only minutely, flashing into yours, tensely awaiting your reaction, like a child waits for the thunder after the burst of lightning.

"get out." the anger doesn't fit right in your mouth, not directed at him. you don't sound like a friend anymore, you sound like you want to see his heart break, shatter into sharper shards than your own.

you hope it works. you think it does when he turns to leave.

you know it worked when you ride the train home alone. when he doesn't text you when he gets home. when he doesn't send you a photo of his sisters cat, or the flowers they sell down the street.

you know it worked when your mother asked how he was. asked why your oliver didn't come visit, that you two were always joined at the hip.

you know it worked when you get up to the room that smells like him and you can't feel him in it.

© all works belong to @a-ikuoliver, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

#「aiku <3」#「mercury writes」#oliver aiku x reader #aiku oliver x reader #bllk oliver x reader #bllk aiku x reader #bllk oliver aiku x reader #bllk aiku oliver x reader #AHHH LETTING THIS OUT INTO THE WORLD I CANT KEEP STARING AT IT

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screamingcrows · 7 days ago

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Ceteris paribus - Dottore x reader

Note: Shhh this is a reupload of something I made at almost 2am... This is.. yeah, this is something that's for sure. It's my favourite thing I've written. I'll uhh spread Aspergillus niger in your home if you use this for ai or similar. Tags: Dottore x fem!reader, afab reader, nsft, plot with porn, angst, teyvat speculation if you squint (don't), 4.5k Ceteris paribus - 'if everything else remains the same' Minors DNI

Faintly glowing nilotpala lotuses floated like stars in the vast abyss of water, each one utterly insignificant to the lake but beautiful all the same. The sight you made among them had proclamations of divinity weighing on his tongue. Bathed in pale moonlight, your beauty was not something to be examined and explained, as much as the urge remained present, but rather a phenomena to simply enjoy.

Zandik found your form to hold his gaze hostage; not that he would willingly turn his head away even if he could. Glittering droplets gathered and trailed down your skin, mapping out a canvas of stars that he would soon enough pluck from your body and immortalize in the sky. Replacements would be needed after all, and what better substitute than something as beautiful as the natural patterns and grooves of the human body?

The Doctor had no use for dwelling on fear, for what is fear if not failure to understand. But Zandik? Oh, Zandik knew fear as a persistent companion. It resided between his lungs, and when it grew, he could hardly breathe

Standing by the edge of the dark pool of water, the thought of seeing it open up and swallow you whole wasn't too far-fetched. Already, countless leaves had drifted through the air and, upon touching the surface, been pulled under by some unseen force.

Or by curious fish.

Seeing you there alone made him wish for a heart that could flutter, hands already undoing the straps of his outfit despite earlier proclamations of only following to keep watch. What harm could there be in letting himself - letting you both - have one last certain indulgence?

There was a flicker of doubt in his mind. Would it be a more favourable outcome if you were to disappear into the abyss for that singular moment? Though every prediction and every piece of information that had been painstakingly gathered pointed towards the burning itself being harmless, there were always pesky variables and inevitable outliers.

Both part of the thrill and a curse, the world rarely operated precisely within the expectations of theory. True wisdom is doubting knowledge, inevitably linking back to harnessing a fear of the unknown.

Zandik had no doubt that he would survive both the torching and the resulting onslaught, but you? A mourning flower, watered by adversity and flourishing despite it, resilient to a fault and yet just as delicate and fleeting as all purely organic life.

There were many things he was happy to put to rest with the old world, but you would not become one.

His thoughts shifted with his position, body having gradually grown accustomed to the cool water that lapped around his ankles. He took a few tentative steps further into the lake, prodding before committing. The bottom sloped gently, but he knew better than to charge forward without examining different paths. A moment of tension as something passed between his calves was replaced with a frown upon seeing your amused expression.

Privacy was impossible with you, even if he was currently the one invading your swim.

"I thought you used to come here all the time," a scoff left his lips at your bubbly voice, warmth spreading to his ears, "has it been so long already that you've forgotten about all the dangerous creatures?"

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, his continued advance sending little waves through the water until he eventually lowered himself fully, relishing the familiar cradle of cool water swallowing his shoulders. In Snezhnaya, the water was ill equipped for any type of leisurely bathing. Aside from the obvious frozen state of the vast majority, it had a sharp quality to it, as though frost resided in each droplet, prepared to bite the minute it touched life.

"What a sharp tongue, careful it doesn't get you in trouble."

Maintaining the same air of superiority proved difficult when every stroke of his arms had water splashing, keenly aware of his tousled hair and the gradual increase in how much of it clung to his face. Seeing you barely suppressing a laugh, Zandik dove beneath the surface, body cutting through the darkness with practiced finesse.

It didn't exactly wash away the turmoil as part of him had dared to hope, but at least it was quiet with the constant press of water against his ears. Floating further ahead was your silhouette, the curvature of your legs outlined by what little light pierced through.

Getting close enough to touch, capture a priced catch, he surfaced again, relishing the spray of water from both his hair and your ensuing flailing. The change stung his eyes for a moment before he rubbed away lingering water, keeping the other arm wrapped firmly around your waist.

Always a skittish thing, it was a wonder you'd willingly chosen to stay so close. Not just chosen, he supposed, as you turned in his grasp and reached to wrap around his shoulders, allowing your warmth to seep into his mangled body, you'd insisted on staying against all reason.

Even now, with the false veil hanging by a thread and threatening to crush everything under the weight of its fall, you still steadied the hand holding the scissors. A small smile tugged at his lips, desire stirring to life when your plush legs wrapped themselves securely around his waist.

Even with his unnatural lifespan, Zandik had no experience that could compare to your palm cupping his scarred cheek.

Clearly aware of the effect, you seemingly took extra care to 'adjust' the positioning of your hips, intention so apparent that it only served to make his blood run a little hotter. Especially with how your ankles locked behind his back to squeeze him further. Clever little devil.

He couldn't help but purr in turn, lamenting the lack of leverage from being bereft of solid ground beneath his feet, "You are far too good," but that could be fixed, "maybe I should start calling you my little lotus?"

The tremble of your chest as you suppressed a giggle was nothing short of elating, palms continuing to languidly rub your sides. Even soaked, your natural scent still reached his nose upon nuzzling against the crook of your neck, crisp as Dawn's apples with an undertone of something a little heavier.

"And what brought this on?"

"Because," he pressed his lips to the nape of your neck, tightening his hold enough to hopefully make a point, "you've started to smell like them from bathing here every night," his lips parted in a grin at your mumbled proclamation of his status as a 'creep', "and most importantly, you're much like my personal little nilotpala lotus."

With a clear goal in mind (and ignoring your whined protests and delightfully flushed face) bringing you back to solid ground was no difficult task, not even with how you were draped around him. The towels and blanket you'd brought already neatly laid out where grass started to sprout, as though you'd been expecting this outcome from the beginning.

Perhaps he had grown somewhat predictable to you, the notion sending a foreign burst of warmth through him.

Your voice broke the comfortable silence, characteristic impatience for his antics shining through, "you're just not going to elaborate on the comparison?"

Still, you clung to him like some fragile animal, forcing him to carefully balance as he sat down, smirking a little at the perfectly presented opportunity to squeeze your rear in the process.

"And rob you of the joy of solving a mystery?" Zandik merely chuckled at the sting of your palm connecting with his chest, "I was only waiting for you to ask."

"But no long history lessons," your fingers spread out atop his chest, gently pushing him to lay back as if to dangle a reward for expediting the explanation.

"There are several reasons as to why the comparison is fitting," he lowered his voice, hands moving to caress your hips once he'd gotten comfortable on the makeshift pillow of clothes, "one of which being the direct similarity of your softness to that of its petals."

Zandik couldn't resist the urge to chuckle at how you rolled your eyes, a small pinch to your flank bringing your attention back.

It was impossible to resist the urge to gently chide, "Let me finish; but more than anything, they are, supposedly, a reminder from a bygone time. Every night they bloom in remembrance of their past before chaos erupted, yet they continue to persist in the present," a small roll of your hips had a pleasant tingle spread across his skin, "and, I do believe seeing you brings luck as well."

That earned a huff and a kiss.

The stars above came into focus when his head dropped back fully, the feeling of your slick folds rubbing against his hard dick freeing a sound of contentment from his chest. Always so good to him, your labia were already slick with arousal when a shuddering gasp left you. Zandik's eyes fluttered open too late to catch your expression, determination fueling the exact repeat of the motion, dragging you along until your nub caught against the head of his swollen member and your lips parted around a sigh.

You molded so perfectly against him, thighs splayed across his hipbones, his fingers sinking into the meat of your rear with perfect resistance, your walls practically trying to suck him in. Oh he needed so much more, to taste your essence, take you apart and let you do the same. He needed the weight of your breast in his palm and the softness of your lips contrasting his.

Plans and ideas swirled with ferocity, his own breath growing heavier and the sky practically spinning above, he'd barely noticed the frenzy with which he dragged your hips back and forth. A choked moan reached his ears, a sweet cacophony of your voice and his, mixing when determination set your eyes ablaze and a greedy jerk of your hips had your hole stretch around his gorged tip.

Despite having indulged far more over the years than his schedule should have allowed, the tight fit never failed to steal the air from his lungs. Now, it seemed you'd stolen the ability to breathe itself. White static danced in the corners of his eyes, sharp teeth digging into his own lip to stall the release that threatened to crash over him.

In a rare show of mercy, you passed down the opportunity to gather dirt to blackmail him with later, your thumbs rubbing along his collarbones instead. The smile you wore was enchanting, tranquility soon following and drowning out his body's cries for release.

How had you managed to ruin a man already as damaged as he had been?

Determined not to let the inherent uncertainty of the future rush this, Zandik closed his eyes while slowly guiding you to be fully seated. The little mewls that vanished into the night deserved to be etched in stone and preserved for the eternity to come. When your hips rolled for the first time, smooth skin still a little wet as it dragged against his hips, it was nothing short of exquisite, unity of both the simplest and most complex character.

The definition of a meaningful connection had shifted from what brought resources and opportunity to something horrendously intangible over the years, the shift pinpointed to a single variable entering his life. A pesky thing, not entirely unlike an infection in how it seemed insistent on wrestling control of both body and mind.

Pleasure built steadily once you'd adjusted, clearly eager from how you'd barely given yourself a moment of respite before lifting yourself back up. Liquid fire spread anew through his veins with every brush of your fingertips, soft as laying in a bed of flowers on the first day of summer. It wouldn't be long before that might be feasible.

Like a man compelled, his fingers moved to tangle in your hair, feeling a smile tug at his lips when your hips stuttered - he would make a snarky comment about it tomorrow. Though the fantasy of your petulant expression and flushed cheeks had anticipation mix with pleasure, right now, the thought consuming the vast majority of his mind was far more primal in nature.

Lost to the present moment, Zandik finally allowed himself to assist your eager movements, occasionally peering into your hazy eyes with no regard for posterity. You were squeezing him perfectly, walls clamping around him whenever he would pull the slightest away.

"Easy darling, save your strength for tomorrow," he brought your wrist to his lips, sucking gently where veins ran just beneath the skin.

A slow thrust had your thighs tightening around his waist, back arching deliciously and inviting Zandik to push himself up, wrapping his lips around a soft breast. The sounds that spilled unabashedly from your lips were downright sinful in their purity.

It was only later, in the afterglow left behind, that he realized how much tension seemed to have left his body during the act, manifested instead as blooming marks on your hips and little bites along your neck. You were presumable caught in the same state of lightness if how your fingers flexed experimentally was any indication.

Caught in the shifting leaves, Zandik only noticed your words when they were accompanied by teeth nipping at his chest, surprised by the worry etched onto your expression. "Do you have faith in all our preparations?"

Understanding ran almost as deep as the bitterness that spread across his tongue, "Faith? What a preposterous notion for the occasion. I trust in myself, in our plans, and their inevitable success." he had to, "every possible variable above minuscule importance has been carefully monitored for centuries and accounted for."

He hated how, even with arrogance coating his words, you still squeezed his hand a little tighter. Still pressed your body a little closer to soothe.

It made his voice weaker, vulnerable almost, and he hated how far out of his control it was. "Destroying comes naturally, but what will happen when the thrones fall and the skies collapse has always eluded me. I dedicated myself to seeking beyond the limitations set by the rules of this world, I know the extent of possibility, but once that has been shattered? Once the rules I know exactly how to subvert have been-"

"We'll figure it out, together," your breath was the first sun of spring, "a new set of rules means plenty of tests to conduct. "

A rough chuckle left his lips, even while he could feel the tremble of your body, you attempted to brighten the horizon. Comparing you to a flower associated with the moon would be wrong, the light you spread was your own, not a reflection.

This was unbearable.

How long had it been? Half an hour? Forty minutes? It didn't matter, it was too long. Especially for something as routine as fetching him some damned materials from the storage room.

And not even the one at the other end of the palace! No, it was literally thirty-two steps from the doors to his laboratory to the storage room. At least with his own gait, and granted, he had a taller frame than most and wore heels but-

Again. It didn't matter.

And why was it so warm in the laboratory? He swore under his breath, if the ventilation had decided to stop working now he was going to strangle the last person who did maintenance. Dottore wiped a gloved hand across his brow, near growling at the realization that now he'd have to change them.

Why was everything falling apart? And of course it had to be today of all days.

"Do I have to do everything around here?"

The words felt rough in his throat, more of a snarl even to his own ears, but it had the desired effect, countless of heads rising from their work to peer at him.

It took exactly three beats of his mechanically enhanced heart for them to turn their gazes away, frustration bubbling in his throat. Who did they think they were to so blatantly ignore him?

Did they not understand the importance of their own work? Fools, all of them.

Dottore rolled his shoulders back and straightened up, making certain that his heels clicked obnoxiously against the hard stone floors during his patrol around the room.

All the researches looked more like they were stalling for time rather than working.

It was a plan in two steps. At least it was when boiled down to the most basic division.

The old world would burn. The Crimson Moon would supply the necessary spark, quite possibly eager to exact vengeance on the offending power that claimed her sisters. The branches they'd stolen for testing had been engulfed with a vigor not replicated by presenting the flames with any other material.

This world is a prison.

Glass crashed to the ground and was crushed under the steel toe of his boot. It was a redundant piece anyway. Production and research on Delusions had been halted a few months ago, stocks being enough to supply their troops and a decent amount in reserve.

This place is a prison.

Once the threads of fate had been severed, the remains of the Third Descender would be used to tether a new possibility. Insignificant by themselves, they would pose no threat, but with all seven in their hands, the oppressor could be stripped of their authority.

Dottore knew he had to get out, something he needed to do. It was important, but barely out of reach for his whirring mind. A segment, he needed a segment to delegate.

The light wasn't searing his eyes today, perhaps they'd finally been replaced with something less intrusive than the glaring whites.

There weren't any segments left.

They'd been set free. Just as they all would, no more tethers to a false cycle. No longer doomed to repeat the same stories, there would be nothing written on the pages that came after.

Just a few more tests.

Papers scattered with a flick of his wrist, clearing out space for the the leatherbound tome in his hands. Old drawings fell from between the pages, things Dottore hadn't seen in decades. Perhaps even longer.

How had they made it there?

Someone was screaming again. It took a moment for his mind to tune properly in to the sound, a pang of something coursing through him as his own voice rang through the room. Everything seemed to tremble beneath his wrath, even his hands were shaking.

The gloves were black leather, not dotted red with blood.

He hadn't slept for a week had he?

Resigned to the fate of needing to change his gloves anyway, rubbing at the stubble that grew on his chin was a necessary comfort. Just a little longer and all of his work would come to fruition.

Dottore could practically taste the sweetness of your lips. How he yearned to stand beside you and warm his hands by the fire.

Just a little longer and-

-maybe that imbecile of a subordinate would return with his supplies.

His head snapped up when something creaked. Despite several people milling about, it was eerily quiet.

Someone else should have already confirmed the concentration of the isolate, but with how dull everyone seemed as of late, it might be wise to asses it himself. He'd have to do a dilution series, and how many cuvettes would he need?

A curse left Dottore's lips at the same time his hands slammed onto the table. Those were in storage as well weren't they?

His eyes flickered around, pushing away the frustrating shadow in his periphery, a few more days and he'd have time to properly look at whatever had his mask malfunctioning.

The laboratory should be properly insulated, any outside interference was unwanted in a controlled environment such as this.

How many days were left before their plans would be set into motion was a blurred memory, something he would need to check soon.

Nothing seemed remiss in the little village, the sight of children playing with a single kite making your chest feel entirely too tight. The sun continued to shine, clothes already out to dry while the adults tended the gardens nearby. It might be more fitting to call them fields, there was little regard for private property these days, and sharing had proven far easier when the same people had aided in constructing homes for each other.

Flowers had started blooming as well, their scent a desperately needed change from the smoke that had choked the skies for weeks. With gravel crunching beneath your feet, the unease that coursed through your veins was momentarily stifled.

By all means, Teyvat was at peace.

Though you were on amicable terms with the inhabitants here, they still eyed you warily, with varying degrees of pity in their eyes whenever you came to trade. Zandik himself refrained entirely from going, and everyone seemed content to keep him out of sight. Most had come to understand that there was nothing malicious about your partner, but you couldn't blame them for not forgetting the past.

It was an agreeable arrangement, much better than either of you had dared to hope. A small cot in what remained of the forest in what had once been Sumeru, a peaceful existence with the sounds of nature providing the backdrop.

Pantalone had settled in the ruins of Liyue, Capitano had perished, Columbina disappeared with Arlecchino… Of all the harbingers, you were grateful for the fate that had been bestowed on your Zandik.

Even if-

A small hand tugging on your skirt nearly startled you, looking down to see an expression of concern etched onto the face of a young boy. With the skies clearing, his skin was already looking far healthier than last you saw him.

Several other children were huddled around the open space, all shuffling their feet nervously and evidently trying their best not to stare. With time, they'd hopefully forget what they'd seen and never again have to cower like this.

"I heard him last night," there was a fair bit of caution in his voice, and you tried to smile reassuringly over your thundering heart, "he went that way… I think…"

Your feet ached from making haste through the dense undergrowth, hands scratched up from the countless times you'd tripped on a loose stone or hidden root. It was ridiculous to get so worked up, he'd been the Second Harbinger, strength to go up against the divine, and he'd won.

Nothing out here would be any threat to him.

But he hadn't been home since yesterday, and that alone had spectral insects crawling beneath your skin and your heart threatening to flee your chest in hopes of finding him sooner. Would he come home this time?

Mindless swatting at mostly imaginary insects did nothing to dissipate the fog of anxiety that hung around you. The boy had confirmed your suspicion, unknowingly having pointed towards one of the old underground workshops.

It could be a coincidence of course. Zandik could be sitting bare-footed in a stream just a little further ahead, pulling in brightly colored axe marlins to supply your meals. He could have gotten so absorbed that he'd lost track of time and opted to camp outside rather than stumble through a dark forest.

You were fully aware that it was wishful thinking.

How many times you'd trudged this way was uncertain, fingers skimming the edges of stone that marked an upper corner of the facility. Signs had been put up where the ground had opened up into the complex to avoid anyone carelessly falling in. A knot formed in the pit of your stomach, the sounds of glass shattering reaching your ears from below.

Rubble was scattered in the hallways and opportunistic vines and roots had begun spilling into the vast network. The complex had been abandoned long before the final confrontation with Celestia, a time capsule from when Zandik himself stayed in Sumeru to conduct preliminary studies on the power of dreams and forbidden knowledge. From what you understood, it had served The Doctor and his pursuits well,

It made the air heavy with misplaced gratitude and relief.

Stone knocked against your back as you stumbled aside, startled a sharp pang followed by metallic clatter. Still with your heart in your throat, you staggered forward through the haze of tears clouding your vision.

"Why doesn't it work? It has to work. It should work. Everything is right. It's all correct- I just have to finish it- the deadline!" Another crash, the glass shards no sharper than his continued shouts, "There's so little time left I have to-"

Sparse sunlight filtered through and illuminated the ruins of what must have been a laboratory in its prime. You forced your lungs to work despite how every breath seared your throat. The tentative call of his name gave no result.

Zandik was hunched over a slanted desk, one wooden leg broken and threatening to give out. A few metallic tables were scattered around the room, two of them pushed against a wall as if to block out something. Every cupboard had been opened and the contents of several emptied onto the floor. How much was the work of Zandik, you wondered.

"Why won't anyone listen to me? Don't any of you know how to do your jobs properly? Get me those damn supplies or I'll-" two and a half vial clinked together with every restless knock of his fist against the table, "I'll tie a rope around your waist, throw you into the abyss, and dissect whatever I can pull back out!"

Another breath, hands trembling as they reached for him, fully anticipating the way his body jerked and twisted. It didn't make it any less upsetting.

Zandik sneered when your hands cupped stubbled cheeks, and for a moment you wondered if he'd bite like a rabid beast. You nearly choked on a sob at seeing the crudely folded paper that covered the top of his face, holes haphazardly torn to allow him to see. His hair was dirty and tangled, his clothes in no better state.

Soothing shushes left your lips in a steady stream, thumbs continuing to pet his skin and rub the dust from rubble away, thankful that the artificial lights were long broken. His shirt could be mended and washed.

"Zandik, I need you to-"

He howled like a wounded beast, thrashing when you pushed away his paper mask, "Don't you dare call me that! Useless- useless, you're all useless!"

Even disoriented, his grip was iron when his fingers locked around your arms. Tears were running down your cheeks, ignoring the blood that dripped from where his nails had pierced skin. Still, you refused to let go of his face.

"Zandik please.. look around you.. it's over, we- you did it.." his makeshift mask was easily pushed aside, "let's go home.. please?"

For a moment, the fog seemed to clear from his garnet eyes as they flickered back and forth, taking in the scenery anew. A shiver ran through him, hands letting up their grip on your arms in favour of gently feeling along them, confirming your existence.

Irminsul had burned and people's memories had been the price. None more affected than the man who'd held the torch.

It had yet to be determined what exactly had happened to Zandik, resources weren't abundant enough to prioritize anything but survival. And even if they were, he'd barely had a moment lucid enough to properly process your sobbed attempts at explanation.

Perhaps he hadn't been woven into the new tapestry of fate, or maybe his grandest achievement, his beloved eyes in time, had tethered him more firmly to the old threads rather than freeing him. More than once, his hands had held your head close to his chest, just as they did now, and shushed cries that he would never grasp the cause of.

"It will all get better my lotus," your heart already clenched, desperate cries begging to freeze time in place before he continued with his hushed words, "…just a little longer and we'll all be free…"

#tweaked this a bit- choked up doing it #the day I came up with this idea I really chose violence huh #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #dottore x female reader #dottore x fem reader #il dottore x you #dottore x you #il dottore #dottore #cw nsft #fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #crow with a pen

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shiki-jin · 9 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.

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jacktheeldergod2 · 19 days ago

Text

I haven't been on my bullshit for too damn long

As you are putting on your shoes you find a coupon for a free gift from "Saul Vegera's fine finds" behind your ear. It has a small map leading to a part of your home where a secret door will lead you to the shop. Your options are:

A third eye. About as big as the average middle finger when curled,it's color is a lively red that contrasts the ill,yellowish look of the rest of it,veins popping visibly and even having a visible heartbeat at some spots. It'll be bound to you by taking a few drops of your blood and injecting it in the eye. From then on you can see spirits,magic and other supernatural phenomena through the eye,make it float around and teleport near it at a moment's notice or vice versa. If destroyed it'll transform one of your eyes into itself or appear in your empty eye socket. If in your eye socket it'll change size to accommodate your head

A worn out medical syringe,the old timey type. When filled with blood it'll become unnaturally warm and cozy to the touch. Injecting a creature with another's blood will make it live all the memories of the blood but won't harm it in any form. Doing this monthly for a year will permanently telepathically link the creatures. New creatures are all linked to this mental network

A phone booth sized metal box that has a hydraulic press on its top and bottom. Any two things crushed together will fuse together as well as the material can allow,such as making a spork. Crushing two creatures will make an optimization of the two,even unearthing lost evolution. For example 2 humans will result in a 4 armed human with a monkey tail,as tall as the fused power of the joints bones and muscles allow(usually 5 meters tall),will have fully pronounced female and male traits and have its own identity but remember the lives of both the fused people. In the culture it was created the fusing was utilized as a form of marriage

A straightjacket that looks completely normal except for a pocket in the back. First you need a piece of your biomass in the pocket,like blood,hair,nail clippings etc. from then on the jacket will start mentally adjusting those who wear it. At one hour the victim will start adopting your views. At five it'll have the same opinions as you. At 8 its intelligence will have undergone severe decrease. At 12 the person will be completely obedient and devoted,not unlike states of mind portrayed in "drone" fetish art. At 24 hours the person will be deleted and your soul will have control over their body,pretty much making you a hivemind. This is irreversible. People with multiple personalities will take longer to be deleted due to multiple souls inhabiting the body

An old military revolver that can never kill a person,thus often killing diseases or cancers when it shoots someone. It is always fully loaded no matter what. The better the wielder's aim is the more control they have over the effect of the bullets. Eventually they'll be fully able to alter people's bodies such as altering the joints,changing the shape and size of muscles and more. As they use it the wielder's hand will become fused to the pistol as they get more and more obsessed with the idea of healing others. Their bodies will gain other gun barrels and bullet chambers with them becoming more and more metallic. This process can be stopped by not constantly holding the gun. Good luck with that

3 sealed vials made of glass and copper,one with green sludge,one with pink and one with black. pouring the green one on a substance will make it bigger and other instances of the substance will "spread" on other nearby things till the sludge is put back in its vial. The black one will start devouring objects,lowering the amount of that substance in the world. If allowed to fully eat an object the substance won't be found on this solar system ever again. Pouring the pink sludge on a corpse will make the species of said corpse be born with physical blessings for the following years,not stopping until removed from the corpse. Drinking the pink vial will instead make you immortal and constantly better your body but make all others of your species gradually grow old quicker,raise the rate of birth defects and eventually stuff them out. After that you'll slowly become a pink ooze,your sludgy form fully under your control as you alone stand remaining,nothing short of a nuclear explosion or the death of the sun able to kill you

A jar with a shadow and a jar with a light. This shadow will remove all darkness in the area, spreading farther and farther until the jar is closed. The light jar does the opposite, replacing light with shadow. Drinking the contents of the shadow jar will allow you to control its abilities and be able to see in complete darkness. Drinking the light jar will give you its abilities and your eyes will be able to see the full color spectrum. Yes both can be drank by the same being. If the consumer dies the jars refill

A crown made of fool's gold and colored glass in place of gems with a discolored jester's hat whose bells don't jingle sewn on the inside of it. While wearing this hat your every word will be almost universally trusted. You'll be so charismatic the things you'll say will even surprise you. After you wear it a few days golden rings will dig into your skin,connecting the hat to your head. You'll start to lie more and more. After a few months you'll become more erratic and anxiety ridden and new bigger rings will bind the hat to your skull. After a year you'll be losing everyone's trust as you'll grow paranoid,and you'll never ever be able to not lie for the rest of your life. But hey. Maybe you'll still be able to get some mileage out of your charisma. Maybe a kind soul will take you as it's jester,at which point a jester's outfit will cover your entire body,mask glued to your face,and forever and ever you'll devote your life to being a jester,an entertainer,showman and jokester as your new body never ages. And if something kills you you'll leave no corpse behind. Only the hat will remain,a new glass gem upon it

A statue of an angel sitting down and sewing some old rags,5 meters tall. It wears nothing,no genitals,nipples or even an asscrack appearing upon its thin,frail form. Its eyes look focused and filled with love,a stoic look upon its face. Anything placed upon its lap will be fixed by the next dawn. The land around the angel will become healthier and more fertile,the air cleaner,the sun more merciful and the animals will feel safer. Its dominion will expand with time. Many eons into the future life shall sprout in other planets in the ecosystem,and as long as it stands the sun will never burst

A bronze circular bathtub. If filled with blood of children such as lambs and piglets it is able to perform a ritual. A single creature that has reached adulthood must be boiled alive in the blood. Afterwards the creature will be reborn in its desired body. Wings,claws,breasts,carapace anything the creature wants its form to be it shall be just that as long it's physically possible. Supernatural powers like floating cannot be given. The creature shall remain young for 11 years,after which it will resume aging if it doesn't redo the ritual

A door. You can summon the door wherever you want as long as you leave a bloodstain on it. Adding a new bloodstain won't change ownership unless the previous stain is removed. By walking through the door you'll be in a vast world made just for your tastes. Endless machinery that automates everything,boundless meadows, pristine gyms,brothels with the most beautiful beings you've ever laid eyes upon,lush jungles filled with amazing fruit,anything you could want,and as long as you are there your body will be healthy and you won't age a day more. But nothing from that world can ever be taken out of it,no power or object and no person can join you in your paradise. Perhaps you'll find it worthwhile to never leave

A tool box with bone grafted on it to make patterns,letters in a language you can't speak carved on skeletons of beings you've never seen. Just opening it will have it empty. By killing something while it's in the box,for example letting an animal suffocate in it or slitting a lamb's throat while its head is in the box,it'll gain a tool of your choosing. More complex things like a computer may take the life of many beings while a rat will be enough for a screwdriver. There is no limit on how many tools you can have or how many instances of the same thing,and the toolbox will always have the tools you want when you open. By pouring a wine bottle's worth of your blood in the toolbox it'll fuse with you and you'll be able to summon it or even open your chest cavity as a gateway to it. Nightmares of the killed beings hunting you may occur a few times a month

@1969chevycamaro @whereserpentswalk @everythingismadeofchaos @trashsouppossum @techiekittie @your-average-toast-enjoyer @ononpetitecroissant @polkadotsunshine @ana-isnt-dead @sentient-marshmallow-woman @doyoudreamofwater @dackychansworldofhoshino @dh-ng @decoysender @foxundermoon @frozen-antifreeze @gloriousvermin @kinkshame-puncher-666 @kirkland-brand-witch @leavesswaytoday @mmmmmmky @mun-urufu @moonsfavoritedaughter

#polls #my polls #poll time #random polls #tumblr polls #poll #magical items #magic items #magic weapon #magic weapons

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loz-untold-myths · 1 month ago

Text

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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taradactyls · 2 months 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 · 7 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 · 6 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 · 3 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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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

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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

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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)

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oddsandends-dirt-to-dust · 10 days ago

Text

The World Ender

Masterlist - (chapters, link to ao3 post, moodboard, and spotify playlist.)

I’m The World Ender, baby, and I’m comin’ for them

Word Count: 9.5k

Warnings (for part7): bombs, mass murder, hallucinations, descriptions of mental illness, fire

——————————

PART 7 - Those Warring Creatures

You never much thought of God anymore.

You’d heard his stories, and his words parroted by the faithful. But you’d never heard from him. Never seen him in-between the shadows, or in the cradling light of the sun, or in the reflections of time and memory.

You weren’t sure you’d ever believed in God.

Still, they’d spoken of your creator. Your ruler. Your father.

The merciful, the all-knowing, the savior.

You thought of him now, as you splayed out on a dusty desk – your back to its ragged surface and face hanging over its edge to watch the city awaken through the windows. The upside-down buildings reached down for the empty air, where the morning pooled with pink and gold. A rare sunrise over a city long stagnant – until you’d arrived to bring rapture. The hospital still writhed with black, leaking its defeat into the clouds. And as your head pooled with blood, you wondered what he thought of his world. What he thought of you.

He dealt in water – had used waves to cleanse the world of bad. It was the other – the evil – who dwelled in fire. And if water was life, then you thought fire must be death. And if heaven was an ocean, then this place must be hell.

But fire cleansed too. Because if fire was death, and death was an ending, then it must also be a rebirth.

God was a lying thing, like most fathers were, and it took you until your head was spinning to realize you didn’t care what he thought. Because you were a person long stagnant until she had dawned on you, and now...

Ellie had driven back to the office building – you knew the layout and the exits, it was far enough from the hotel, but still had a good view of the streets. She said she needed to check some things in the truck, find gas and a map to plot your escape.

Her words had been clipped and cold, like her face. And she hadn’t looked at you. She’d taken off to the garage and left you to climb.

And you had, but not as far up as before – you didn’t pass that tomb again.

You sat up, felt the blood drain down from your face. But your head didn’t clear, it was still fuzzy and full like it had been all night.

The room was silent. Too silent.

You sat on the edge of the desk, twirling your knife, watching the crimson smears on the blade catch the dim light. Your foot tapped out an uneven rhythm against the muffled floor – just something to fill the quiet.

The adrenaline had already faded, leaving behind that hollow ache in your chest.

You hated this part. When the chaos settled, and there was nothing left but you and the world. You flipped the knife again, harder this time, let it clatter onto the desk. The sound echoed. Still too quiet.

You stood, pacing, tried to summon the storm back into your head, but it didn’t come. Just the faint whisper of laughter skittering across your mind like a splinter.

“I did try to warn you.”

His voice was smooth and heavy like oil.

He was always there – in the empty moments, his words winding through your mind like smoke, choking out your resolve. Giving you everything and taking you apart at the same time.

You shook your head, scrubbing at your temples.

“I don’t need you.” You muttered. “Don’t need anyone.”

The ghost of his voice lingered anyway.

“You know that’s not true anymore, don’t you?”

You paused. Something sickly prickled up your spine, knotted your stomach.

“Maybe... that’s not so bad. Maybe it’s time for a change.” You said, fighting the buzzing wracking your skin. “And she’s good, she’s important.”

“She doesn’t understand you. She won’t.”

You laughed even as your throat tightened.

“Yeah, well, who does?”

“I do.”

Your mouth soured. You continued your pacing, let your boots carve prints into the carpet.

“It’s too late.” You spat.

You shook your head, that writhing blur clawing at every inch of you, threatening to pull you apart – pull you under. You hummed an old tune, focused on your song as his parting words rattled against your bones.

“You’ll see. You’ll see.”

You heard footsteps then, thudding up the distant staircase. You pulled your gun into your palm, eyes on the doorway. Eventually Ellie came into view – decorated with dried blood and some inky substance you assumed was oil. Her face was blank as she made her way to you.

She slapped a map onto the buckling desk ahead of you.

“Got gas. Pick a route and we’ll go.” She said, slumping into a torn office chair. Her gaze was trained on the floor.

You bristled, retrieving the map and letting your eyes dance over the streets. Your pulse pounded heavy in your ears in the silence. You moved your eyes to Ellie. Her face was shallow but her eyes weren’t. Her arms draped lazily over the arms of the chair; her feet planted apart firmly on the floor.

She’d hate you now, you fucked up again. What were you supposed to say?

Her gaze flicked to you, firm and vast. Her lips pressed together, face hardening, before she spoke.

“Yeah,” she tilted her head. “I’m pissed at you again.”

You trailed back to the other desk, leaned against it.

“I didn’t leave you.”

“No?” She raised her brows.

You shook your head.

The chair squeaked as she stood, started to pace behind it with a huff.

“Ellie, obviously I was coming back-”

“Why the fuck did you leave in the first place?”

Your guts twisted painfully.

“I...”

Her verdant eyes scorched into you, unrelenting. So intense and so endless you shrank. Her gaze was like a brand, trained on you like she could see the things lurking beneath your skull.

“Go ahead, I’m waiting for another one of your bullshit spiels about how you were protecting me. Explain.” Ellie said, throwing a hand your way. “Fucking explain.”

You curled your fingers onto the edge of the desk. She scoffed at your silence.

“You know, you give me so much shit when I try to take care of you. Take a look in the mirror, y/n.”

You still couldn’t find words in the mess – couldn't decide what you should let slip and what should stay unsaid.

You let out a trembling breath.

She pressed her lips together, took a step forward.

“You don’t need to run off on your own, I’m right here. I need you to start trusting me because I’m starting to think I made a mistake following you out here.” Ellie shook her head, brows furrowing in frustration.

“I had it.” You said, finally.

“You’ve been fucked up since yesterday - since whatever that room reminded you of.” She bit out, ignoring your attempt to feign.

The words in your throat were still wrong, still shadowed. Your body shook with weakness, it built up in your chest like a shivering whirlpool, begging for escape.

“I was fine until you got there. You distracted me.” You told her, your focus stolen by the icy hands roving up to your shoulders, pressing down hard.

You stood, loosed a breath. Ellie just stared for a minute; you felt her gaze in your peripheral as your eyes locked onto the broken desk ahead. It’s painted edges splintered; it’s legs giving way under the weight of time.

“Yeah, well, that’s all I’m good for, right?” Her voice came drained now, a droning of defeat.

The thing in your chest tugged, clawed at your ribs and up your throat. You turned back to your own desk, put your hands on its steady surface and leaned onto them. You heard Ellie turn to leave.

“My dad… died.”

Your tone was quiet, a fragile outpouring of truth from the deepest ends of your conscious. The things you’d never spoken, never laid bare for the world to see. It hurt.

“What?”

You stared down at your ruined hands, your hands that ruined, your hands still covered in blood.

“My dad died… in a fire. When the community I grew up in fell.” You admitted, feeling yourself slipping away from the room – like these words weren’t yours, this story wasn’t yours to tell.

Ellie took in your truth for a moment. The silence didn’t help the quiet sinking of you. But then she walked over, leaned against the desk beside you. You felt her warmth from here, the blood that beat in her body, the breath that changed the air – filled the dust with the remnants of life – as she sighed lowly.

“Okay, it’s kind of getting harder to be mad at you.” Her words were smooth, the kind of tone you knew was a bid to lighten, and a confirmation she was listening. She was here; she was ready for you.

You turned, mirrored her actions to rest on the desk with her. You weren’t sure if you were ready for her to see you – you'd never thought about it. You’d never thought this day would come, or this person. You’d dragged yourself so far from humanity your body was still trying to run now, still trying to disappear, numbing out your skin and the thoughts that floated through your hazy mind.

“I thought I was fine. But I had a bad dream and… I guess I lost control.”

Her eye twitched into a squint.

Your tongue fought for purchase, fought for understanding of the spinning hours gone by.

“I just…” You sighed. “I freaked out. My brain was stuck there, I couldn’t think. And I thought they were going to hurt you. Like the- the bodies, up there. Like him.” Your words came out jumbled and spasmodic.

But your heart was beating in your ears again, and you could feel the breath soothing your lungs. You looked to Ellie.

She licked her lips, teeth snagging on her bottom one. She sighed through her nose, turning her face up. Her eyes latched onto the ceiling, and you couldn’t figure out if it was an action of exasperation - or if she was thinking of those blackened, mangled bodies that lay floors above.

“I can’t keep doing this.” She said, softer now.

Your stomach clenched.

“You…”

She dropped her face back to you.

“I can’t keep doing this.” She crossed her arms. “So, you get one more chance. You leave me behind again, we’re done. You don’t factor me into decision-making, we’re done.”

Relief bloomed in your chest. It made you sick.

“Okay.” You agreed.

You would try, you would learn, you’d get used to having a... partner. Ellie had cleared the whole parking lot; she’d saved your ass more than once by now. And her presence was comforting. It terrified you, but you were too far gone to flee now.

“Okay?” She raised her brows.

You nodded.

“You can take care of yourself, I got it.”

You stood, made to walk but she grabbed your hand, pulled you to sit again.

Her thumb tapped your fingers, her eyes locked on her movements. She seemed hesitant, fighting with the words on her tongue.

“The community… you grew up in?” Her words were testing.

Your teeth buzzed. You ground them together, jaw clenching.

Memories fled behind your eyes. Buildings more robust than what you’d found in Jackson – reinforced with metal – metal that had turned the houses to cloistering furnaces in the fire. Great bridges and walkways made from dark wood that made the whole place smell like trees. The giant fences surrounding the settlement were the same wood, reinforced with the same metal, and stuck with hefty guns. The men that manned the guns were big too, stone-faced and rough-looking but... welcoming.

You could still feel the heat at your back from long nights settled in front of the fireplace. Your mind tangled in a book, those hands stroking your head. Cold, those hands were always cold but your head was warm from the flames and the warmth leaked into his fingers eventually.

Your mouth was always sweet with chocolate, or cookies – things hard to come by, but he always found them for you. And his own mouth would glow white with a smile at your joy.

You remembered pain too. Pain everywhere, your hands and your face and your legs. From exhaustion, and injuries you’d won while training in the wide, circular building made of glass. The pain that faded away when replaced with the burning of his pride.

Ellie’s eyes flicked up to you, tender.

You dropped your gaze to your legs, where you rubbed your free hand against your thigh. You grappled with the unbearable electricity roiling in your gut, took a breath, started easy.

“The Order of Mercy.”

She hummed like she was impressed by the name, squeezed your fingers. You resisted the urge to frown.

“It was meant to be a place of hope. A place of safety and protection.” You paused, chose your next words carefully. “That bit him in the ass… in the end. No one got out of there. The place was a wreck.”

“But you did?”

You paused, shifted to combat the tension in your tightening muscles.

“Yeah, I did.” Your lips quirked. “I got lucky.”

Her face tightened. She tilted her head.

“What happened?”

“The fire drew infected, the guards started shooting. They couldn’t see who were people and who weren’t in the smoke. I ran.” Your voice grew shaky as you tried to fight those memories. The memories of the end.

“Infected go for people, screaming people, people in groups. I was kind of a loner, and I was small - so I managed to slip out.” Your words grew clipped and rough as you finished, unable to fight the way your shoulders stiffened as the grating feelings surged through you. Your nails bit into her fingers.

“A loner, huh?” She said, sarcasm dripping from her tone.

You shrugged, unable to find humor in her teasing.

“The others were nice but…” You shook your head. “Sometimes it felt like it was just me and my dad.”

Maybe because that was what he’d always said. That he was the only one you should trust, because he was yours and you were his. Those ties meant something, they weren’t a thing bred in useless promise. They were marked in blood.

He was right in what he’d taught you – don't trust frilly words or innocent faces. Find actions, find movement – and you’ll find truth.

“What, you were the weirdos who lived on the edge of town - never spoke to anyone?” Ellie asked, thumb soothing your taut hand.

A smile broke the tension of your face.

“No, we lived in the middle of town, in the big house. People didn’t think we were weird. I thought they were… weary of us. But he said it was respect.”

Her brow arched.

“Your dad was the leader?”

You hummed.

“He was a high-ranking official in the executive branch - before things went to shit. He knew how to run things.”

Yes, he knew where to find important supplies, knew how to bring order. He knew the best defensive strategies, and how to let in the people who needed a home – he knew how to sort the greedy and the cruel from the decent.

Your stomach turned. He was a warring thing, your father. A thing half-there.

“Executive branch?” Ellie shuffled closer, pressed her shoulder to yours.

“The assholes who worked under the President, made up bullshit laws and enforced them.” You explained with practiced efficiency, and only the smallest amount of resentment. Your skin prickled.

“Shit.” She breathed. “That explains a lot.”

You looked to her finally, narrowed your eyes. She smiled amusedly, but there was something deeper beneath her easy expression. Acceptance, maybe. It made your heart quiver.

“It wasn’t like a military zone. He wanted it to be a refuge.” You continued. “Still, he trained us- me, like a solider. Told me stories of the world before, the order, the right and wrongs…” You trailed off, brain latching onto an old memory.

Most ghosts of your past were fuzzy. But this one… you remembered the colours, and the thrill. The journey you’d taken to that bigger house he’d spoken of, the things you’d found inside… Something galvanic opened a bleary eye in the pit of your chest.

Ellie’s eyes flickered over your face.

“I’m sorry. About your dad... and your town.” She said, softly.

You sucked in a breath, shook your head. You didn’t bother speaking the words that swarmed your brain, she’d heard enough.

“Coward.”

You bit your cheek, considered your plan.

“Actually, I... it reminded me of something.” You began, shifting yourself her way. “I think I know how to stop the rest from coming after us.”

“Like, another one of your bombs, or something?” She asked.

You quirked your head, unable to stop the heady smile twisting your lips.

“Yeah, I guess. I just need a minute to get it ready.”

She blinked, paused to consider your words. Eventually she nodded, a quiet relief smoothing her face.

“Okay, sure. I wouldn’t mind leaving those fuckers a parting gift.”

Your smile grew at Ellie’s approval. Your plan clicked into place as you tied its ends together in your mind. There’d be a generator on the roof of a building like this – right next to the withered disk that hung over the edge. Shining bright in the sun like the beacon it was, high-powered and long-range to support the workings of the clever people who’d inhabited this place.

Life brought opportunities like this right to you, like you’d always been meant to find them, always been meant to enact them.

“I just need a little gas.” You told Ellie as you stood, dropping her hand.

She stood with you, fingers moving up to tangle with her backpack strap.

“Sure, I’ll bring some up. And I’ll plot a route while you... work.” She said, tilting her head.

She took off then – back to the truck, while you scoured the room for a computer. The desks held many, most smashed and bent. But there was one in the corner, its screen dark and waiting.

You caught your face in its reflection as you approached, looking more yourself than you ever had, and still grinning.

You shuffled into the truck, dropped your bag to into the footwell. The door shut smoothly; a sleek click so different to the vehicles you’d fixed up around Jackson. The doors on those rusted things had rattled and boomed – their sharp edges would probably take off a few fingers if you weren’t careful with your hands. But this truck, it reminded you of the ones from the place you’d grown up in. Dark and elegant, their engines humming effortlessly – didn’t choke or sputter.

You didn’t like it. Things like this truck, and its true owners, lacked character. No battle scars won, no gentle reminders of age.

“We’ll go south.” Ellie said, breaking your line of thought. She leaned over the map she’d spread across the console, two fingers tracing a thin line through the mass of green. “There’s a country road cutting through the forest back there.”

“What if it’s grown-over?”

She shook her head, tapping the paper.

“I found this map in the glovebox; they marked the roads that are too fucked to drive down.” She explained, before throwing the map onto your lap.

You picked it up, the paper crinkling under your fingers as you looked it over again and grimaced.

“What?”

“They marked the rooms.” You ground out. “The bodies.”

The noise she made in response mirrored the disgust rippling through you.

You dug into your bag, brushing past scraps and junk until you found what you were looking for – a paint pen. It was pink. You shoved a boot onto the dash ahead, rested the map on your knee as you ripped the cap off with your teeth.

“So, what’s the plan if we run into any trouble?” Ellie asked, her tone dripping with faux optimism.

“Kill ‘em.” You mumbled, putting your pen to the paper and relishing in the glossy lines it left in its wake.

“That’s comforting, thank you.” Ellie said snidely.

“The lazy pricks probably aren’t even awake yet.” You replied. “And their patrols are garbage. Just drive fast.”

You finished up your additions to the map, holding it out to admire your art. Ellie leaned in to take a look, her brows furrowing.

You’d drawn a cartoonish heart around the hospital, accompanied by some diamond-shaped sparks, and a skull and cross bones over the hotel.

“X marks the spot.” You trilled.

Ellie’s lips quirked into a smirk.

“You’re weird.”

“I’m just completing their map.” You shrugged, passing it back to her.

“Guessing your gift’s ready, then?” She prompted, taking the map and draping it over her thighs.

“Almost.”

You reached into your bag again at her puzzled expression, pulled out the little black device you’d coded and the radio you didn’t remember swiping from Mike’s belt. You plopped them in the cup-holder to your left.

“Detonator?”

You quirked your head.

“Kinda.” You didn’t elaborate, instead drumming your hands on your thighs. “Let’s move, time’s a-wastin’.”

Ellie puffed out an amused breath, twisting the key in the ignition. The leather seat beneath you hummed as the truck started up gracefully. She peeled out of the underground lot, guiding the truck through the exit she’d propped open.

The street beyond was clear – aside from the stray grass and plant – but the bigger roads had been cleared of broken-down cars and other large debris. Ellie took a right, her hands sliding against the gleaming steering wheel as it spun beneath her grip.

“So, you know I grew up in a military boarding school?” She broke out, gaze fixed on the road ahead.

You nodded. She’d mentioned her upbringing a few times with enough quiet resentment for you to grasp how shitily she regarded the place she’d been raised in. What she referred to it as varied, sometimes a school, sometimes an orphanage, sometimes a cage.

“I thought they were bad. I can’t imagine living under one of the dudes who created their stuffy-ass rules.”

You sighed, gliding a finger over the edge of the window beside you.

“Yeah, but I guess it was little different for me – he was my dad; they’re meant to order you around, right?”

Ellie shot you a sideways glance.

“You don’t strike me as the obedient type.”

The truck jerked as it ambled over a crack. The buildings lining the streets beyond the window were just as ridden with age and devastation as the rest of the world, but there was a gentleness to their disaster. The moss and dust covered them like blankets and you couldn’t help but feel like they were resting.

“I said he ordered me around, I didn’t say I obeyed.” You smiled. “We’re not soldiers, you and me.”

“You got that right.” Ellie chuckled. “You should’a seen the shit I got into in Boston.”

You hummed, flicking your gaze to her. You’d been all over the place, but never Boston. You tried to stay away from militant zones, they were far more trouble than they were worth.

“I bet it sucked. There are hardly any QZ’s left anymore, their regime must’ve been strict for them to stay standing so long.” You said.

“Yeah... but I guess it wasn’t all bad.” She licked her lips, eyes growing softer. “I had a friend there, you remind me of her sometimes.”

“Really?” You leered.

“Yeah, sometimes.” Ellie’s brows flicked up. “She was hard-headed, badass,” she shook her head, “and annoyed the shit outta me.”

You scoffed a laugh, trying not to squirm at the quiet tenderness that wreathed her voice despite her combative words.

“So, you think we would’ve gotten along – me and your friend?”

“Hell no.” She grinned.

You smiled, turning back to the window. The words didn’t sting – you didn’t get along with most people. You weren’t sure you’d ever had a friend, a true friend. Apart from Ellie... and maybe...

Your heart ached as your mind was, again, pulled to the past. Conversations rang through your thoughts, formed a lump in your throat.

“What do you think it looks like outside?”

“My dad says there’s nothing out there. It’s all ruins, hardly any people left at all.”

“Really?”

“He finds things, people’s belongings. They’re like ghosts.”

“My mom says there are monsters.”

“They’re not monsters, Jezzie. They were people once.”

“What happened to them?”

“My dad says I can’t tell you. I’m not supposed to tell anyone, you can’t handle it.”

“Because they’re scary?”

“Not as scary as the people that are left. They’re sicker than the sick. They’re crueller than the earth. But my dad protects us from them.”

“I bet there’s trees as big as the statue of liberty. And cities full of oceans.”

“No, my dad says there’s nothing. God cleared it all to nothing, and left us behind to rebuild – take down the evil that’s left.”

“Well... I guess that makes us the lucky ones.”

The truck lurched up, caused you to thump back down onto the seat with a huff.

You blinked, rubbed a hand down your arm.

There wasn’t nothing outside the windows. There was soft, fluttering green, and powder-blue skies. There were buildings, remnants of life everywhere you turned. Things that inspired roving dreams of old days. Days spent trailing around bustling streets, sitting on outside-chairs and eating a meal cooked just for you, walking through a park and seeing dozens of strangers you’d never know – never see again. Not a fleeting thing, no, strangers would be everywhere – and only sometimes would you find someone who would become more.

Days spent with family – some families so large they couldn’t all fit in one home. Days spent with little animals you claimed and lived with and took time to print pictures of to frame. Days spent buying things with printed strips of glorified paper, and so many clothes you could wear a different item each day.

And there were scary people in this world, but there were good people too. People trying to regain some semblance of those old days – but only the nice parts. Only the parts that focused community, care, joy. None of the inequality, or privileges, or injustice.

Good people, like the girl sitting beside you.

You swallowed thickly, hoped your voice wouldn’t waver, as you spoke.

“I had a...” You shook your head, the words catching like barbs in your throat. You didn't deserve to call her a friend, anymore. “She wasn’t like you.”

“I thought you were a loner.” Ellie’s chided, her voice tinged with curiosity.

“I was. But I spoke to her, sometimes. Only her.” The hint of a smile started on your lips. “I’d sneak into her room to do it.”

Ellie puffed out a strange-sounding breath, a thing caught half-between humor and disbelief.

“Man, you really are like Riley.” She mumbled, so quiet you almost didn’t catch it.

You turned to her once you could trust your face again. She had an elbow resting on the window frame, her hand curled on her chin. Her other arm shot straight out, fingers tight on the wheel to ease the truck around cracks and corners.

“What was she like, then? Like you?” Ellie asked, glancing at you briefly.

“No.” You shook your head. “She was fragile. Too soft, too kind. I tried to toughen her up but,” your face found that smile then, “it never stuck.”

She hummed, her thumb tapping the wheel. The air within the truck began to heat as the morning sun soaked through the windshield.

“I couldn’t spend time with her around town, or at training.” You added. “But in her room, we were... something.”

Ellie smiled, the same bittersweet glint clouding her eyes as you felt in yours.

She paused, before a question passed her lips.

“How old were you – when the shit hit the fan?”

“I was,” you tried to force the memory forward; dragging out the answer like a half-buried relic. “I was almost fourteen, I think.”

Shock slathered her features at that.

“Shit.” She breathed, her gaze flicking over to you. “And you survived out here alone?”

You pressed your lips together, ignoring the uncomfortable tug in your gut.

“I hid. I’d lurk around the edges of communities, steal what I could – but I never went inside. Never let them see me.” You explained. “Took me a while to realize I was strong enough to fight for myself.”

And cruel enough.

When the voices had grown too loud to ignore, you’d let the death rip from you like a tsunami of dark. It came too easy, the injuries you’d earn only spurring you on. One ending eddying into one beautiful beginning.

Though... the beauty you found in death was beginning to wane in the wake of Ellie. Her presence, her words, her face that was swimming with the smelted, amber light of the fresh morning – like even the sun was admiring her. She made you ache.

“That’s... pretty fucking impressive.” She raised her brows, hand falling from her chin to perch on the steering wheel lazily.

You weren’t sure impressive was the word, but couldn’t find it in you to argue as your gaze roved from her glistening, beryl eyes to her pouty lips that looked as plush as a peach.

Then her face changed – first scrunching up before her eyes widened and those lips parted invitingly.

“Fuck.” She breathed.

You tore your eyes from her face reluctantly, following her own to find the thing concerning her.

A dark truck, turning onto the street far ahead.

“Just keep driving, don’t stop.” You told her. “Take the next left – we're in one of their trucks, they might not notice we aren’t with them.”

Silence stretched as tension sewed itself deep into the air, wrenching your muscles taut and your breaths shallow.

That truck roamed closer as Ellie nudged the wheel left. You began to turn into the side-street, sinking in your seat a little as your window paralleled with their dark windshield.

You palmed your gun as the wheels bounced over scattered rocks – debris from the half-collapsed building on the corner. You made it into the cover of the next street and out of view, the other truck didn’t speed or honk.

But then, a jerking crackle spat through the air. The noise sounded like it wished to be a fire, but was cold and disingenuous – not alive or burning like a fire, no, the thing was robotic.

“Yo, juliett-nine-bravo-echo-five. You winged?”

The voice was low and warbled. The had man listed the start of the license plate nailed to your rear-bumper, and you flicked your gaze to the wingmirror to find the truck inching onto the street behind you.

You ground your teeth as screaming annoyance shoved itself into every inch of your bones. You reached into your bag.

“Winged?” Ellie whispered.

You shrugged, screwing your silencer onto the pistol in your grip.

“Think the hospital’s emblem was angel wings.” You sat up, rolled your window down. “Fucking losers.” You huffed, twisting your upper half out of the window and snapping your wrists up.

The bullet you summoned hissed from the lengthened barrel and into the driver too fast for him to swerve. You knew you’d hit him by the way the truck jerked and sped. You couldn’t see through the smashed windshield, but the truck began to weave back and forth before it crashed into a building beside the street – the passenger had tried to wrangle it and failed.

The collision hadn’t been loud, which meant it hadn’t been hard enough to prove fatal. You sent more lead for the window the crash had offered up, steading your aim when the truck beneath you wobbled against a crack. You allowed yourself four shots, knowing you’d get the job done with at least a couple of them. Then you sank back into your seat, righted the window.

Ellie’s eyes glanced from the mirrors back to the road ahead, which ambled up slightly as it carved a path through buildings. Trees beckoned on the far end, but more connected streets than comfortable jetted off the sides of the one you climbed.

“Well, that solves that.” She mumbled.

“I had to get rid of them before they called us in. Speed up, if there are others we might lose them in the trees.” You said, hand reaching back to tangle with your seatbelt.

You paused, gaze trailing to Ellie. You leaned over to her, opting to push your face into the side of her head instead of blocking her view of the road as your fingers searched for her seatbelt.

Her hair was soft beneath your nose, and she didn’t balk from your closeness. You heard her breath puffing in and out, felt the warmth of her body leaking onto yours. You almost didn’t want to, but eventually found the slippery thing. You tugged it out and held it there for her to thread her left arm through. She did, shifting her hips a little as you brought it down and over her, clicked it into the socket.

“Thanks.”

You nodded, returning for yours and fastening it. It snapped against you, rubbing uncomfortably at your neck.

“Don’t let it restrict you.” You reminded her. “Keep an eye out, remember to pull it loose if you’re ducking or aiming.”

“Yes, mom.” She droned, turning her head to peer down a side-street as you passed it. It was clear.

You tutted, cradling your gun in your palms again and latching your eyes back onto the street.

“That was easy.” Ellie muttered; her voice low as she eyed the thinning edge of the city.

The truck rumbled through the forest, the road beneath its tires had shifted from cracked concrete to loose, uneven dirt. Trees framed the path, their tall, leafy canopies blotting out some of the sunlight and casting shadows over Ellie’s face. But even here, the city lingered – its jagged, crumbling peaks visible over the left-hand treetops.

“Told you. Shitty patrol-men.” You said. “Men like them are all brute and brashness.”

Ellie hummed.

“Can you pullover here?” You asked, nodding toward a spot where the road widened slightly and the trees cleared up. The perfect little gap to nestle the truck in.

She slowed the truck to a crawl and pulled in. You took the two devices from the cupholder, clutched them in your hands.

Ellie snapped the truck off and you stepped out, your boots crunching softly against gravel and dirt. You walked around the front and perched against the other side of it. Ellie popped her door open beside you, shifted to stick her feet out and rest them in the dirt.

The faint scent of damp earth and pine wafted into your nose. A few distant birds chirped somewhere in the canopies above.

The hill the truck had climbed offered a breath-taking view of the land ahead. Rolling green hills dipped into the golden fields that wreathed the city, dotted here and there with clusters of trees and the occasional skeletal remains of buildings. Farther out, a jagged mountain range rose to meet the horizon, their peaks piercing the blue sky like forgotten gods. The city loomed to the left of them, smaller now but no less haunting, like a poor attempt to imitate their beauty.

You gave the button of the radio a sharp hits, lifted it to your mouth.

“Any of you little pigeons hear me?” You asked, mocking lilt twisted into your tone.

The crackle of static was your only response at first, until finally, an answer.

“Been waiting to hear from you.” The voice said, scratchy and gruff.

“You’ve heard from me plenty.” You shot back. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you.”

“Suppose that’s right.” The voice was taunting. He chuckled darkly, the sound fizzing through the speaker like insects buzzing in your ear.

“Those guys in the mall, they were the first of my men you slaughtered.” There was a loud confidence in the man’s tone – an easy, authoritative sway that caught your attention as he continued. “You left one living, he got out by the skin of his teeth. He saw those pretty tats you got on your arm. One of my men saw them again yesterday, called it in before you ripped them to shreds in that hospital. How many of my men you think I’m gonna let you get away with takin’, girly?” He asked.

You considered his spiel, rested a hand on your hip.

“I’ve been through a ‘lotta places, ‘lotta men. Don’t be flattered, sweet-cheeks.”

“That so?” He ground out another unsettling, graveled laugh. The radio spat with static.

“Oh, yeah. Most of the states. My favorites were rainy ones.” You told him. “Found plenty of monsters like you out there. Plenty of other things too...”

“I don’t have time to get to know ‘ya, darlin’. I’m a busy man, got plenty of groups to order around, plenty of bullets to organize. Wonder which’ll be the lucky one that gets to cleave that clever head of yours apart – after I’ve had my fun with ya’, that is.” He spoke to you smoothly, like a lover.

You tilted your head.

“Don’t you wanna know what I found?”

Ellie leaned forward, her arms pressing onto her knees.

“You don’t got time for talkin’ neither. We’re gettin’ ready here. I’m comin’ for you.” He said.

“No.” You crooned. “You definitely wanna know.”

No reply came – you’d piqued his interest, and you took the opportunity to give him a spiel of your own.

“I found stars here, in Montana.” You told him, pulling the little black device from your pocket. You rubbed a finger over the button in its center.

“Raging oceans in Oregon.” You looked back up to the city, eyes straining for the buildings raised in the distance. Your stomach danced.

The radio crackled.

“I visited the White House in Washington, always wanted to see the inside. My dad was big on order. He served this mighty country, under that house, the man who lived inside. The prospect intrigued me, how one man could hold so much power. Rule a whole country, decide the fates of so many. Decide the deaths of so many more.”

You paused, eyes narrowing.

“Don’t much care for your life story. I’m more focused on its end. You can try to run, darlin’, but I’ll find ya’. I got your scent now.” He promised.

“You know what I found? In that man’s house?” You asked, kicking at the dirt beneath your feet, fighting a smile. “I found his birdies.”

Ellie stiffened. You felt the heat of her gaze on you.

“You know, the missiles don’t need much tinkering to be launched. This country was selfish. Wanted to make sure they had the last blow, no matter what happened. They sent the big ones out when something did happen, but that’s okay. The few left are still big enough for your little house.”

You waited for his words to bite through the stuttering radio, mind spinning.

“You’re a liar, girl. And you can’t get to Washington before I get to you, I promise you that.”

“I don’t need to be in Washington.” You simpered. “I just need the codes. An itty bit of power to reach the pointy things. I’m pretty incredible with that stuff, you know.”

“You’re lyin’.” He tried again, but you heard that confidence cracking like brittle glass.

The device in your palm buzzed, flittering a weak green light above that carnal, little button. Sparks rumbled through you. Anticipation and glee settled onto your shoulders like a warm blanket.

You lifted the radio to your lips.

“You can’t even try to run.”

The sky above seemed to still as your thumb pressed down on the button and your heart flipped and swayed. The forest held its breath for a single, weightless moment.

Ellie stood, edged closer to you. Her warmth breathed into your side.

“Dude, are you kidding?”

You dragged your eyes from the open.

“Why would I be kidding?”

A shrieking cleaved the earth – a shrill, whistling sound that tore through the green like a living thing. Violent, raw, unstoppable. Fire streaked across the sky to the left, slinging for the city, brilliant and blazing, leaving a thick trail of smoke in its wake. It curled and twisted like black veins against the blue, the blaze it leaked from glowing brighter than the sun. The sky itself seemed to shatter under its wrath, the world rumbling, leaves shaking from the trees like they were weeping.

Your shooting star hit its mark – a crashing, resounding boom you couldn’t see but could feel. Deep and visceral, the earth clenched and shuddered beneath its force, sending loose pebbles and dirt skittering down the hill. The noise consumed everything, reverberating through the steeps around and echoing back in endless waves. It filled your body to the brim, and you felt like you were exploding too as flaming exhilaration surged up your throat and filled your brain with color.

Laughter burst from your lips, loud and bright.

Then came the whoosh – the hot wind sweeping through the forest. The dying breath of your bomb bent branches of the trees and tore at the loose fabric of your clothes. It hit your face, warm, carrying the acrid scent of burning – but you didn’t balk. It was a cry of freedom, a roar of triumph – ashes back to ashes, dirt turned to dust.

You could almost feel the fire's sputtering form from here, almost hear it crackling and churning and cleansing. Devouring the ghosts of the murky souls you’d claimed, devouring their evil and their sins with a relentless hunger. And the smoke rose high in the air, bright, blazing blue like a flame so hot it was cold. Blue like raging ocean waves, like the deep, electric sky of twilight. Blue like your father’s eyes.

A grin split your face as pride swelled within you.

You’d had to do a little tweaking when you stumbled upon the things, had to leave your signature. And your color wove itself into the sky above the trees and the buildings, smattering the world with the most beautiful gravestone – fit for those vile creatures who tortured and maimed and stole.

A long, shaky breath broke through your haze of atonement.

You turned your head, your glee dimming a little as reality bled back into the moment.

Ellie’s face was pale. Pale like the whites of her wide eyes. She wasn’t smiling like you. She wasn’t admiring. She looked quite horrified, actually, much to your chagrin.

Her lips were parted, trembling faintly as her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. Her gaze was stuck on the calamity in the distance, her body frozen like she still hadn’t regained the ability to move, speak, react.

Your smile dropped, your eyes narrowing as apprehension simmered in your bones, unease coiled in your chest – the exhilaration ebbed, replaced by the cold knot of realization.

Shit.

You thought you’d given her enough warning. You’d told her you’d stop them, it was a bomb, and it was big.

What the hell was she expecting?

You bit your lip, shifting on your feet. Your boots scuffed a restless pattern into the ground.

“We gotta move. Infected will’ve heard that for miles around.” You said, voice hard – trying to cut through her stupor. “Stick to the scenic routes, we shouldn’t run into too many in the country.”

Ellie’s mouth clamped shut. Her eyes snapped to you. She looked sick. No, she looked at you like you were sick. Her face was bewildered, appalled – looking so unlike herself you felt jarred. Her mouth popped open again, then closed. She blinked.

Finally, she shook her head, her lips curling into a round shape as she blew out a sharp breath.

And then she turned, walked rigidly to her open door. She dropped into the seat within before slamming it closed, the truck rattling into your back harshly.

You clenched your teeth, a low groan rumbling in your throat.

The taste of smoke lingered on your tongue as you pushed off the truck and rounded to your side. You slid into the passenger seat. Ellie’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her eyes locked piercingly on the road ahead.

What the hell were you expecting?

You liked to think the imperfect, dirt road below you lead to nowhere. You couldn’t see the end of it, as it wove its way through the amazingly tall, verdant trees - a path of harsh, russet reality cutting through the lush fog of green. You liked to think it would never end. You and the girl beside you would chase its turns forever, side by side, as the days and nights rolled around you, and your whole world just stayed all serpentine and chestnut.

You ignored the part of you whispering that everything had an ending. You ignored the part of you that bristled in the coated silence wreathing the truck. You ignored the thoughts curling into the edge of your mind, listing every stiff move Ellie made, listing each twitch of her features and the firm set of her jaw, her eyebrows, her mouth.

You brought your attention back to the road, and its turns, and the way your stomach tingled and hollowed out as the truck ambled down a short, steep hill. Ellie normally took less care while driving. She’d normally speed around corners, sometimes so quickly the opposite wheels would lift and then bounce back down against the ground. She’d lurch over bumps and cracks, would have to screech to a sharp stop when debris would arise ahead. But now, she slowed gracefully for rocks and fallen branches half-in the road. She took turns carefully, she didn’t speed. Like she was putting a lot of effort into keeping her thoughts on the road too, keeping her thoughts on controlling the vehicle beneath her.

You rolled your lips, shifted your legs to lean your knees onto the door beside you.

Trees made Ellie smile. Trees, and birds, and pretty skies. Stars made her smile, so did the moon – and shooting stars made her beam. They weren’t really stars; stars didn’t fall, they collapsed. It was space-junk, but you didn’t ever correct her because of the glee in her voice when she’d exclaim it. And music made Ellie smile. Gentle, earthy songs with hearty, resonant voices.

You found yourself achingly jealous of those soft things. Things that were natural, moveable, changing but still constant. You wondered what it was like, to be moved. To belong. You were jealous of the things that lived, blew in the breeze, belonged to the earth. Belonged to her. Made her smile.

You wished you could make her smile.

Sometimes it seemed like all you did was make her stiffen and sigh.

Being this dark and dreary thing was starting to wear on your conscious. You wished you were an easy thing to love, like the trees, and the sky, and the gentle collision of voices and instrument. Like her.

And... you were supposed to be focusing on the road.

The road that was winding and bumpy, and disappeared again around a curve – tangled in pillar-like trunks and graceful greenery. The road you hoped would never end, because if it did Ellie might tell you that she was done, and she was leaving to find her own way home.

The truck found that curve, arced around it, and ahead, the russet ground stretched so long and far it fled right into the horizon. The forest stayed cradling it all the way forward, and those slaty mountains arose again in the distance. A great wall of stony promise, a jagged taunt of future surroundings.

Who would you be when you reached those mountains? Because you were a changing thing, but not constant. Not soft, not natural. You were hardened and rough and ragged, you were pointed and sharp and leached of colour.

Did Ellie like mountains? Did they make her smile?

You shifted in your seat again, turned your face to the window embedded in the cold door you leaned into. A tangle of branch, trunk, and leaf promised beyond it. So serpentine and so chestnut it made your chest ache and stomach burn. Your eyesight warped, gaze honing in on the reflection in the glass. Your face all hollow, not-living – and her behind you. Stiff like rigor-mortis, like you were leeching the living from her too.

The radio crackled in the cup holder.

“Little killer. Where have you got to, coward? Killed us from the trees, couldn’t even look me in the eyes as you ripped us apart. Where can you run to, coward?��

The words sputtered out, scratchy and forgotten. Your gaze dropped to the side-mirror outside the window. It angled up tauntingly, gave you the perfect view of that towering, blue plume of smoke way in the past. Taller than the happy trees, darker than the peaceful sky around it.

The smoke seeped from a tomb near the beginning of your never-ending road. Sometimes it would disappear as you rounded a curve, or ambled down a hill. Until it would return to the mirror, like a storm cloud, or a tornado, or a...

No, all those things were natural – belonging. The mark of your assault hung in the air, a pariah, a path of swirling, smoky reality cutting through the easy, untamed sky.

“There’s nowhere for you to go, no place you can hide from us. Little killer.”

Your head felt heavy. You pressed it into the head-rest, tried not to writhe in your seat as it fizzled and burred.

fight fire with fire. bad knows bad, wrong knows wrong. this is what you’re made for

You regretted leaving your CDs in the factory. You’d thought you wouldn’t need them.

As your heartbeat began to pick up, and something icy like dread clamped down on your guts, an echoic sound drifted through the truck. Ellie was tapping her thumb on the wheel.

Your eyes squinted, your face forced itself into a grimace, and it became glaringly apparent to you that you could no longer lose yourself in the road and the forest. Your hands tangled together on your lap, squeezed as you tried to steady yourself.

“Fucked up again that quick, huh?” The words slipped out, quieter than intended. You heard the pain in them more than you felt it.

You couldn’t feel much of anything right now – just the familiar hissing blur that buried.

A sigh answered you, low and stiff, cutting through the heavy air between you. As you'd expected.

“You dropped a bomb on them.”

You quirked your head.

“I use them all the-”

“A missile?” Ellie interrupted.

You drew in a slow breath before turning to face her.

Ellie didn’t look angry. Her posture was sharp, her shoulders tight, but her expression lacked the fire you’d expected. Taut and prickled, but not burning – not trembling with heat.

“All that talk about the old world, how much you hate it.” She mused; her voice steady, almost monotone. “And then you use their weapons to take out an entire group?”

You didn’t bother reminding her that that group were the same kind of monsters as the ones who made those weapons. They were murderers. They were egomaniacal fucks who thought themselves gods. Instead, you settled on something simpler.

“I avenged more innocent lives than the bad ones I took.” You said, your tone clipped.

Ellie’s eyes flicked to you, her brow furrowing.

“That’s how you're choosing to justify it?” She asked, and her tone was genuine – not biting, not scathing. A genuine question, though rough around the edges.

It sparked something sharp in your veins.

“What do you want from me? You chased me out here after I put a bullet in the back of a guy’s skull.” You splayed your hands. “I kill. Surprise.”

Her lips pressed together as she blinked heavily, hands tightening on the wheel.

“It’s not about them.” She murmured. “It’s just... the way you do things. So fast, so brutal. It’s an annihilation.”

Your eyes narrowed.

“I make it quick, which is more than they deserve.” You spoke. “Would you rather I snuck in, ended them all with my own hands?”

“You’re not some grim reaper - you don’t need to chase them down, exterminate them the way you do.” Ellie said, shaking her head softly. “I thought you were giving them a warning.”

“A warning?” You scoffed; the sound bitter. “You don’t get it.”

Warnings were nothing to things like those men. You’d walked into one of their rooms smothered in blood and they’d laughed. You’d blown the roof off one of their compounds and their leader had promised to chase you to the ends of the earth.

They didn’t see warnings – they saw challenge.

“I travelled across the country, I saw bad.” She protested. “I ran into fuckers like them.”

Her words dragged claws down your chest. The way her voice grew thick and ghostly made your throat tighten. Fuckers like them – you knew what she was saying. And it brought such a blazing rage to your chest you almost choked.

Any apprehension fled from your mind. You were glad to have freed the world from the grip of those festering, consuming, depraved, slanted men. Your spine steeled.

“Yeah, and how did you escape them?”

“By killing the threat in front of us, not doubling back to kill more.” Ellie replied.

Her words felt like they were circling you, refusing to land. You couldn’t find her angle – couldn’t understand her problem.

It’s not about them, she’d said.

It’s about you.

The way you do things, she'd said.

Efficient. Practical. Brutal yes, but so were the things you ended.

Fire with fire, bad with bad. Killers with killing.

“Well, if you had, maybe we wouldn’t be running into so many of the fuckers right now.” You told her, voice icy. “Cause they would’ve been wiped off the map already.”

The truck jerked beneath you. You wrapped your fingers around your seatbelt, pulled it away from your neck a little. Your gaze drifted over the console ahead, the frilly buttons and ports. Had people really thought they needed all that?

“Listen, I get it, okay?” Ellie tapped the wheel, mindlessly. “I get it. I just think you enjoy it too much.”

The accusation sank into your chest like a blade.

There it was. Her problem.

You swallowed thickly.

Something was wearing her face. Some sickened, weary thing was wearing Ellie’s face as she looked at you – looked through you. You felt too light, like you could fall through the seat at any moment, through the world. Your body buzzed.

“More shame, sweetheart? Hmm.”

Enjoyed it? No, you... you liked cleansing the world of bad because it made you feel safer. It made you feel proud; it made you-

Did you enjoy it?

you're sick like them, you caught it. a murderer, a killer, and you like it. you know who-

“Don’t you think they enjoyed it when they tortured a whole city full of stragglers and infected?” You snapped, cutting through the static in your head.

Ellie licked her lips, her gaze hardening. But she didn’t argue, she knew you were right, she knew they deserved it.

“You know why they say to fight fire with fire?” You continued, pinning her with your stare. “Because things can’t burn to the ground twice.”

She nodded, tilted her head.

“Fire spreads.” Ellie said, simply.

You grit your teeth, felt your brows upturn as you let out an exasperated laugh.

“I never claimed to be the bigger person.” You muttered.

Her face softened at that, her shoulders loosening. She leaned back into her seat, swayed her head.

“No," she took a breath, eyes shuttering as she seemed to gather herself. “I get it, y/n. I guess... I’m just not used to being so loud.”

“I know. You’re used to having to creep through the world like a mouse because of things like them.” You spoke. “But I don’t fear them, I don’t feel any obligation to do things fairly, and I don’t hide.”

Something shifted in her expression, something you swore almost bordered on respect, threading through the weariness of her features as your words sank in.

“Can’t argue with that.” She said, finally, her voice gentler now.

The tension in the cab waned, the air growing lighter around. But your mind refused to settle.

You bit your cheek, tried not to give into your brains begging questions. What did she think of you now? What did this mean? How was she feeling? Why was she so confusing – why were the things she made you think and feel so confusing?

You sucked in a deep breath.

“Is this gonna be a problem?” You managed.

Ellie leaned her head back against the head-rest, stretching her neck. Then her chin dipped again, her eyes found you.

“No.” She said, simply. “Different strokes for different folks, right?”

You squinted. It was an absurd thing to say in response to your behemoth question – and the tumbling void of your actions which dragged along behind the truck like cans tied to the bumper. Though maybe she hadn’t caught the agony beneath your words. You quirked a brow.

A small laugh rumbled from her lips in return.

“I told you – I understand, alright? I was just kinda blindsided, that’s all.” Ellie said, lifting a hand to her face, swiping at her nose. “Still kinda am, that was pretty fucking surreal.”

You sighed, throwing your hands up.

“Sorry.”

She shook her head, laughing again.

The sound made you smile.

You fell into silence again after that, went to find the end of your road.

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